Then voices began to whisper to her.
At first she was aware that what she heard formed part of Aglabec’s plot. Out of sight behind the mesh of roots must be two or three of his disciples, under orders to confuse her by telling fantastic tales about life in Swiftyouth and Sunbride, Steadyman and Stolidchurl and Sluggard and their multiple moons unknown before the telescope. She called to them, demanding food, and they refused to answer, but kept on with their whispering.
For a while she argued, reciting what astronomers had worked out from the planets’ spectra concerning conditions there, inquiring why anyone should believe Aglabec rather than Ugant and her colleagues. At last, when she was so weak she could scarcely raise herself to half normal height, she received an answer.
Someone said, and it could have been Startoucher: “You and all those like you want to deny life. But we affirm it. We share the fiery joy of existence near the sun. We enjoy the frozen beauty of the giant worlds. We know what it means to be weighed down by gravity a score-score-fold, and not to care, because we borrow bodies suited to it. From searing heat to bitter cold, we transcend the dull plain world of every day, and eventually we shall perceive the universe. When our task is done, no one will care if this petty planet is destroyed.”
“The destiny of bodies is to rot,” said another voice. “The destiny of mind is glorious!”
“I’m losing mine!” whimpered Chybee against her will. The confession was greeted with a chuckle, then with silence.
But it didn’t last. After she had made one last futile search for something she might eat, new whispering began. This time she could not convince herself there was anybody talking to her. There was only one voice, and it was inside her very pith, and it was her own, so how could she deny what it said? It told her that life must exist everywhere, in an infinite range of guises, and that only a fool could imagine that this was its sole and unique haven. It told her she was guilty of despair, when she needed only to look within her and seek the truth. It echoed and repeated what her parents told their followers, what they had learned from Imblot … but she was a traitor, wasn’t she? She’d dismissed Aglabec as a “mere male” although Aglabec was powerful, all-powerful, exercised the right of life and death over this person Chybee…
Occasionally she stirred as though touched by a sharp prong. Then the suspicion did cross her mind that some of her thoughts were being imposed from outside. But she lacked the energy to claw hold of the idea. Likewise, she sometimes experienced the shock of realizing that she was beginning to digest her own tissue, and that her mantle was patched with molds like those afflicting her cage of roots, as though the tiny organisms had decided she too was fit to putrefy. But she shut such notions out of thinking, obsessed with yearning for the beautiful visions of life on other worlds which she had been promised. Where were they? Why could she only perceive this horrible, this revolting dungeon?
Because … Ah, but bliss, but miracle! Something sweet and delicious had been poured into her mandibles, restoring her strength. She strove to thank whoever had aided her at last, and could only whimper, but at least the sound was recognizable.
“Ugant…?”
“Ah, so it was Ugant who reduced you to this plight!”
A booming voice, a waft of pheromones redolent of well-being and authority. Timidly she agreed.
“She sent you to spy on us, was that it?”
“Yes, yes! More food, more food!”
“Of course you shall have more! I’m appalled to find you in such a state because of what Ugant did! Help her out, quickly!”
Suddenly she was surrounded by familiar figures: Aglabec, ex-Cometaster, ex-Startoucher. She curled her limp mantle into a sketch for gratitude as they half led, half carried her upward, pausing now and then to offer more of the delicious liquor which had so revived her.
At last they reached the open air, under a clear sky sown with stars. Weakly she raised a claw to indicate Stumpalong.