grove

of

the

unborn

Tyndall heard the rockets
begin to roar, and it seemed
as though the very blood in
his veins pulsated with the
surging of those mighty jets.
Going? They couldn't be
going. Not yet. Not without
him! And he heard the roaring
rise to a mighty crescendo,
and he felt the trembling
of the ground beneath the
room in which he lay, and
then the great sound grew
less, and grew dim, and
finally dissipated in a thin
hum that dwindled finally
into silence. They were gone.

Tyndall threw himself face
down on his couch, the feel of
the slick, strange fabric cold
and unfriendly against his
face. He lay there for a long
time, not moving. Tyndall's
thoughts during those hours
were of very fundamental
things, that beneath him, beneath
the structure of the
building in which he was confined,
lay a world that was
not Earth, circling a sun that
was not Sol, and that the
ship had gone and would
never come back. He was
alone, abandoned. He thought
of the ship, a silver streak
now in the implacable blackness
of space, threading its
way homeward through the
stars to Sol, to Earth. The
utter desolation which swept
over him at the impact of his
aloneness was more than he
could endure, and he forced
himself to think of something
else.

Why was he here then?
John Tyndall, 3rd Engineer
of the starship Polaris. It had
been such a routine trip, ferrying
a group of zoologists
and biologists around the galaxy
looking for unclassified
life-supporting planets. They
had found such a world circling
an obscure sun half way
across the galaxy. An ideal
world for research expedition,
teeming with life, the
scientists were delighted. In
a few short months they discovered
and cataloged over a
thousand varieties of flora
and fauna peculiar to this
planet, called Arrill, after the
native name which sounded
something like Ahhrhell.
Yes, there were natives, humanoid,
civilized and gracious.
They had seemed to
welcome the strangers, as a
matter of fact they had
seemed to expect them.

The Arrillians had learned
English easily, its basic
sounds not being too alien to
their own tongue. They had
quite a city there on the edge
of the jungle, although, in circling
the planet before
landing, the expedition had
noted that this was the only
city. On a world only a little
smaller than Earth, one city,
surrounded completely by the
tropical jungle which covered
the rest of the world. A city
without power, without machinery
of any kind, and yet
a city that was self-sufficient.

Well-tilled fields stretched
to the very edge of the jungle,
where high walls kept out the
voracious growth. The fields
fed the city well, and clothed
it well. And there were mines
to yield up fine metal and precious
gems. The Earthmen
had marveled, and yet, it had
seemed strange. On all this
planet, just one city with perhaps
half a million people
within its walls. But this was
not a problem for the expedition.

The crew of the Polaris
and the members of the
expedition had spent many an
enjoyable evening in the
dining hall of the palace-like
home of the Rhal, who was
something more than a mayor
and something less than a
king. Actually, Arrill seemed
to get along with a minimum
of government. All in all, the
Earthmen had summed up the
Arrillians as being a naive,
mild, and courteous people.
They probably still thought
so, all of them, that is, except
Tyndall.

Of course, now that he
looked back upon it, there
has been a few things ... that
business about the
Bugs, as the Earthmen had
dubbed the oddly ugly creatures
who seemed to occupy
something of the position of
a sacred cow in the Arrillian
scheme of things. The Bugs
came in all sizes, that is all
sizes from a foot or so in
length up to the size of a full
human.

The Bugs were not permitted
to roam the streets and
market places, like the sacred
cows of the Earthly Hindus.
The Bugs were kept in huge
pens, which none but a few
high-ranking priests were
permitted to enter, and although
the Earthmen were
not prevented from standing
outside the pens and watching
the ugly beasts munching
grass or basking in the sun,
the Arrillians always seemed
nervous when the strangers
were about the pens. The
Earthmen had shrugged and
reflected that religion was a
complexity difficult enough
at home, needless to probe
too deeply into the Arrillian.

But The Time had been
something else again, bringing
with it, the first sign of
real Arrillian fanaticism and
the first hint of violence.
Tyndall and four companions
were strolling in a downtown
section of the city, when all
at once a hoarse cry in Arrillian
shattered the quiet hum
of street activity.

"What did he say?" asked
one of Tyndall's companions,
who had not learned much
Arrillian.

"I—I think, 'A Time! A
Time!' What could ..." he
never finished the sentence,
all about them Arrillians had
prostrated themselves in the
rather dirty street, covering
their faces with their hands,
lying face down. The Earthmen
hesitated a moment, and
a priest of Arrill appeared as
though from nowhere, a
wicked scimitar-like weapon
in his hand and a face tense
with anger.

"Dare you," he hissed in
Arrillian, "dare you not hide
your eyes at A Time!" He
pushed one of the Earthmen
with surprising strength, and
the latter stumbled to his
knees. All five men hastened
to ape the position of the
prostrate Arrillians; they
knew better to risk committing
sacrilege on a strange
planet. As Tyndall sank to
the ground and covered his
eyes, he heard that priest
mutter another sentence, in
which his own name was included.
He thought it was
"You, Tyn-Dall ... even you."

A few moments later a bell
sounded from somewhere, and
the buzzing of conversation
began around them, along
with the shuffling, scraping
sound of many people getting
to their feet at once. A hand
touched Tyndall's shoulder
and an Arrillian voice, laughing
now, purred, "Up stranger,
up, The Time is past."

The Earthmen got to their
feet. Everything about them
was the same as though nothing
had happened, people
strolling along the street,
going in and out of shops,
stopping to chat.

"I guess that was the all-clear,"
commented one
wryly.

The others laughed nervously,
but Tyndall was
strangely troubled, he was
thinking of the strange
words of the priest, "You,
Tyn-Dall, even you." Why
should he have known, and
not the others? He tried to
forget it. Arrillian was a
complex tongue with confusing
syntax, perhaps the
priest had said something
else. But Tyndall knew one
thing for certain, the mention
of his name had been
unmistakable.

The mood hung on, and
quite suddenly Tyndall had
asked, "I wonder about the
children. Why do you suppose
it is?"

One of the men laughed,
"Maybe they feed them to
the Bugs." At no time, during
their stay on Arrill, had
they seen a single child, or
young person under the age
of about twenty-one. The
crew had speculated upon
this at great length, coming
to the conclusion that the
youngsters were kept secluded
for some reason
known only to the Arrillians,
probably some part of their
religion. One of them had
made so bold as to ask one of
the scientists who politely
told him that since his group
was not composed of ethnologists
or theologists, but
of biologists and zoologists,
they were interested neither
in the Arrillians, their offspring
nor their religion,
but merely in the flora and
fauna of the planet, both of
which seemed to be rather
deadly. The expedition had
had several close calls in the
jungle, and some of the
plants seemed as violently
carnivorous as the animals.

It was just a few days
after the incident that the
Arrillians kidnapped Tyndall.
It had been a simple,
old-fashioned sort of job,
pulled off with efficiency
and dispatch as he wandered
a few hundred feet away from the
ship. It was late, and he had
been unable to sleep, so he
had strolled out for a smoke.
The nightwatch must have
been somewhere about on
patrol, probably only a few
hundred feet away, on the
other side of the ship. It
happened suddenly and silently,
the hand clapped over
his mouth, the forearm constricting
his windpipe, his
legs jerked out from under
him, and a rag smelling sickly-sweet
shoved under his
nose, bringing oblivion.

When he came to consciousness,
he found himself
in this room, and he knew
that since then, many days
and nights had passed. His
wants were meticulously attended
to, his bath prepared,
his food brought to him regularly,
delicious and steaming,
with a generous supply
of full-bodied Arrillian wine
to wash it down. Fresh
clothes were brought to him
daily, the loose-flowing,
highly ornamented robe of
the Arrillian noble. Tyndall
knew he was no ordinary
prisoner, and somehow, this
fact made him doubly uneasy.

And then, tonight, the ship
had blasted off without him.
Tyndall could easily reconstruct
what had happened
when his crewmates had inquired
about him, at the palace
and in town. "Tyn-Dall?"
Then, a sorrowful expression,
a shrugging of the
shoulders, a pointing toward
the death-infested jungle,
and a mournful shaking of
the head, sign language
which in any tongue meant,
"Tyn-Dall wanders too far
from your ship. He becomes
lost. Alas, he does not know
our jungle and its perils."
Those who spoke a little
English would make some
expression of sympathy.

Maybe the crew was a little
suspicious, maybe they
thought there was something
fishy about the thing, and
then they thought of the unhappy
results of what was
commonly referred to as an
"interplanetary incident."
Ever since the people of the
second planet of Alpha Centauri,
in the early days of
extraterrestrial exploration,
had massacred an entire expedition
because the captain
had mortally insulted a tribal
leader by refusing a
sacred fruit, such incidents
had been avoided at all costs.

And so, they dared not offend
the Arrillians by questioning
the veracity of their
statements. And the jungle
was deadly, so they looked a
little longer, and asked a few
more questions. After a little
while, the scientists had completed
their work and were
anxious to get home, and so,
the ship blasted off, without
him.

All this had passed kaleidoscopically
in Tyndall's
mind as he lay on the couch
in his luxurious prison, too
numb to weep or even curse.
His reverie was broken by
the clicking of the lock and
he raised up to see the door
opening. An Arrillian servant
stood there, his silver
hair done up in the complicated
style which denoted
male house servants. He was
unarmed. The houseman
smiled, roared in imitation of
a rocket, made a swooping
gesture with one hand to indicate
the departing ship,
then pointed at Tyndall and
at the open door. The servant
bowed and departed, leaving
the door slightly ajar. Now
that the ship was gone, he
was free to leave his room.

Tyndall stepped cautiously
out of the room and found
himself in a long hall, with
many doors opening from it
on either side, much like a
hotel corridor. One end of
the hall seemed to open out
onto a garden and he started
in that direction.

The doorway opened out
into a patio which overlooked
a vast and perfectly
tended garden. The verdant
perfection of the scene was
marred only by one of the
Bugs, sunning itself and
gnawing on the stem of a
flower. Tyndall was impressed
again with the repulsive
ugliness of the thing.
This one was the size of a
small adult human, and even
vaguely human in outline,
although the brownish armored
body was still more
suggestive of a big bug than
anything else known to him.
There were even rudimentary
wings furled close to
the curving back, and the
underside was a dirty,
striped gray. Tyndall shuddered,
wondering why the
Arrillians, who so loved to
surround themselves with
beauty, should choose so horrendous
a creature as the object
of their worship, or protection.

He heard running footsteps
behind him, and turned
to see the Arrillian houseman,
breathless, with an expression
of greatest concern
on his face. The servant
bowed respectfully before
Tyndall, then gestured at the
garden, shook his head vigorously
from side to side and
tugged at the Earthman's
sleeve.

"Forbidden territory, eh?
Okay, old fellow, what
now?"

The servant motioned for
Tyndall to follow him, and
ushered him down the hall
from whence he had just
come, and into another of
the rooms opening off from
it. The very old man reclining
upon the low, Roman-like
couch, Tyndall recognized
at once as his host, the
Rhal of Arrill.

The Rhal touched the fingertips
of both hands to his
forehead in the Arrillian
gesture of greeting, and
Tyndall did the same. He noticed
several male Arrillians
standing near the back of the
room, although the servant
had bowed and retired.

"Well, Tyn-Dall, how do
you enjoy the hospitality of
Ahhreel?" He, of course,
gave the native pronunciation
to the name which was
almost Teutonic in sound
and unpronounceable for Tyndall
because of the sound
given to the double aspirate,
for which he knew no equivalent.

"Your English, Dheb Rhal,
has improved greatly since
our last meeting," commented
Tyndall guardedly,
using the Arrillian prefix of
extreme respect.

The old man smiled. "Your
friends were kind enough to
lend me books and also the
little grooved disks that
make voice." He gestured toward
an old-fashioned wind-up
type phonograph which
Tyndall recognized at once
as being standard aboard interstellar
vessels, and for
just such a purpose. The
Rhal continued, "For teaching
English very fine. How
are you enjoying our hospitality,
I ask again?"

Tyndall was stuck on Arrill
and he knew it. There
was no need to cook his own
goose by being deliberately
offensive. "I appreciate the
hospitality of Arrill, I express
my thanks for the consideration
of my hosts but—if
I may ask a question?"

"Yes?"

"What, in the wisdom of
the Dheb Rhal, is the reason
for my—er—detainment?"

"To answer that, Tyn-Dall,
I must tell you something of
the past of Ahhreel, and of
her destiny." At these words,
the other Arrillians in the
room drew closer, and the
Rhal motioned them to a
couch at his feet and nodded
toward Tyndall, requesting
that he join them. Tyndall noticed
that the others were
gazing up into the old man's
face with an expression of
raptness, even of reverence.
He knew that the Rhal did
not possess an especially exalted
position politically,
even though he was head of
the city. He guessed therefore
that the Rhal must be
the religious ruler of Arrill
as well.

The Rhal began, intoning
the words as though he were
reciting a ritual, "There was
a time, many thousands of
Khreelas ago, when the kingdom
of Ahhreel was not one
small city, as you see it now,
but a mighty empire, girdling
the world in her vastness.
But the people of
Ahhreel had become evil in
their ways, and her cities
were black with sin. It was
then that Xheev himself left
his kingdom in paradise and
appeared to the people of Ahhreel,
and he told them that
he was displeased, and that
bad times would fall upon
Ahhreel, and that her people
would dwindle in number,
and became exceedingly few,
and the jungle would reclaim
her emptied cities. One city,
and only one, would survive
and prosper, and the people
of that city would be given
the chance to redeem Ahhreel,
and remove the heavy
hand of Xheev's terrible
punishment.

"All this came to pass, and
in the dark Khreelas that
followed, all of Ahhreel vanished
except this city. Now,
for many, many thousands of
Khreelas, the people of this
city have striven to redeem
Ahhreel by obeying the
sacred laws of Xheev.

"Xheev had promised that
when the punishment was
ended, he would send a sign,
and his sign would be that a
great silver shell should fall
from the heavens, and within
would be Xheev's own emissary,
who must wed the
ranking priestess of Xheev,
establishing again the rapport
between the kingdom
of paradise and the world of
Ahhreel."

When the Rhal had
finished, the other Arrillians
in the room fastened the
same look of reverence upon
Tyndall which they had formerly
reserved for the Rhal.

Tyndall chose his words
carefully. "But there were
many aboard my vessel. Why
did you, Dheb Rhal, select me
as the emissary of Xheev?"

"Xheev selected you, I recognized
you, as of all your
companions, you and you
alone have the sun-colored
hair, which is the sacred
color of Xheev."

Tyndall was able to question
the Rhal almost coolly,
the trap was already sprung,
the ship was gone. Now, he
only wanted to know the
how, and the why. An accident
of pigmentation, only
that had brought him to
this. Sun-colored hair!

"But, Dheb Rhal, did my
friends and I not often tell
you of ourselves, of the
place from which we came? A
world, a world like your
own?"

The old man smiled. "Do
not think me naive, Tyn-Dall.
I am quite aware that
you are but a man, a man
from another world, although
quite an incredible world it
must be. I know also that you
were, until this hour, unaware
of your destiny. I
knew that when my priest
reported that you ignored the
Ritual Of The Time, until
literally forced to obey. That
is why we had to use ... devious
means to make certain
that your companions would
not prevent the fulfillment
of the prophesy. Now, of
course, you understand.

"I do not think the priestess
Lhyreesa will make you
unhappy, Tyn-Dall."

This was not Earth and
these people were not Earthmen.
The thought now did
not bring the bitter pain
it had at first, right after the
ship left. Earth already was
becoming hazy in Tyndall's
mind, a lovely globe of green
somewhere ... somewhere far,
and home once, a long time
ago.

No, the Arrillians were not
Earthmen, but they were human,
and an attractive, gracious
race. Life would not be
bad, among the Arrillians,
especially as the espoused of
the ranking priestess of Arrill.
Tyndall fingered the rich
material of his Arrillian
robe; he thought of the food,
the wine, the servants. No,
he decided, not bad at all.
One thing, though—this
priestess Lhyreesa ...

"I have, then, but one request
to make, Dheb Rhal, I
would like to see the priestess
Lhyreesa."

The old man almost
chuckled, "That is understandable,
Tyn-Dall, but it
is not yet The Time."

Tyndall, reveling in the
strength of his position,
grew bolder. "I would like
very much, Dheb Rhal, to see
her now."

The Rhal's face darkened.
"Very well, Tyn-Dall, but I
warn you, do not enter the
Grove. There is death there,
death that even I am powerless
to prevent. The Guardians
will not harm her, but
any stranger ... will not live
many minutes in the Grove."

"I will not enter, Dheb
Rhal."

"Tyn-Dall, The Time is
very soon, possibly this very
hour. Will you not wait?"

"I prefer not to wait, Dheb
Rhal."

The Rhal gestured to a
young Arrillian. "Bheel, show
Tyn-Dall to the Grove of the
priestess Lhyreesa."

The younger man protested,
"But, Dheb Rhal, so
near The Time, what if ..."

"Do as I command,"
snapped the Rhal.

Bheel turned silently,
motioning for Tyndall to
follow. The young Arrillian
led Tyndall the length of the
corridor, back to the patio he
had stepped onto by mistake
earlier in the day. Bheel
stepped respectfully aside.
Tyndall looked out into the
garden: the sun was beginning
to set, the long shadows
stretched across the
dim recesses of tropic greenery.
The huge insect-like
thing was still there,
stretched out in a narrow
strip of sunlight, catching
the last failing waves of
warmth from the sinking
sun.

Tyndall turned to the Arrillian.
"Where might I find
the priestess Lhyreesa?" he
asked.

"There, Dheb Tyn-Dall."

"I see no one. Where do
you say?"

Bheel pointed. "There,
Dheb Tyn-Dall, where I
point, you see the priestess
Lhyreesa taking the late
afternoon sun ... unless your
eyesight is exceedingly bad,
Dheb Tyn-Dall, you cannot
fail to see...."

Tyndall's eyesight was exceedingly
good. He followed
that pointing finger, past the
pillar that supported the
roof of the patio, past the
first row of alien green
plants, past the second and
third rows, to the clearing,
to the little patch of sunlight,
to the thing lying
there. That monstrous, misshapen
Bug.... The Bug.... The
Priestess Lhyreesa!

Tyndall felt a pounding,
skull-shattering madness closing
in on him. This was a
joke, of course. No, no joke.
A dream then? No, not that
either. In only a few split
seconds it happened. Tyndall
had leapt the rail around the
patio, and was streaking
through the Grove, heading
for its outer boundary. The
city—if he could get out of
the Grove, there would be
places to hide in the city.
Narrow streets, empty cellars,
dim, dim alleys. They'd
never find him there! Run
now, run before he was overtaken!

But he was not being pursued.
Bheel still stood on
the patio, transfixed with
horror. He heard the Arrillian's
terrified cry "Dheb
Tyn-Dall...!" And then a
rope shot out and grabbed
him by the ankles. Not a rope
really, a green something,
and there were others around
his arms, his chest, his hips,
wrapping him in their sticky
green embrace. The Guardians!
He tried to cry out but
one of the verdant fronds
enveloped his throat so tightly
he could not utter a sound.
The innocent green things of
the Grove were vigilant
guardians indeed. They
seemed to be merely holding
him immobile, but Tyndall
realized with sick horror
that their pressure was increasing,
so little at a time,
but so steadily.

And something was happening
out there in the sunlight
too. The creature had
convulsively grasped the
branch of a bush and was
clinging weakly to it, great
tremors wracking its body. It
seemed to be struggling, suffering,
dying ... even as he
was. In his agony, Tyndall
laughed.

"A Time! A Time!" The
voice came from the patio.
Tyndall saw Bheel throw
himself face down on the
floor, covering his eyes with
his hands. He heard the cry
echoed within the palace,
and then like a mighty roar
outside in the city. And then
there was silence, silence
broken only by the sound of
his own breathing as he
dragged his tortured lungs
across his shattered ribs.

He saw the Bug give a
great heave, and then it
seemed to split open, the entire
skin splitting in a dozen
places and a hand ... A
HAND reached from within
that dying hulk and grasped the
bush to which it clung. A
white slender hand on a fragile
wrist, and then the arm
was free, a woman's arm, a
beautiful arm.

Tyndall began, dimly, and
too late, to understand.

A leg kicked free ... the
slender ankle ... the amply
fleshed thigh.

Tyndall clung to consciousness
doggedly. The
Guardian was crushing the
last dregs of life out of him
now, and even the pain
seemed to recede. His mind
was very, very clear. So that
was it. A word once heard
in a long forgotten classroom,
and then the scientists
of the expedition. Metamorphosis ... he
had meant to
ask them what ... but he remembered
now ... what it
meant. A passing from one
form into another.... Had he
failed a biology test once
because he didn't know what
metamorphosis meant ... dimly
... dimly ... he saw ...

The last thing Tyndall
ever saw was the Priestess
Lhyreesa as she stepped out
of the empty hulk, kicking it
away with a disdainful toe.
Breathless from her ordeal,
she sank to the grass, her
breasts heaving with exhaustion.

She sat there for a few
minutes in the sunlight, then
she tossed her head and
spread her long raven hair
out on her shoulders, the better
to dry it in the waning
sun.