Not so the Brannigan machines. Around the circle they erupted in sudden frenzies. From behind them, the mighty mountain shivered and growled and moved itself as Great Oozer slithered, leaving dead forests smashed to ashes in his wake. To the south, Chimi-ahm came grinning his tripartite grin, lighted from within by mighty fires, howling like a tempest and beating the ground with a huge flail. From the west, Magna Mater rolled on studded wheels across the forests, each spiked tiptoe an earthquake, each earthquake a catastrophe of broken mountain and flooded river. From the north Lady Bland came on her great car, crushing hills and filling valleys. All four of them approached, mighty as mountains, to crouch just beyond the circle of the Arbai Device, staring at the thing on the massif, no more able to comprehend it than were the people.
The thing took no notice of astonishment. Its only response was to open a tiny crack at the base of its substance from which a single creature emerged. The form was completely familiar to Nela and Bertran as it trundled down the slope toward them emitting a strong smell of hay fields.
“Celery,” whispered Nela. “It’s Celery.” She shared a look of hopeful surmise with Bertran, the two of them deep in a wordless interchange during which they remembered the exact wording of their request. Now it seemed inadequate, superficial. It had been so long ago!
They stared at the approaching figure, building together a silent strategy.
“But he won’t want to talk to us,” Bertran muttered in sudden panic as the leafy creature approached. “We’re not multiple anymore.”
“You’re more multiple than you ever were,” murmured Cafferty. “At least for the time being. The Arbai Device is not yet gone.”
The creature reached them and bowed.
“Nela-Bertran,” said Celery (or what they assumed was Celery), “how nice to meet you at last.” (Well then, it wasn’t Celery.) “We’ve heard so much about you.” There was a faint, a very faint overtone of irritation in its voice, as of courtesy strained to its limit.
Bertran bowed. Nela bowed, realizing that somehow here she was under Bertran’s left arm. Habit! She moved slightly away and stood tall. If she was multiple, it didn’t depend on where she was!
“We did what we promised Celery we’d do,” said Bertran, unable to think of anything more apropos.
The being nodded. “We know. And we received your message, of course. Which is why we’re here. I apologize for our being so tardy, but …” (Bertran thought he detected a definite tone of asperity) “we’ve had to come a long way.”
“We’ve interrupted your journey,” said Nela in her most sweetly sympathetic voice. “And after you’d gone to such trouble. Earning your … what was it? Your concession.”
“Well,” said the being with a sidewise look at her, “it was our own fault, wasn’t it.”
“We think it was,” agreed Bertran with a hint of asperity of his own. “Yes.”
“An exemplary situation, however,” the Celerian continued. “One our younger aggregations will profit from for untold generations. Which is, at the moment, neither here nor there….” It made an equivocal gesture and emitted a smell of disappointment.
“When we received your message, we started back, ready to keep our end of the bargain, only to learn as we approached this place that it would be impossible for us.”
Bertran felt himself dwindle. Nela reached for his hand as Danivon cursed slowly, monotonously.
“However,” the creature went on, glancing upward over the trees, at the looming monsters, “since we’re here, there are some things we’d like to clarify. For our own information. We’d like to know what you meant, in the cavern, when you said ‘we’ and ‘us.’”
Danivon came closer, his hands knotting into fists. The Celerian regarded him blandly.
“In the context of what we knew about humans, the words were confusing. We were sure you meant you-Nela-Bertran, of course. That would have been what you meant by ‘us’ at the time you met our colleague. Before you came here. But at the time your wish was uttered you weren’t alone, so we knew you meant Nela-Bertran-Fringe….”
Nela fixed the being with her eyes and shook her head firmly. “No. As a matter of fact, we meant all of us who are here, around the massif….” Even if the Celerians could not help, let the record show!
“And everyone on Elsewhere,” added Bertran. “Our request referred to all our kind. We asked that mankind no longer be influenced by gods he made in his own image.”
“You are not referring to the Creators?” asked the Celerian curiously. “We would not want to give you the impression we could have had any effect at all on the purposes of the real …”
“We mean,” interrupted Nela, pointing at the monsters visible over the treetops, “things like that, whether visible or invisible, whether real or imaginary. No matter how traditional they are. No matter how divine they are said to be. Now, or ever. Here or anywhere. We want to be free of them.”
“Ah, I do see.” The Celerian did something with its face that gave the effect of a glowing smile. “You wanted us to implement the destiny of man here as elsewhere.”
Nela squeezed Bertran’s hand as she replied, “The Arbai had the power to do it, but they couldn’t accept ambiguity. They worried too much about means and ends. They wouldn’t interfere because they couldn’t accept risk, they couldn’t take the guilt or the pain of possibly being wrong. I understand that. I’ve been like that myself. But you … our experience indicated your people had no hangups about interference.”
“That’s true,” breathed the Celerian in a strangled voice. “We have no hangups about that.”
“We thought you’d be willing to risk it,” said Bertran, head cocked as though thinking deeply. “Willing to risk being wrong.”
“It was our willingness
