The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [51]
Only very mature and well-balanced minds could afford such honesty; only love based upon absolute unselfishness could survive it. Alvin could well understand that such a love would be deeper and richer than anything his people could know; it could be so perfect, in fact, that he found it hard to believe that it could ever occur at all.…
Yet Hilvar assured him that it did, and became starry-eyed and lost in his own reveries when Alvin pressed him to be more explicit. There were some things that could not be communicated; one either knew them, or one did not. Alvin decided sadly that he could never attain the kind of mutual understanding which these fortunate people had made the very basis of their lives.
When the ground-car emerged from the savanna, which ended abruptly as though a frontier had been drawn beyond which the grass was not permitted to grow, there was a range of low, heavily-wooded hills ahead of them. This was an outpost, Hilvar explained, of the main rampart guarding Lys. The real mountains lay beyond, but to Alvin even these small hills were an impressive and awe-inspiring sight.
The car came to a halt in a narrow, sheltered valley which was still flooded by the warmth and light of the descending sun. Hilvar looked at Alvin with a kind of wide-eyed candour which, one could have sworn, was totally innocent of any guile.
‘This is where we start to walk,’ he said cheerfully, beginning to throw equipment out of the vehicle. ‘We can’t ride any further.’
Alvin looked at the hills surrounding them, then at the comfortable seat in which he had been riding.
‘Isn’t there a way round?’ he asked, not very hopefully.
‘Of course,’ replied Hilvar. ‘But we’re not going round. We’re going to the top, which is much more interesting. I’ll put the car on automatic so that it will be waiting for us when we get down the other side.’
Determined not to give in without a struggle, Alvin made one last effort.
‘It will soon be dark,’ he protested. ‘We’ll never be able to go all that way before sunset.’
‘Exactly,’ said Hilvar, sorting packages and equipment with incredible speed. ‘We’ll spend the night on the summit, and finish the journey in the morning.’
For once, Alvin knew when he was beaten.
The gear that they were carrying looked very formidable, but though it was bulky it weighed practically nothing. It was all packed in gravity-polarising containers which neutralised its weight, leaving only inertia to be contended with. As long as Alvin moved in a straight line, he was not conscious that he was carrying any load. Dealing with these containers required a little practice, for if he attempted to make a sudden change of direction his pack seemed to develop a stubborn personality and did its best to keep him on to his original course, until he had overcome its momentum.
When Hilvar had adjusted all the straps and satisfied himself that everything was in order, they began to walk slowly up the valley. Alvin looked back wistfully as the ground-car retraced its track and disappeared from sight; he wondered how many hours would elapse before he could again relax in its comfort.
Nevertheless, it was very pleasant climbing upwards with the mild sun beating on their backs, and seeing ever-new vistas unfold around them. There was a partly obliterated path which disappeared from time to time but which Hilvar seemed able to follow even when Alvin could see no trace of it. He asked Hilvar what had made the path, and was told that there were many small animals in these hills—some solitary, and some living in primitive communities which echoed many features of human civilisation. A few had even discovered, or been taught, the use of tools and fire. It never occurred to Alvin that such creatures might be other than friendly; both he and Hilvar took this for granted, for it had been so many ages since anything on Earth had challenged the supremacy of Man.
They had been climbing for half an hour when Alvin first noticed the faint, reverberating murmur in