Dark Ararat - Brian Stableford [138]
There, if anywhere, she must be thinking, the descendants of the city-dwellers must be. But what kind of social life could they eke out beneath that enigmatic canopy?
Humans, as every anthropologist knew, were products of Earth’s African savannah. The crucial alliance of clever hands, keen eyes, and capacious brains had been forged by a selective regime of terrain where it paid to be tall, to hunt by day, and to develop tools for the primary biotechnologies of cooking and clothing. But none of that pertained to this mock-savannah or to these humanoids. The “grasses” hereabouts were far too tall to allow bipedal mammal-equivalents to peer over them. Even by day the world beneath the purple canopy would be dim, and even if the hunting were not poor, what scope could there possibly be for brain-building primary technologies? If there were no fires in the depths of that purple sea, how could there be people? How could the uncaring forces of natural selection ever have molded anything resembling people from its lumpen animal clay?
Matthew was on the brink of losing himself in such thoughts when verstehen brought him suddenly back to earth, telling him—with some urgency—that something was wrong with Dulcie Gherardesca’s posture.
It was not her stillness or her self-absorption that struck a warning note in his mind—she had been self-absorbed and seemingly tranquil all day—but a kind of tension that seemed to be building, little by little and not without resistance: a kind of resolve that was forming, little by little, and not untainted by doubt.
The warning note triggered a conviction, and the conviction a sudden determination.
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice very steady.
She heard him, and knew that he could only be speaking to her, but she didn’t turn around. For four long seconds it looked as if she might not deign to reply. Then she did, but still without turning to face him.
“Didn’t what?” she said.
He dared not heave a sigh of relief, even though he knew that the battle was half-won as soon as she consented to enter into a dialogue.
“Didn’t jump,” he offered, by way of unnecessary clarification. He knew that she had understood exactly what he meant. What he didn’t know was what to say next, although he knew that he had to say something, and make it good.
“You know,” he went on, after the slightest pause, “this is one of those embarrassing moments when nothing comes to mind by way of advice or reassurance but hollow clichés. I hope you’ll forgive me for sounding so utterly selfish, but the one reason that springs forth more rapidly than any other is that we really do need you. In fact, we can’t do without you. So even if the reasons for self-destruction were compelling, on a purely introspective basis, I really, really would rather you didn’t. Especially not now.”
“You don’t really need me,” she told him, bleakly. “There’s nothing down there, you know. Nothing useful, nothing enlightening. No answers.”
“We don’t know that,” Matthew was quick to say, having no difficulty at all in sounding sincere. “We haven’t the slightest idea what answers we might find down there, to what questions. That’s the whole point: it’s the great unknown. Even in your situation, I couldn’t even entertain the thought of coming this far and not going