THE CATERPILLARS QUESTION

"It is true that we do not understand the urges of human life," Abe said. "Either in their acceptance or their denial." He glanced at Candy, and Jack realized that none of them understood why he had not simply made sexual use of the woman when she suggested it. Maybe other galactic creatures had no hang-ups about that sort of thing. "However, the Imago may do as she desires. Nothing is denied her. She may splash in water or gaze at a text if she wishes."

"But she won't want to, you said."

'Past manifestations of the Imago have not had incidental interrests of the flesh."

"Because you had seven years to train them," Jack said. "There was no place for such things in your curriculum."

"True. What is your point?"

Jack took a deep breath. "You are right. I really do understand Tappy in a way that you don't."

"Therefore it may be possible to make the Imago functional in the current host, with your help, despite the extreme brevity of training. This is what we ask of you."

"You want me to talk Tappy into seeing and talking, so you know she is 'functional," so she can step right into harness now as the Imago."

"Yes. And thereafter, you must serve as her immediate adviser, so that she does not misuse the power of the Imago."

"And you don't care how I do it. I can talk to her, have sex with her, anything, just so long as she snaps to."

"Yes."

"And you will be advising me what to advise her, so that my own ignorance doesn't mess things up."

"True."

"How do you know I will do what you advise?"

"That was ascertained in the survey."

Jack was gaining respect for that survey. It hadn't seemed like much, but obv*ously they had fathomed his motives. If he agreed to the deal, he would honor it.

"And why do you figure she'll do what I tell her -to?"

"Because she loves you. This is a phenomenon we understand no better than we do the source of the power of the Imago, but we have seen its effect. She is immediately responsive to your will."

"But I don't love her!"

"Therefore you are objective. This is appropriate."

Jack ground his teeth. "Why don't you take a flying fuck at the nearest sun?"

"This is a rhetorical question?"

"This is a nonrhetorical no. I won't do that to Tappy."

Abe paused only that fraction of a second that passed for machine confusion. "Why?"

"Because it isn't fair to Tappy. She may be the host for the Imago, but she deserves some joy of life, an e the one who denies that to her. Especially I refuse to toy further with her emotions. She never did deserve that."

"It is concern for her larger welfare that mo it .,ates you".

"Yes. Want to verify it in your survey chamber?"

."No. We accept this. But we must remind you that Tappy's alternatives and ours are limited. We believe that the course we ask of you is best in the circumstance."

"Maybe you'd better spell out those alternatives for me."

"The first we have described: you will work with her, under our guidance, in this ma

"Got it."

"The second is to delay until the Gaol arrive and capture her.

The seven of us will then be destroyed, and Tappy will be cocooned for the duration of her human life, allowed neither freedom iloideath."

"God, no' I heard about that. No way."

"The third is the easiest and perhaps best, but we suspect you will object to it also."

"Maybe. Let's have it." He figured he had them on the run now.

"To destroy the host immediately, freeing the Imago for a future host who may have better prospects."

Then Jack knew he had lost his ploy. Of course that made sense! They served the Imago, not the host. They did have an easy way out. But it was impossible for him. Tappy had to live!

"You win. I will cooperate in the first course."

"We thought you would. However, your reactions have been irregular."

"But I have a condition."

"Is this something that will facilitate your effort?"

"I think so. You have told me the bleak alternatives. Now I'm telling you that you can't treat Tappy like a machine. You want me to make her do things which she fears will make her independent of me. That's the one kind of thing she won't do for me: help me get rid of her. Not if she knows what she's doing."

"We do not follow your logic."

"You don't have to. Just take my word for it. If I have to do your dirt, it has to be my way."

"What is your way?"

"Put us in your greenhouse."

Again that pause. "If this is not effective, we shall have to destroy both of you before the Gaol arrive."

They were machines. They did not bluff. He was putting his life on the line, and Tappy's. "Just don't jump the gun, okay?"

"You are asking us not to act prematurely?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall do it your way. When she is able to see you and talk to you, you must emerge from the garden. Then we will know that the two of you are ready."

Jack nerved himself, and gave himself no time to waver. "Then get on with it. Where's Tappy?"

The room widened. There stood Tappy, in the green dress and yellow sash he had imagined during the survey, with the matching ribbon. She was unscoffed, and her feet were in yellow slippers, without trace of any leg brace. Her body seemed to have filled out somewhat, though that could have been the enhancement of the dress. There was an intangible glow about her, which could have been the animation of the strengthening Imago, or of the love they said she felt for him, Jack. She was, to his eyes, at once young and vulnerable and in need of protection, and absolutely beautiful in her own right.

Then he saw that she held a book in her hand. That would be The Little Prince. He felt like laughing and crying, without being quite sure why.

"Tappy," he said.

She turned toward the sound of his voice, smiling. In her face was sheer adoration. But that was not what shocked him.

Then the chamber faded, and strange vegetation appeared around them. They were in the garden.

THE three-day garden, Jack thought.

The many-colored wonder around him, the exotic plants and queer insects, the multitude of birdsongs would, under other circumstances, have thrilled him. He would have run from this fascinating growth to that fascinating growth and dragged Tappy behind him while he chattered away, describing everything he saw, moving her hand so that she could feel the trunks and leaves and fruits and berries, all of them strange and delightful.

Not now. All he could think of was the time limit they had.

Three days. He had to perform a miracle before they had passed.

And he was no god. God, he was no god!

loveliness and form beauty. They imaged forth despair.

He closed his eyes to shut out the garden. He needed to think without distractions. A human in an unfamiliar place tended to think unfamiliar thoughts. It did not slide along the old groove; it lacked the oil of the accustomed; it halted because of the friction of the strange. True, the unfamiliar would, in time, become the familiar. But time was what he did not have.

He felt Tappy's left hand touch his right shoulder, move down fits arm, find his right hand, and slip hers into his. It was as if the correct key had been inserted into the correct lock. But, for some reason, the key could not turn.

He said, "It'll be all right, Tappy. We'll make it."

He opened his eyes. She was standing by his side, her head turned to took at him. Look? She could not see. If he did not find a way soon to restore her vision, both of them would be dead and forever sightless. That thought soared like a silent scream from the garden and drilled into the sky.

He was close to breaking down.