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  Jared swung his legs over the side of the ledge. "I don't hear what you're trying to prove. You mean you think-"

  But the other continued, "So you were going to attack a Zivver? That's a little hard to believe."

  First there had been Lorenz's open hostility. Then there was his jestful-or perhaps only superficially jestful-suggestion that Jared's abilities were Zivverlike. Now this latest obscure insinuation. It all added up to something.

  He caught the man's wrist. "What do you suspect?"

  But just then Wheel Anselm swept the curtain aside and strode in. "What's all this about attacking a Zivver?"

  Della followed him inside and Jared listened to her almost soundless motions as she came over to the slumber ledge.

  "That's what he was trying to do when he made his way over to the entrance," Lorenz explained skeptically.

  But Anseim missed the inflection. "Isn't that what I said he had in mind? How are you feeling, Jared my boy?"

  "Like I was clouted with a lance."

  The Wheel laughed patronizingly, then became serious. "You were closer to that thing than any of us. What in Radiation was it?"

  Jared considered telling them about his previous experience with the monster. But the Law of the Barrier applied as rigidly here as in the Lower Level. "I don't know. I didn't have much time to listen to it before I took that lance."

  "Cobalt," Adviser Lorenz murmured. "Must have been Cobalt."

  "Might have been Cobalt and Strontium," Della suggested distantly. "Some got the impression there were two monsters."

  Jared stiffened. Hadn't his dream, too, intimated there were more than one of the incredible creatures?

  "Light-it was awful!" Anselm agreed. "It must have been the Twin Devils. What else could throw such uncanny things into your head like that?"

  "It didn't, as you say, 'throw things' into everybody's head," the Adviser reminded officiously.

  "True. Not all felt what I felt. For instance, none of the fuzzy-faces remember anything that odd."

  "I don't either, and I'm not a fuzzy-face."

  "There were a few besides the fuzzy-faces who didn't feel the sensations. How about you, my boy?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Jared lied, sparing himself the necessity of going into details.

  Anseim and Lorenz fell silent while Della laid a hand gently on Jared's forehead. "We're preparing something for you to eat. Is there anything else I can do?"

  Confused, he trained an ear on the girl. She'd never spoken that charitably before!

  "Well, my boy," Anselm said, backing off, "you take it easy for the rest of your stay-until you're ready to return home for Withdrawal and Contemplation Against Unwise Unification."

  The curtains swished as he and the Adviser left.

  "I'll hear about that food," Della said, and followed them out.

  Jared lay back on the ledge, exploring the soreness beneath the bandage. Still fresh in memory was his encounter with the monster-or monsters. In their presence, he had experienced the identical sensation he had felt in the Original World. For a moment, as he recalled the impression of uncanny pressure on his face, it seemed as though his eyes had received most of the force. But why? And he was still puzzled that Owen hadn't experienced the peculiar feeling. Could his friend's closed-eyes preference possibly have had anything to do with his not having sensed the psychic pressure?

  Della returned and he heard that she was carrying a shell filled with-he listened to the consistency of the liquid and sniffed its faint aroma-manna tuber broth. But he sensed more than that. There was something he couldn't identify in her other hand.

  "Feel well enough for some of this?" She extended the bowl.

  Her words had been feather-edged with concern and he was at a loss to explain her sudden change of heart.

  Something warm dripped on his hand. "The broth," he cautioned, "you're spilling it."

  "Oh." She leveled the bowl. "I'm sorry."

  But he listened sharply at the girl. She hadn't even heard the liquid running down the outside of the shell. It was as though she were practically deaf!

  Improvising a test, he whispered almost subvocally, "What kind of broth is this?"

  There was no response. She had no fine hearing at all! Yet, after the formal dinner, she had heard well enough to use as a target the swirling fluidity of a pool so small and so silent that he hadn't even been aware of its presence.

  She put the bowl on a nearby shelf and extended the object in her other hand. "What do you think of this, Jared?"

  He inspected the thing. Clinging to it was the scent of the monster. It was tubular, like a manna stalk, but cut off on both ends. The smooth face of the larger end, however, was shattered. He ran a finger into the break and felt a hard, round object within. Withdrawing his finger, he cut it against something sharp.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know. I found it at the entrance. I'm sure one of the monsters dropped it."

  Again he felt the round thing behind the broken surface. It reminded him of-something.

  "The big end was-warm when I picked it up," she disclosed.

  He cast his ears warily on the girl. Why had she hesitated before the word "warm"? Did she know it was heat that Zivvers zivved? Was she furtively bringing up the subject so she could hear his reaction-perhaps even trying to test the Adviser's insinuation that he might be a Zivver? If that was her intention, it was well hidden.

  Then he jolted erect. Now he remembered what the round object in the broken end of the tube reminded him of! It was a miniature version of the Holy Bulb used during religious services!

  And he shook his head in bewilderment. What sense did that fool paradox make? Wasn't the Holy Bulb associated with Light-with goodness and virtue-rather than with hideous, evil monsters?

  His remaining periods in the Upper Level were uneventful to the point of monotony. He found the people not at all friendly. Their experience with the monsters had left them apprehensive and distant. More than once his words had gone unheard while quickened heartbeats reflected lingering fear.

  If it hadn't been for Della's presence, he might have returned home before his scheduled departure. As it was, though, the girl was a challenging enigma.

  She stuck close by all the while. And the friendship she extended was so profuse that he often felt her hand slipping into his as she took him about the world acquainting him with the people.

  On one occasion Della added to the mystery when she paused and whispered, "Jared, are you hiding something?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I'm a pretty good marksman myself, don't you think?"

  "With rocks-yes." He decided to nudge her on.

  "And I'm the one who found that thing the monsters left behind."

  "So?"

  Her face was turned eagerly toward his and be studied her in the sound of the central caster. When he said nothing more, he heard her breathing become heavy with exasperation.

  She turned to walk away but be caught her arm. "What do you think I'm biding, Della?"

  But her mood had changed. "Whether or not you've decided to Declare Unification Intentions."

  That she was lying had been obvious.

  Yet, throughout the final two periods she seemed to hang onto everything he said, as though his next words might be the very ones she wanted to hear. Even up to the moment of his departure her disposition was one of restrained expectancy.

  They were standing by the manna orchard, with his escort party waiting at the entrance, when she said reproachfully:

  "Jared, it isn't fair to hold anything back."

  "Like what?"

  "Like why you can-hear so well."

  "The Prime Survivor spent all his time training me to-"

  "You've told me all about that," she reminded impatiently. "Jared, if we're of the same mind after Withdrawal and Contemplation, we'll be Unified. It wouldn't be right to keep secrets then."

  Just when he was at the point
of demanding to know what she was driving at, Lorenz walked up with a bow slung over his shoulder.

  "Before you leave," he said, "I thought you might give me a few pointers on archery."

  Jared accepted the bow and quiver, wondering why Lorenz should suddenly want to improve his marksmanship. "Very well, I don't hear anybody over on the range."

  "Oh, but the children will be playing there in a few beats," the Adviser dissented. "Listen at the orchard. Can you hear that tall manna plant right in front of you, about forty paces off?"

  "I hear it."

  "There's a fruit shell on the highest stalk. It ought to make a good enough target."

  Backing well away from the vapors of the nearest boiling pit, Jared rattled a pair of clickstones. "With a stationary target," he explained, "you first have to sound it out clearly. The central caster doesn't give a precise impression."

  He strung an arrow. "Then it's important not to move your feet, since you're oriented only in your original position."

  Releasing the bowstring, he listened to the arrow pass more than two arm lengths above the shell.

  Surprised that he should miss by that much, he sounded the stones again. But from the corner of his hearing he caught Lorenz's reaction. The Adviser's expression was one of nearly irrepressible excitement. Della, too, wore an almost ecstatic tone on her face.

  Why should they be overjoyed because he had failed to hit the shell? Bewildered, he strung another arrow and let it fly.

  It went astray by the same distance.

  Now the Adviser and the girl sounded even more jubilant. But Lorenz exuded triumph, whereas Della seemed intensely gratified.

  He missed with two more shots before he wearied of their incomprehensible game. Annoyed, he dropped the bow and quiver and headed for the exit where the escort party awaited. After he had gone several paces he realized why his aim had been off. Standard bowstring tension here was greater than in his world! It was that simple. He even remembered now that the string had felt stiffer.

  Then he stopped short. Abruptly he heard everything clearly. He knew why Lorenz had reacted as he had when the arrows missed-even why the archery exhibition had been arranged in the first place.

  In order to protect his status as Adviser, Lorenz was intent on disqualifying him from Unification with Della. What better way than to prove him a Zivver?

  The Adviser must have known Zivvers couldn't ziv in the heat of an orchard-hot springs area. And, since Jared had consistently missed the target there, Lorenz must now be certain he was a Zivver.

  But what was the girl's interest? Evidently she also knew of the Zivvers' limitation. And she had recognized what the test might prove, even though she may not have known it was contrived specifically for that purpose.

  But, then, she had actually been elated over his failure to hit the shell. Why?

  "Jared! Jared!"

  He listened to Della running forward to overtake him.

  She caught his arm. "You don't have to tell me now. I know. Oh, Jared, Jared! I never dreamed anything like this would happen!"

  She drew his head down and kissed him.

  "You know-what?" he asked, drawing her out.

  She went on effusively, "Don't you hear I suspected it all along-from the moment you threw the spears? And when I brought you that tube the monster dropped I all but said I had found it by its heat. I couldn't make the first move, though-not until I was certain you were a Zivver too."

  From the depths of his astonishment, he managed to ask, "Too?"

  "Yes, Jared. I'm a Zivver-just like you."

  The Captain of the Official Escort came over from the entrance. "We're ready whenever you are."

  Chapter Five

  Rigid self-discipline was customary in Withdrawal and Contemplation. So crucial a decision called for searching introspection. For Unification automatically meant full Survivorship-a double measure of responsibility. Then too, one so dedicated also had to concern himself with the demanding obligations of Procreating and Familiarization of Progeny.

  These considerations were far from Jared's mind over the next few periods, however, as he meditated in the silence of his heavily curtained grotto. He thought of Della-yes. But certainly not in the sound of normal Unification. Rather, his speculation centered on the significance of her being a Zivver. How had she managed to conceal that fact? And what were her intentions?

  At that, though, the situation was not without humor. There was Lorenz-on a Zivver hunt. And all the while he had one right beside his ear! As far as Jared was concerned, the girl would be conveniently available for counteraccusation should the Adviser ever decide to accuse him of being a Zivver.

  If he so chose, he could expose her any time he wanted. But what would he gain? Anyway, the fact that she thought he was a Zivver made for an interesting situation and he was anxious to hear what would come of it.

  This line of thought invariably led to conjecture on the nature of zivving. What magical power was it that permitted one to know where things were in total silence and in the absence of odors? Or, like his imaginary Little Listener, did Zivvers hear some sort of soundless noise made by all things, animate and inanimate alike? Then he remembered it wasn't sound at all, but heat that they zivved.

  Each time his attention wandered to these irrelevant matters, he knew he was not rendering full service to the spirit of Withdrawal and Contemplation. Yet, he supposed all of these subjects deserved exploration under the special conditions of his Unification.

  He spared himself one possible distraction, though, in not telling the Prime Survivor about the monsters' invasion of the Upper Level. That would only have revived condemnation of his trip to the Original World.

  On the fourth period of retreat he was jolted from meditation by a commotion in the world outside. At first he thought the monsters had reached the Lower Level. But there was not so much consternation as dismay in the voices of those streaming toward the orchard.

  They had all abandoned the residential area by the time he decided on interrupting Withdrawal. He started after them. But halfway across the world, the central caster fetched impressions of the Prime Survivor and Elder Haverty coming in his direction.

  "How long did you expect to keep it a secret?" Haverty was asking.

  "Until I could decide what to do about it, at least," the Prime Survivor answered glumly.

  "Eh? What? I mean, what can you do about something like that?"

  But the other had detected Jared. "So you broke Withdrawal," he observed. "I suppose it's just as well."

  Haverty excused himself, explaining that he was going to hear if Elder Maxwell had any ideas on how to cope with the situation.

  "What happened?" Jared asked after the other had gone.

  "We've just had nine hot springs go dry." The Prime Survivor led the way toward their grotto.

  Jared was relieved. "Oh. I thought it might be soubats, or maybe Zivvers."

  "I wish to Light that's all it was."

  In the curtain-shielded privacy of their recess, the Prime Survivor paced aimlessly. "This is a critical situation, Jared!"

  "Maybe the springs will start flowing again."

  "The other three that dried up haven't started again. I'm afraid they're out for good."

  Jared shrugged. "So we'll have to do without them."

  "Don't you hear the seriousness of this thing? We have a tight, delicate balance here. What's happened might well mean some of us won't be able to survive!"

  Jared started to offer further encouragement. But suddenly he was preoccupied with self-concern. Was this part of the pattern of punishment he had brought on by provoking the Original World monster? Hot springs going dry in both the Upper and Lower Level, evil beings pushing past the Barrier-were they all actually strokes of vengeance by an offended Light Almighty?

  "What do you mean-'some of us won't be able to survive'?"

  "Figure it out yourself. Each hot spring feeds the tendrils of a hundred and twenty-five manna plants a
t the most. Nine dead boiling pits means almost twelve hundred fewer plants."

  "But that's just a fraction-"

  "Any fraction that reduces the survival potential is a critical factor. If we apply the formula, we hear that with the less hot springs we can support only thirty-four head of cattle instead of forty. All the other livestock will have to be reduced proportionately. In the long run it will mean seventeen less people can exist here!"

  "We'll make up the difference with more game."

  "There'll be less game-with more soubats than ever flying the passageways."

  The Prime Survivor stopped pacing and stood there breathing heavily. Clickstone echoes weren't needed to tell that he was crestfallen, that the creases in his face were etched even more deeply.

  Jared couldn't escape a sense of helplessness as he thought of man's absolute dependence on the manna plants. Actually, they stood between the Survivors and death, providing as they did food for humans and livestock alike; rich juices; fibers for the women to twist into cloths, ropes and fishing nets; shells that could be split in half and used as containers; stalks that could be dried out sufficiently for sharpening into a spear or arrow.

  Now, almost bitterly, he could recall his father's voice finding new depths of respect and thoughtfulness gestations ago in reciting one of the legends:

  "Our manna trees are a copy of the magnificent plants created by Light in Paradise-but a poor copy indeed. Light's creation was topped by thousands of gracious, lacy things that swayed in the breeze and made whispering noises while they enjoyed constant communion with the Almighty. They drank of His energy and used it in such a manner as to mix the water they drank with bits of soil and with the air that men and animals breathed out. And they transformed these things into food and pure air for man and animal alike.

  "But Light's plant wasn't good enough. It seems we had to fashion a tree without the graceful, whispering things at the top-one which has, instead, great masses of awkward feelers that grow deep into the boiling pits. There they draw energy from the water's heat and use it to transform the foul air of the worlds and passageways and the elements from compost into fibers and tubers, fruit and fresh air."