"They all have tired brains," Oar told me. "They are old and tired — and rude," she added, raising her voice pointedly. "They have nothing else they want to do, so they lie here."

"Don't they eat or drink?"

Oar shook her head. "They absorb water from the air… and absorb the light too. My sister said the light in this building is nutritious — good enough anyway for people who do nothing. I do not understand how light can be nutritious, but my sister claimed it was true."

Having lived with solar energy all my life, I had no trouble appreciating how light could "feed" an organism; but clear glass was not a good photo-collector. It's better to be opaque to the light you're trying to absorb… and then it occurred to me, these bodies were opaque to most nonvisible wavelengths. A quick Bumbler check confirmed it — the deceptively muted light inside this building was laced with enough UV to bake potatoes. I shuddered to think what other radiation might be flooding the air… say, microwaves and X-rays.

"Let's go outside," I told Oar briskly. "You've probably never heard the word 'melanoma'… but I have."

The Surrender

The light outside was not so lethal — the Bumbler certified it fell within human safety limits. Obviously, the tower containing Oar's ancestors was shielded to keep all that juicy radiation inside… which only made sense. If you devoted so much wattage to feed solar-powered people, you didn't want energy spilling uselessly through the walls. Whatever the tower was made of, it certainly wasn't ordinary glass; it held in everything but visible light, making a high-band hothouse for photosynthesizing deadbeats.

"They really just lie in there all day?" I asked.

"Most have not moved in centuries. That is what my mother said her own mother claimed. As long as I have lived, only my mother and sister have moved."

"But now your mother is dormant and your sister left with Jelca?"

"Yes. I have been alone the last three years."

I felt the urge to touch her — pat her shoulder, give her a hug, pass on comfort somehow. But I didn't; I didn't know the right thing to do.

"It's hard being alone," I finally said. "It's a wonder you haven't laid down with the others."

"I do sometimes," she told me. "Sometimes I go into the tower to be with people. Once in a while… once in a while, I see if I can lie with a man and get him to give me his juices; but it never works and I just get sad."

She spoke in a halting voice. I didn't know how to answer. Finally I said, "You can't die, can you? Your species can't die."

"We are not such things as die," she whispered. "We do not get damaged. We do not grow old and sick like animals. If you had left me in the lake, Festina, I would have lived and lived… under the water, too weak to move, but still alive.

"Our bodies live forever," she continued, "but our brains slow down after a time. When people's brains grow tired and there is nothing else they want to do, they just lie down. It is called the Surrender. Some people surrender outside — in the grass, on the sand, or in the water — but most come home to this tower. It is pretty and comfortable here; and the light gives enough strength that you can always move if you want to. My mother said that was good: she felt she could get up any time she had a reason. She just couldn't think of a reason."

I couldn't meet Oar's gaze. "I'm proud of you," I said, finding it hard to force the words out.

"Why are you proud of me, Festina?"

"Because you aren't in there with everyone else." I grabbed her arm to pull her away from the building… or rather to touch her in the only way I could justify. "Come on — you were showing me the sights. Let's keep going."

And we did.

By the Fountain

We stood in the central square of the village, directly in front of the glass fountains that chattered in the middle of the plaza. Oar walked up to one, spreading her arms and watching her skin mist up in the humid air. The look she gave me, back over her shoulder, suggested she considered such behavior daring.

"My mother called this The Fountain of Tomorrow" Oar said. "The other is The Fountain of Yesterday." She paused. "They look very much the same, do they not?"

"Too much." I wondered if that was the fountain-builder's point. "Oar," I asked, "what do you do all day?"

"Why do you ask, Festina?"

"You don't have to work to survive. You can get food just by asking the synthesizer, you don't wear clothes, and this village clearly runs itself automatically. You must have done things with your sister while she was here; but how do you fill your days now?"

Oar didn't answer immediately; she stayed motionless in the fountain's mist, water beading on her skin. It made her easier to see — like the glass of a bathroom mirror, fogged after a long hot shower. Finally, she turned and sat on the edge of the fountain. Her movement shook loose the larger droplets, sending them trickling down her body.

"I clear fields, Festina. That is what I do."

"Clear fields? Why? Do you grow crops?"

"I just clear fields," she answered. "Jelca said it should be done. He said that civilized races always cleared fields on their worlds. When I asked why, he refused to tell me. He said he should not have mentioned it in the first place — that Explorers were not supposed to influence the people they met. He told me to forget it. But I did not forget. And if he ever comes back, he will see that I am a civilized person, not stupid at all."

"So you… clear fields."

"Yes." Her voice was proud. "In addition to the machine that makes food, this city has machines for making many other things… if you know how to ask. I asked a toolmaking machine for such a blade as could cut down trees. The machine gave me a good blade indeed. So now I cut down trees every night, when no one is watching. I cut the wood into pieces that I can carry away, then I cover the stumps with grass and leaves."

"You've been doing that ever since Jelca left?"

"Yes. It is hard work, but when he comes back, he will be sorry he did not understand how civilized I am."

"I'm sure he will."

Our probes had reported this area was too clear of trees. All the work of one woman? Could one person cut enough forest that it was noticeable from space? Amazing. And all on the strength of a slip of Jelca's tongue.

Oar sat on the edge of the fountain, dribbles of water pouring down her arms, her shoulders, her face.

"My sister has never cut a tree in her life," she said.

"Which proves she isn't civilized?"

"That is correct." Oar smiled. "Come, Festina. I will show you Jelca's house."

Prototypes

"This is where Laminir Jelca chose to live," Oar said. But she didn't have to tell me that.

While touring the village, I had peeked into several glass buildings, all bare of any adornment except dust. The blockhouse we had just entered was different: strewn with discarded circuit boards, coils of wire, and stripped insulation. A small fraction of the material must have come from the Technocracy — I recognized a familiar D-thread chip, straight out of a tightsuit pressure monitor — but most of it was native to Melaquin.

It was easy to tell the difference: all the Melaquin components were clear and transparent. Nudging a see-through cable with my toe, I wanted to growl, "Haven't you people heard of copper?"

Jelca probably felt the same way — after all, he had to work with the stuff. Many of the glasslike parts were labeled in thick black letters from the marker pen all Explorers carry: RESISTOR, 10 OHMS… FUSE, AT LEAST 15 AMPS… BAD TUNNEL-TUBE, DO NOT USE. How he had identified these things, I couldn't imagine; but as I said before, Jelca came from a line of dabblers in electronics. With the aid of his Bumbler, he could analyze almost anything, given enough patience… and enough duplicate parts for the times he guessed wrong.