The Broken Cycle - A. Bertram Chandler [40]
But the garden was as rich in fauna as in flora. The castaways watched fishlike creatures and crustacea swimming and crawling in the stream and the lake. They found a sizeable flock of herbivores which, apart from their being six-legged, were remarkably like Terran sheep. And there were the birds, of course, brilliantly plumaged, noisy, although their general appearance was that of feathered reptiles. And where there were birds there must be eggs . . . .
But . . . .
Garden, or prison?
The terrain surrounding the oasis was a terrifying desolation. The outflow from the lake, after crossing a sharply defined border that had to be artificial, seeped into dry, dusty, dark brown sand. And that was all that there was outside the garden—a drab, dun, level plain under a blazing sun, featureless, utterly dead, although whirling dust devils presented a mocking illusion of life. Grimes, over Una's protests, tried to ride out on to it, but the wheels of his bicycle sank deeply into the powdery soil and he was obliged to dismount. He limped back to the grass, pushing his machine, his bare feet seared by the heat of the ground.
He dropped the bicycle with a clatter, sat with his scorched feet submerged in the cool water of the last of the stream.
He said, "Looks like we stay put."
"We have no option, John," she replied. "But things could be worse here."
"Much worse. But that desert, Una. It's not natural. This must be one of the worlds wiped clean of life in the war—and one of the planets selected by Zephalon, whoever or whatever he is, for making a fresh start."
"For maintaining, as our friend Panzen put it, the cycle," she agreed. "But we don't have to like it. I don't like it. This whole setup, apart from these bicycles, is far too much like the Biblical legend of Eden. And what did Panzen say to us? 'Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the Earth . . . .' "
"That's what Jehovah said to Noah after the Deluge, and that was a long time, many generations, after the original fun and games in Eden."
"Leave hair-splitting to the theologians, Buster. Eden or Ararat—so what? It's the principle of it that I don't like. I don't know your views on parenthood, John, but I know mine. I'm just not a mother type. Children? I hate the little bastards."
"You were one yourself once."
"So were you. You still are, in many ways. That's why I so very often feel a strong dislike for you."
"Mphm." Grimes splashed with his feet in the water. Then he said, "Even so, we should be prepared to make sacrifices for posterity."
"Since when has posterity ever made any sacrifices for us? Oh, it's all very well for you. You won't have to bear the brats. But what about me? You may be a qualified navigator and gunnery officer and all the rest of it—but you're certainly not a gynecologist, an obstetrician. Your knowledge of medicine is confined to putting a dressing on a cut finger. And since Panzen has stolen our boat you haven't even got The Ship Captain's Medical Guide to consult in an emergency.
"So . . . . I've been selected to be the Mother of the New Race, there just ain't going to be no New Race, and that's final."
"Looks like we have to be careful," muttered Grimes, staring into the clear, slowly flowing water.
She laughed. "Don't worry, lover boy. Yet. My last shot is still effective."
"How do you know?"
"I'll know all right when it's worn off. So will you. Until then . . ."
Her black mood had suddenly evaporated, and there was so much of her, and all of it good, and for a brief while Grimes was able to forget his worries.
Chapter 21
Life in the garden was pleasant—much of the time far better than merely pleasant—but it had its drawbacks. Lack of proper shelter was one of them. The days were comfortably hot and it was