Seed of the Gods

return. We are not of this world now, but from it, dwellers in the hostile vastness of space, an emptiness that makes the airless plains of glass seem like paradise. The world behind us seems close enough to touch. Steadily it shrinks to become a globe of yellowish-purple, and we watch the march of the giant winter storms. The clouds cover the southern seas, where the Breathers grow. The sun, harsh, unpitying, beats down on it. Out there we see the satellite, our goal. We are pushing toward it, using our power, feeling the drain. We rest, eat, refresh ourselves, and then we push again. I feel the accumulated fat of my system being used, feel myself shrinking. There is no sensation of speed or movement. We know we are moving only by the resistance to our power and by the steadily shrinking planet behind us. We push for a period of time and then rest. We are alone and the loneliness is terrible. We know now that life loves life and needs its presence. Experience our loneliness with us and value your fellows. Here there is no friendly life glow in the next establishment. There is only emptiness, a vast, aching void. And yet as we drift, moving at a speed that is beyond my meager comprehension, as the minds of our friends grow feeble in the distance, I exult, for we will achieve our goal. We will bring continued life to our world. I sing the song of Rack the Healer, called the New One, craving no special recognition for doing my duty, but asking the indulgence of my brothers and sisters, for we are lonely and we are going a vast distance from the glow of life and our homes and even as we trust in the goodness of nature we fear. I sing of my love, of the Power Giver Beautiful Wings, with whom I have joined to produce the life of a Keeper, thus contributing to the balance of nature's life. I sing of her beauty, her delicate scales of flashing colors and her slim legs of strength and her arms of warmth and her pink- tinged gills that remind me of the glory of her tinting. She is blessed with a delicate sense of joy in sharing my nature-given love. I sing of our union, for it lasted past the tinting and became deep. I sing of our togetherness as we merge and I share with her and heal the damages of raw sunlight. I inscribe her name on the records of our race, to be remembered, for she has risked much. She soared into the poison of the winter storms to find me, and now she joins me in this daring soar. I sing of Red Earth the Far Seer, who attended the ancient laws, thus following nature's design which led to this flight. May his life be long with many moments of pleasure with young and beautiful Keepers. To him I entrust my memory, my establishment, my nuggets of hard material. May he find beauty in the nuggets, for beauty is nature's gift to all, not simply to Healers. I sing of Shadow on the Moon the Far Seer, whose wisdom guided us and whose strong mind still comforts us, and of Gray Body the Far Seer, whose doubts made us work harder to seek this opportunity to save the race. I sing of Yellow Sky the Power Giver and remember gratefully her soars with me. I send her my thanks and my love and a wish for an early tinting and a production of life. The cold of space slows my thoughts. The burning sun makes ashes gather on my scales; I must shield Beautiful Wings from this cruel sun with my stronger body. The satellite grows in brightness, its shadows sharpen. It looms there, waiting with its gifts. I sing, reluctantly, of my doubts. I am weak and I fear, shudderingly, as sleep claims my companion, of finding emptiness. But should such disaster overtake us, weep not for Rack the Healer and Beautiful Wings the Power Giver, for we have enjoyed much and have known the awesome wheelings of the worlds from afar. Think, then, that this was a folly of man, not of nature, for the faith is kept as long as the life force is vibrant on our world. I sing of my hope, of anticipated greetings from fellow beings on our sister world in a place of sweet air and plentiful food and undiminished life. I sing of our return to bring hope and word of renewal. Or, if it be nature's wish, I sing of two alone on a vast world, building life. I add my thoughts to those of Rose the Healer, who was not the initial one but was young with our race, when the Old Ones were a fresh memory and their knowledge was not lost. I would that I could see the world as it was, young, with growing things and multiple forms of life. What a wondrous place it must have been. Perhaps we, at the end of our journey, will find such a place, replenish ourselves, and return to you with many secrets. And as I dream, I dream of moving the race to this fresh, new world where no one wants for air and the gentle sun warms even the frail, unprotected hides of the youngest and most tender Keepers. Many questions assault my mind. What can we, even if I am truly the New One, do all alone? Will there be a powerful life force on this new world to make us strong enough to once again soar across the emptiness and carry on my broad back all life to this wondrous new world? Our Breathers die, but the supply will be ample, for now we pass from the pull of the home world to the tug of the new world, growing steadily ahead of us. The senses of my love feel its power seize us and gradually speed us forward. The thoughts of Shadow on the Moon the Far Seer were accurate. We burn and freeze. My scales are coated with ash. Sadly, I sing of the weakness of my love. For she is being used, even with my healing. The strain, as we apply our power to slow ourselves, is felt to the core of my deepest cells, for I have used my reserves. My weight lessens. We are far from our home planet and feel the pull of the new world. I will breathe deeply of the air and eat of the broth held in reserve. I will send my strength into my love, healing her; I weep for her wasted substance, and for the first time, doubt our combined wisdom. Had we not chosen to venture into this vast cold we would be snugly established with the storms blowing. Selfishly, I dream of the time we would have had, even with a world dying about us, for we would have lived and blended our minds for our allotted span. But that is not to be. In the chill of a northern establishment, with the frost sparkling on the earth, we joined. Her breast buds were tender and sweet and I saw them suckled by our issue, by the Keeper whose name I do not know. And that is in our past. Weakened, we near our goal. It was fortunate that we brought just so much air, just so much broth, just so many Breathers, for the load has been great and the cold has drained us and ahead is the final surge of power. I rest fitfully. I dream of a new time of readiness. I see her scales flowering and see the emergence of the ruby beauty from deep within her. Even though I am awake, I dream. But no. My love tints. Even in her weakness there is about her lower regions a definite tint and a hint of flowering on the chest. It could only be nature's plan. I will tint. I feel the preliminary tinglings. Below, on a new world, we will find a union. It is nature's will. Are we then to stay, to build a life force on this new world? The voices of our minds are weak traveling far, hopefully to be gathered in by the combined mind-strength of the Far Seers. Below is a new world with deep valleys and high mountains. There are no clouds, leading us to think, brothers and sisters, that there is clean air below. As we send this last message of hope, we salute you. We see behind us our home, which although small is larger than the satellite as seen from the clean air above the clouds where we use to soar in joy. Behind us is our yellowish-purple home, a world swimming in deep space. Farewell, farewell. We will lower now to find our destiny. XIII Appended to the Book of Rack the New One by Red Earth the Far Seer, my thoughts. The principle of interplanetary soaring is proven and praise is due to all who were involved, but especially to Shadow on the Moon the Far Seer who sensed the movements of the worlds to such an accurate degree that the soar was made within the tolerance of our measurements. I record the time in pictures of sun circles, satellite movements, and tilt of the planet. I record the duration of the soar in terms of the rising and falling sun. I record minute cell counts and am amazed. Rack is, truly, the New One, for the expenditure of his substance was beyond the endurance of any Healer. The foregoing final segment of the Book of Rack the Healer was received by the combined minds of the Far Seers much as it is recorded, with interpolations by Deep Diver the Healer. These were necessary due to the weakness of the thoughts from far space, which were received sporadically, and were altered by the toxic storms. Yet it is felt that we have preserved the essence of the thoughts of Rack the New One. We wait. The survival factor allows little outside activity and the food stores dwindle. But a new beginning approaches and with the new beginning, as always, there is hope. As I wait I record thoughts that haunt me. I am especially impressed by one of the last clear pictures received. That tinting was in process is beyond doubt, for the excitement strengthened Rack's thoughts and made them clear. Could this mean that nature's plan is to establish life on the new world? To myself and to the private banks of my Keeper I confess that this is my belief, as indeed it was all along. Yet old beliefs die hard and still I hope that they will return with information, with ways of keeping life on the world. But the indications all tend to convince me that the New One was born to transplant the seed of life from this dying world to another, younger planet. But there is another fear. We received a picture of a clearly visible world. This is strange, for in all recorded history the air has been dense with clouds. We know that clouds contain many substances, most of which are apparently of little or no use to life. But what if some of those substances which cloud the air serve some small purpose? Would it be possible for life to exist and reproduce in a completely clean- aired world? I would have been happier to see a moderate cloud cover on the new world, our sister planet. My senses can penetrate the clouds that cover our world, can cover the vast picture of distance, and can measure the density of the earth of the satellite, it is earth, nothing more—solid rock. I cannot penetrate to the depths. I cannot detect the presence or lack of air or water or any other substance. I cannot, of course, detect the minute forms of life there, Rack the New One and Beautiful Wings the Power Giver. I can only wait. Perhaps, in time, other New Ones may spring forth. We search all the new-born Healers, trying to detect that strange, new area of the brain that gives Rack the New One his ability to merge physically with another. We have sacrificed the best sun circles of the life of a Power Giver to carry a message to our brothers across the sea, telling them of the New One, warning them to be on the lookout for others. But we find nothing. We wait. We can pleasure with our Keepers and forget for a short span of time, but there is always the outside, the growing toxicity, the failing survival factor. It is more