20 Idyll The Tarnans thought it was very funny and pretended not to believe him. ‘First you’ve never been in a boat – now you say you can’t ride a bicycle!’ ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Mirissa had chided him, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘The most efficient method of transportation ever invented – and you’ve never tried it!’ ‘Not much use in spaceships and too dangerous in cities,’ Loren had retorted. ‘Anyway, what is there to learn?’ He soon discovered that there was a good deal; biking was not quite as easy as it looked. Though it took real talent actually to fall off the low centre-of-gravity, small-wheeled machines (he managed it several times) his initial attempts were frustrating. He would not have persisted without Mirissa’s assurance that it was the best way to discover the island – and his own hope that it would also be the best way to discover Mirissa. The trick, he realized after a few more tumbles, was to ignore the problem completely and leave matters to the body’s own reflexes. That was logical enough; if one had to think about every footstep one took, ordinary walking would be impossible. Although Loren accepted this intellectually, it was some time before he could trust his instincts. Once he had overcome that barrier, progress was swift. And at last, as he had hoped, Mirissa offered to show him the remoter byways of the island. It would have been easy to believe that they were the only two people in the world, yet they could not be more than five kilometres from the village. They had certainly ridden much farther than that, but the narrow cycle track had been designed to take the most picturesque route, which also turned out to be the longest. Although Loren could locate himself in an instant from the position-finder in his comset, he did not bother. It was amusing to pretend to be lost. Mirissa would have been happier if he had left the comset behind. ‘Why must you carry that thing?” she had said, pointing to the control-studded band on his left forearm. ‘It’s nice to get away from people sometimes.’ ‘I agree, but ship’s regs are very strict. If Captain Bey wanted me in a hurry and I didn’t answer -‘ ‘Well – what would he do? Put you in irons?’ ‘I’d prefer that to the lecture I’d undoubtedly get. Anyway, I’ve switched to sleep mode. If Shipcom overrides that, it will be a real emergency – and I’d certainly want to be in touch.’ Like almost all Terrans for more than a thousand years, Loren would have been far happier without his clothes than without his comset. Earth’s history was replete with horror stories of careless or reckless individuals who had died – often within metres of safety – because they could not reach the red emergency button. The cycle lane was clearly designed for economy, not heavy traffic. It was less than a metre wide, and at first the inexperienced Loren felt that he was riding along a tight-rope. He had to concentrate on Mirissa’s back (not an unwelcome task) to avoid falling off. But after the first few kilometres he gained confidence and was able to enjoy the other views, as well. If they met anyone coming in the opposite direction, all parties would have to dismount; the thought of a collision at fifty klicks or more was too horrible to contemplate. It would be a long walk home, carrying their smashed bicycles … Most of the time they rode in perfect silence, broken only when Mirissa pointed out some unusual tree or exceptional beauty spot. The silence itself was something that Loren had never before experienced in his whole life; on Earth he had always been surrounded by sounds – and shipboard life was an entire symphony of reassuring mechanical noises, with occasional heart-stopping alarms. Here the trees surrounded them with an invisible, anechoic blanket, so that every word seemed sucked into silence the moment it was uttered. At first the sheer novelty of the sensation made it enjoyable, but now Loren was beginning to yearn for something to fill the acoustic vacuum. He was even tempted to summon up a little background music from his comset but felt certain that Mirissa would not approve. It was a great surprise, therefore, when he heard the beat of some now-familiar Thalassan dance music from the trees ahead. As the narrow road seldom proceeded in a straight line for more than two or three hundred metres, he could not see the source until they rounded a sharp curve and found themselves confronted by a melodious mechanical monster straddling the entire road surface and advancing towards them at a slow walking pace. It looked rather like a robot caterpillar. As they dismounted and let it trundle past, Loren realized that it was an automatic road repairer. He had noticed quite a few rough patches, and even pot-holes, and had been wondering when the South Island Department of Works would bestir itself to deal with them. ‘Why the music?’ he asked. ‘This hardly seems the kind of machine that would appreciate it.’ He had barely made his little joke when the robot addressed him severely: ‘Please do not ride on the road surface within one hundred metres of me, as it is still hardening. Please do not ride on the road surface within one hundred metres of me, as it is still hardening. Thank you.’ Mirissa laughed at his surprised expression. ‘You’re right, of course – it isn’t very intelligent. The music is a warning to oncoming traffic.’ ‘Wouldn’t some kind of hooter be more effective?’ ‘Yes, but how – unfriendly!’ They pushed their bicycles off the road and waited for the line of articulated tanks, control units, and road-laying mechanisms to move slowly past. Loren could not resist touching the freshly extruded surface; it was warm and slightly yielding, and looked moist even though it felt perfectly dry. Within seconds, however, it had become as hard as rock; Loren noted the faint impression of his fingerprint and thought wryly. I’ve made my mark on Thalassa – until the robot comes this way again. Now the road was rising up into the hills, and Loren found that unfamiliar muscles in thigh and calf were beginning to call attention to themselves. A little auxiliary power would have been welcomed, but Mirissa had spurned the electric models as too effete. She had not slackened her speed in the least, so Loren had no alternative but to breathe deeply and keep up with her. What was that faint roar from ahead? Surely no one could be testing rocket engines in the interior of South Island! The sound grew steadily louder as they pedalled onward; Loren identified it only seconds before the source came into view. By Terran standards, the waterfall was not very impressive -perhaps one hundred metres high and twenty across. A small metal bridge glistening with spray spanned the pool of boiling foam in which it ended. To Loren’s relief, Mirissa dismounted and looked at him rather mischievously. ‘Do you notice anything… peculiar?’ she asked, waving towards the scene ahead. ‘In what way?’ Loren answered, fishing for clues. All he saw was an unbroken vista of trees and vegetation, with the road winding away through it on the other side of the fall. ‘The trees – the trees!’ ‘What about them? I’m not a – botanist.’ ‘Nor am I, but it should be obvious. Just look at them.’ He looked, still puzzled. And presently he understood, because a tree is a piece of natural engineering – and he was an engineer. A different designer had been at work on the other side of the waterfall. Although he could not name any of the trees among which he was standing, they were vaguely familiar, and he was sure that they came from Earth … yes, that was certainly an oak, and somewhere, long ago, he had seen the beautiful yellow flowers on that low bush. Beyond the bridge, it was a different world. The trees – were they really trees? – seemed crude and unfinished. Some had short, barrel-shaped trunks from which a few prickly branches extended; others resembled huge ferns; others looked like giant, skeletal fingers, with bristly haloes at the joints. And there were no flowers … ‘Now I understand. Thalassa’s own vegetation.’ ‘Yes – only a few million years out of the sea. We call this the Great Divide. But it’s more like a battlefront between two armies, and no one knows which side will win. Neither, if we can help it! The vegetation from Earth is more advanced; but the natives are better adapted to the chemistry. From time to time one side invades the other – and we move in with shovels before it can get a foothold.’ How strange, Loren thought as they pushed their bicycles across the slender bridge. For the first time since landing on Thalassa, I feel that I am indeed on an alien world … These clumsy trees and crude ferns could have been the raw material of the coal beds that had powered the Industrial Revolution – barely in time to save the human race. He could easily believe that a dinosaur might come charging out of the undergrowth at any moment; then he recalled that the terrible lizards had still been a hundred million years in the future when such plants had flourished on Earth … They were just remounting when Loren exclaimed, ‘Krakan and damnation!’ ‘What’s the matter?’ Loren collapsed on what, providentially, appeared to be a thick layer of wiry moss. ‘Cramp,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, grabbing at his knotted calf muscles. ‘Let me,’ Mirissa said in a concerned but confident voice. Under her pleasant, though somewhat amateur, ministrations, the spasms slowly ebbed. ‘Thanks,’ Loren said after a while. ‘That’s much better. But please don’t stop.’ ‘Did you really think I would?’ she whispered. And presently, between two worlds, they became one.