Suddenly, the planet cracked. Fissures opened up between panels, as between pieces of shell in a well-cracked hard-boiled egg. The broken pieces began to separate; and then they were flying apart, seemingly propelled by flailing thick tongues of fire.
"Turn around," said the Borrynzian captain. The ship slowly swung 180 degrees around, and began to move off through space.
The Coryan leaders stood stunned and silent. The ship had been in motion for some time when it was suddenly jarred from the starboard side. The Coryan leaders stepped out suddenly to the port side, to keep their balances, lurching and leaning a little until the ship stabilized.
"We didn't move out fast enough," said the Borrynzian captain.
The Coryan prime minister looked at the captain. His face was pale and his eyes anguished.
"What do you want?" The words only barely came out.
"Cory and everything on it," said the captain.
"Or-or that?"
"Yes. Or that."
"Why?" cried out the prime minister.
"Because," answered the captain. "Because we can."
* * *
Robert Bentler was angrier than he had ever been; angrier than he had ever before thought possible for himself. Robert Bentler was a vastly wealthy man. He had created his wealth himself, over eighteen years starting when he was eighteen years old. He had created his wealth with the power of intelligence backed by the force of a strong personality.
He had become accustomed to people hearing him when he spoke. He had become accustomed to his carefully chosen words carrying weight.
Now he was stymied, and was unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist against his powerlessness. He truly did want to strike the insolent, heedless man before him. The man was mocking him, gloating and leering at every one of his questions, protestations and demands.
"How is this possible?" said Bentler. "In this day-how is this possible?"
"We have a monopoly of knowledge," answered the Borrynzian ambassador. "A certain essential piece of knowledge. We decided to press our advantage. Can you stop us?"
"You can't stop us. You have no allies. The other Utthrian nations have not spoken a word. They will not speak a word against us. They assume the Great Bomb did not coalesce out of thin air. They assume we have other, less great but still fearsome bombs. Do you think otherwise?"
"What will you do if we resist? The Urtthrians who live-who have lived, some of us our entire lives, on Cory. It is our planet too."
"Hardly. A few individuals, scattered across the planet? If you protest, we will ignore you. If you resist with violence, we will imprison you; and then who will hear you champion your Cory?"
"I want to see the footage," demanded Bentler, again.
"No again," said the ambassador. "It is proprietary. You are smarter than the Coryans-you might figure something out. Doesn't your company do tech?"
"Not this," said Bentler. "Not this perverted, low, manipulation of powers."
"Words," said the ambassador. "Not much good against a Great Bomb. Does it sadden you to know they're all you have to defend your planet with?"
* * *
ROCI PRACTICES BIG WORDS AND GREAT MEANINGS
Do you know what a hero is? Roci asked the cat.
It is not really a cat idea, said the cat.
Cory used to have heroes. Muri tells stories about them, and then I make them better. Do you want to hear one?
Very much, said the cat.
Do you see that mountain wall, over there? It looks like a wall, and you can see there's a big shadow, behind it. That is where the mountain elves live. They live in a great valley. There is a stream in the valley-it comes from way up in the mountain where there is nothing growing there but rock. The stream comes from great crystals that grow up there; and then they melt down down down into magic water. The mountain elves drink from the water to make them strong and healthy.
The valley has trees, with big round yellow fruit on the branches. The fruit shines, like small suns. The elves climb the trees, then pick the fruit and eat it. It has sweet juice that dribbles down their chins. They eat the fruit to make them happy.
The mountain elves have a 'heritance. The 'heritance is in a cave in the back of the valley. Leaves on long vines hide the door pretty good, so it looks just like part of the valley!
The 'heritance is treasure. It is all different colors-purple and red and blue and yellow and green and black and white and all sorts of different colors. Some are shiny and bright like stars. Some are deep and makes you stare in like a pool of water at night. The treasure fills the cave, in the back. It is the elves 'heritance.
The treasure is what makes the story serious. Even though the treasure is in the cave. Even though the cave is covered with leaves, so it looks like the valley. Some people are always looking for things like that. Some people are never satisfied.
Outsiders found the valley one day. They found the elves. Some way they found the treasure. They decided they wanted the treasure, and would take the elves too-why not? The story is very serious now-because of the treasure, and greediness.
But the elves have a dragon . . .
The elves have a dragon?
Yes. The dragon protects the valley. The dragon is red, and skinny, and long like the tree. She has great sharp teeth, and she flies. When she flies her long body wiggles like this, [Roci made a snaking forward motion with his hand] very slow and pretty. She is very pretty.
The dragon is a girl?
Yes, because otherwise if she dies there are no more dragons. Babies come from girls.
I did know that, said the cat. So the dragon is the hero?
I don't really think so. Dragons are born for to protect the elves and the treasure. They only have one thought in the mind. It's like they have to do it and just do it because that's what dragons do.
I think to be a hero you have to decide to do the thing. And it should be a very hard thing. Doing hard things on purpose is brave. When you are brave you are a hero.
But she is very loyal, and protects the treasure good, and it was sad when she died. She died because-because-I'm not sure why she died, but she had to, because that's 'versity. It's 'versity for the elves, because now they are helpless. 'versity makes a story more serious. Life is not too happy anymore, but the people must keep trying, and make it better.
But the dragon did leave an egg. That made them hopeful! The egg was very pretty. It was as big as my head, and red; with freckles in it like tiny stars and suns. If they could stay alright long enough, pretty soon there would be another dragon, and then they would be alright.
But it was getting very cold, up in the mountains. It is very cold up in the mountains. Eggs need to be very warm or they crack. When an egg cracks it is dead, and will never be anything, ever.
The elves have a friend. He used to be an Outsider, but he decided he liked the elves. He decided to stay with the elves. He decided to help the elves.
When the Outsider heard the mama dragon was dead, he ran to the cave. He picked up the egg and put it in his lap and hugged it between his arms and his [Roci pounded his chest].
The Outsider stayed all night in the cave with the egg. It was very cold in the cave, and the Outsider shivered, very bad. He thought he would never stop shaking. His hands and his toes were very cold, all the time. But he put his head down, and held his teeth together strong and waited.
Why not take the egg to a house? inquired the cat.
Because the elves do not live in houses. They don't get cold because they are magic, because they have a strong furnace inside, like you.
Another objection crept into the cat's mind, but he held his tongue. Roci answered it with his next comment, anyway.
It is important to have sakkyrifices. That is how you know somebody's a hero. They have to give something very hard to get something more better. They make the story more 'portant
and gooder. He is a hero because it's cold, and it's hard, but he wants the elves' baby dragon to live; so he stays with it.
So he stays with the egg, though it's so very very cold in the cave. He stays with the egg for days and days. Suddenly, he feels the egg-shake a little; it makes a little jump in his arms. Then there is a taptaptap, like the baby dragon is knocking, saying, "I'm coming out; I'm coming out; I'm coming out!"
The Outsider looks at the egg with eyes so big, in wonder. The baby dragon goes taptaptap, taptaptap, taptaptap. Then her head bursts through the shell of the egg, and she looks at the Outsider. The baby dragon's eyes are very pretty. They are blue like the sky, and she looks almost like she's smiling at the Outsider. The Outsider smiles back, very pleased.
The Outsider carries the dragon in his arms outside the cave. His feet hurts very much, but he walks slow and steady. His hands hurt very much, but he holds the dragon high to show the elves it is alright. The elves clap and cheer. He hurts inside, all over; but he shouts to the valley, "You have a dragon, again!"
He raises the dragon high once more. It rises from his hands and begins to circle the valley, very slow and pretty. She gives them a hopeful feeling.
Then the hero goes to his home, to rest. He is very tired but is happy.
So the hero has a house, then? asked the cat.
Yes. He is a man. Men have houses.
* * *
MORE THOUGHTS ON HEROES
You are like a hero, stated Roci.
I am a cat, said the cat.
When I said, "Stay away!" because they were setting traps for you; because you scratched the guard; you did not stay away.
Roci, said the cat, with some condescension-I have passed through more dangers in my life than even you can imagine. I am smarter than a trap; and so I do not fear them. I am not afraid of traps; and so I am not brave.
Roci thought about that thought, for a while.
Besides, continued the cat, I cannot free you. I cannot stop anything bad from happening to you. I am a cat, and I do cat things, because I want to. I like you; and I want you to be happy; and I do what a cat can to help you be as happy as you can.
I'm alright happy. Sometimes I am very not; but right now I am happy alright.
I think, said Roci, in a low confidential voice-I think there still are heroes out there. Niti says that's stupid. She says why would there be-no one cares about us. She says there's no reason why anyone out there should care about us.
I think there's reasons. I think if I was out there I would care about us. I think I would see the little boy and think-he looks so not happy. Then I think I would think-why is he so not happy? I know I would try to know, and when I knew I think I would try to do things about it. I think I would at least try to say-why does he have to be there? Why can anyone hit him who wants to? Why can anyone do anything they wants to to him? Why can't he do anything for him, or things get so worse?
I think I would think that, and say that, and do as much as I could. I think there must be people out there who can think, and say, and do like that too.
I know you are right, said the cat. I do know that you are most right.
* * *
I THINK I WOULD THINK
William Bentler was a father of seven, and a writer. This was how, and the order in which, he identified himself.
William was writing. Half-an-hour ago, after wiping up toothpaste spray and soapy water from the kiddy sink and mirror, and making sure the lights were out in most of his house, he had entered his study to do his second job. He had spent about twenty-five minutes thinking and five minutes writing. William was thinking when a door slam interrupted the process.
A few seconds later, the study door swung open.
"Hi, Dad!" shouted Jeffrey, who had not yet developed an indoor voice.
"Not sleepy, Jeffrey?"
"No. And Terrence kicked me out again."
"Were you teasing him, again?" asked William, looking seriously at Jeffrey.
"No, I wasn't! But I wasn't sleepy, and I was talking a little."
William smiled at Jeffrey's "a little." "Well," he said, "you'd better stay here until you are sleepy, then." Jeffrey hopped nimbly up onto the study's second chair, and began to spin it. William looked at his free, uninhibited, confident child, thought about what he had just been thinking about, and felt sad.
"Are you writing?" inquired Jeffrey.
"Yes."
"Are you scared?"
"No."
"When are you going to publish?"
"When I finish. I've only just begun this one."
"What are you writing about?"
"I'm writing another story about Roci."
"Can you tell me?"
William hesitated. "This one is-this one is very sad, Jeffrey. I don't want to make you sad, tonight."
"I'm not a coward," stated Jeffrey.
"Of course you're not," said William, puzzled. "Why would you be a coward?"
"Kerry says nobody reads your articles because they're cowards. She says they don't want to know what's going on, because they'd rather be happy and stupid than knowing and sad. I want to know what's going on. I want to know about Roci."
William made a mental note to himself, to talk to his daughter about the wisdom of badmouthing humanity to a seven-year-old.
"If I don't know, I can't do anything about it," persisted Jeffrey.
"Why don't you tell me what you already know about Roci," suggested William.
"All right," said Jeffrey. "I know . . . "
Two hours later, after carrying a sleeping Jeffrey to his room and checking once more for lights, William returned to his story. It was indeed a very sad story, and William was tired, and suddenly found himself crying a little. William had a vivid imagination; and he was seeing his son and his story's representative Coryan child side-by-side as he worked. He saw light, joy and freedom on one side; darkness, fear and helplessness on the other. He saw that only an accident of birth separated the children, and from there he easily saw Jeffrey in the Coryan child's place, and wept harder and typed faster, far into the night.
* * *
A VERY SAD STORY
Roci grew older. He began to spend a little less time with the cat and more in his own world with the other children.
Roci grew older. Over the months, the cat heard him transition from fanciful fairy tales to increasingly realistic stories about more modern heroes or Roci's rounded-out "family members". He would still come to the cat when particularly interesting stories would reach critical mass, and his head could contain them alone no longer.
Roci's plotting improved, aided by the cat-though he was still willing to compromise his plotting to satisfy his world-view. Never compromised were his beliefs regarding: beauty or hopefulness or the need for adversity and sacrifice.
Roci still ran to the cat for relief from trauma. This happened less often as Roci became one of the "older boys," outgrew Ugly and learned how to not get beatings. So the cat had not seen Roci for more than a week, and was hunting far out in a field when the shrieking began.
The shrieking was not Roci's-the cat knew his boy's voice, and also Roci didn't shriek any more. The cries were strangely uniform-each one of the same pitch, duration and small time interval between each. The shrieks whipped angrily through the air, one after another.
The cat froze for a few seconds, and then ran-towards the children's barracks. He ran up the tree and leapt off its branch. He hesitated at the inner border of the grass, looking towards the barracks. The shrieks pierced the air, consistently and incessantly.
It was two hours before midnight in a town that turned in early, and the cat could see lights turning on in houses very far away. A few minutes later, the cat saw a guard approaching the children's field, an angry energy in his posture and stride. The guard entered the field and strode swiftly across it to the barracks.
Now the shrieks began to bu
ild in strength and increase in quickness, accompanied now by many other cries of frightened children and desperate adults. The cat began to pace and whine.
Long seconds passed. The primary noise built and built and built, until it seemed strong enough to any moment blow out the stars and overcome the world. The cat began to paw at the ground; and then suddenly, all sound stopped.
The guard exited the children's barracks with a full plastic garbage bag. He carried his bag across the children's field, out, and quickly out of sight around the factory.
The cat lay down. He felt profoundly exhausted, frazzled and despairing. He would wait for Roci where he was.
Roci came to the cat in the early morning-he could not have eaten breakfast yet. Roci's eyes were swollen and his face was gaunt. The cat rushed to Roci and pressed against him side-to-side.