What Entropy Means to Me Read online

  Before him on the viewscreen the planet turned, majestic and egg-shaped. Its poles were capped nicely with white, but all the rest of the surface was covered with a dark floral green. Our Father knew fear. He rose from the control panel and joined his wife.

  "I think we're in trouble," he said.

  Our Mother sobbed. "Journey to a new home," she said. "Tomorrow will be brighter. You take care of it."

  "We were supposed to land in a great ocean. That planet down there doesn't even have a good-sized lake that I can see. The only water is one large river. There seems to have been some sort of inaccuracy."

  And so, by a fortuitous mistake, the errant ship brought Our Parents to our world of Home, instead of the golden cities of Ferkel's Planet. But trapped in orbit, with the ship's mechanism programed to land them in the midst of a nonexistent ocean, they were certainly in desperate circumstances.

  "Oh, what will they do?" asks Lalichë fearfully.

  "There, there," I say, stroking her fine black hair, "don't you think I have this all thought out?"

  "Oh, what will we do?" asked Our Mother fearfully.

  "I don't know," said Our Father. "There must be something. Ah, here!" He had found a small button labeled Emergency Only. He gave it a sharp push. A low humming caught his attention, and he turned to see a panel sliding open. He hurried to the secret compartment, which proved to be a sort of broom closet. It was filled with mops and buckets and dustpans. On a shelf in the back were cans of polish and wax, rolls of electrical tape, a small box of tools, and a thick, dusty book entitled Manual Operation.

  "Well, now," said Our Father jubilantly, "we appear to be saved. It is merely a matter of focusing my faculties and learning to land this craft before we starve, thirst, or strangle."

  "I'm behind you all the way," said Our Mother.

  "Fine, fine," said Our Father absently, as he began reading the instructions. Several hours later, armed with the knowledge contained in the technical book and a Phillips screwdriver, he had prepared the capsule for separation and a soft landing in the planet's only river. He returned to his bunk, and Our Parents settled back to await developments.

  "But landing in the River isn't anything like landing in an ocean," says Lalichë. "They'd be helpless if they survived. There aren't any teams of divers waiting to rescue them."

  Lalichë, though bright for her age, has never seen an ocean. A large amount of water is a large amount of water. Beyond a certain point it doesn't make any difference how far apart the shores are; besides, this is historical fact. The screwdriver is still on view in the East Foyer.

  It is true that Our Parents, plummeting down from orbit to land in six feet of water, might have been seriously harmed, if not killed, had these been ordinary circumstances. But my dear heretic sister forgets that the river is the River. They landed softly, with barely a jolt. The River welcomed them to Home by running softly and calmly; and when Our Father opened the hatch to push the capsule to land, the River obliged by altering its current. The water flowed transversely, from bank to bank, and soon the capsule was washed ashore. Our Father recognized the miraculous nature of this aid, and wanted to sacrifice something in gratitude. All that he had on hand was his wife and infant son, and a large load of books. He chose one of the latter, of course, a large coffee-table art book; and thus began our tradition of book-tossing. The River seemed pleased.

  "Is that really how it happened, Seyt?" asks Lalichë, eating the last of my snacks. "How did Our Father know that he could breathe the air and stuff like that?"

  Tere, forgive her. Ateichál, she's still very young. I try to explain to her that either Our Father was omniscient, or he wasn't. And if Lalichë chooses to argue that he wasn't, well, she can expect to lead a very lonely life. That's the point of faith. Isn't she at all interested in the weird green light that so fascinates Dore? Aren't we all supposed to be following with bated breath the hazardous progress of our brother? Perhaps I am being too subtle for her. I will dispense with artifice for the moment, for the benefit of my charming sister.

  "That's all right, Seyt," she says. "I was going anyway."

  In the morning Dore came downstairs, refreshed and anxious to continue his journey. He met the strange Dr. Dread in the great hall. The Doctor was evidently completing his own breakfast, and gestured to Dore to join him.

  "Thank you, Doctor," said our brother. "I slept very well."

  "You were not disturbed by any unusual noises?" Dore, his mouth already filled with cold roast, shook his head. "No screams? No pleadings or hideous shrieks?"

  "No," said Dore. "Did I miss something?"

  The Doctor looked down at his plate. "No, of course not," he said nervously.

  "Then I would like to thank you and be on my way. But first, I would be honored if you would let me repay you for your charity. Is there some chore that I might do to relieve you of the labor?"

  Dr. Dread appeared to consider Dore's more than generous offer. Then he looked across the table and smiled. "Yes, if you would, I have a small task that needs attention. I myself have been too busy with my researches. If you would, I'd consider it a great favor."

  "Not at all," said Dore, and the two men finished their breakfast in silence. Afterward the Doctor led Dore outside to a wooden building behind the house. It was about twelve feet high and twenty feet along each side. There were no windows and but one large door set in the front wall. From within Dore could hear loud scrapings and hangings, and every once in a while there was a thump as something struck the wall.

  "Is this a garage?" asked Dore. "What do you keep in there?"

  "That's not important," said Dr. Dread. "I want you to reinforce these walls. You cannot fail to be aware that this enclosure houses something monstrous and dreadful. I forbid you to open the door. You would have to destroy my ingenious system of locks to do that, but it has happened before, and the culprits are unanimous in their regret. If you would, I'd appreciate it if you would merely fasten these bars across the timbers. It may be a heavy job, but you will be granting me the most precious gift of all: peace of mind."

  "Why, certainly, sir. I'll need a ladder and certain tools. I like to work in an organized and efficient manner."

  "A man after my own heart," said the Doctor. "You'll find what you need around the corner of this shed." Dore turned to his labor, and the Doctor left him and returned to the house.

  As he worked, Dore did not think of the funny way things turn out. Here he was, the eldest son and leader of the powerful First family, doing carpentry for a neurotically secretive old man. He did not consider himself the least bit dishonored. He did not think that we, his brothers and sisters, would have been disgraced to see him working like a common serf. This is one of the reasons that Dore stands so far apart from us. There are other reasons, and it is my job to make them clear to you, as I've just done.

  During a short rest Dore leaned against the tightly sealed cage and looked back toward the house of Dr. Dread. Up in the tower where the Doctor worked, Dore saw the same strange green light flaring from a window. Dore became aware of movement in the distant chamber as huge forms chanced to pass in front of the window and block the emerald rays. Often the shape was recognizably that of Dr. Dread, but sometimes Dore saw hideous sights, as though the Doctor housed towering, monstrous things in his house as well as in the shed. But that, of course, was the man's business, and Dore returned to his job, finishing it shortly before dinnertime.

  "Come, my honest fellow," said the Doctor pleasantly, when he saw that Dore had completed his labors. "Let us have a last meal together. You may cover a goodly distance before nightfall, but I'll wager the miles will be shorter on a full stomach."

  "Thank you, sir," said Dore. "Indeed, I could use a few moments of rest."

  Dr. Dread grasped Dore's arm and directed him toward the house. The old man had a very forceful and direct personality, and Dore realized that under the proper circumstances Dr. Dread could appear to be cold and calculating. What could thi
s man's motives be? What strange goals eluded him?

  "I am very interested in you, my son," said the Doctor, seated with Dore once again at the table. "It saddens me that you are leaving, and that we have had such little time to talk, both absorbed in our respective tasks. I am always fascinated by that which makes one individual different from another. This is knowledge that has been hidden by the gods, and it takes a courageous or foolhardy man to tamper with that cosmic casket."

  Dore regarded the Doctor over the edge of his wineglass. "Fortunately for myself, I am neither."

  "Ah, then why did you find it necessary to disobey my instructions and peer within my coop of wonders? Did you find my collection interesting?"

  Dore set his glass down on the table and stared angrily at the Doctor. "You mistake me, sir. I never looked within that fearsome building. I was told not to do so, and I saw no reason to defy you."

  "You lie, young man. No one can resist."

  Dore was offended. He was angered that the man would judge him to be that weak, and then accuse him of lying. He rose from his chair, his hand straying to the hilt of Battlefriend. "Sir, again I thank you for your food and the lodging, but I —" Dore put his hand to his head. He felt dizzy, as though —

  "As though the wine had been drugged," says Lalichë happily. I was so engrossed in Dore's awful difficulty that I didn't hear her enter. Yes, dear little one, the evil Dr. Dread had drugged our brother's wine. Dore felt very sick —

  "The room began to spin and then everything turned black, eh?"

  Yes, Lalichë, thank you. Dore collapsed in his chair, and the last thing of which he was conscious was the triumphant leering face of Dr. Dread staring down at him.

  "Dore wouldn't have been suckered like that, Seyt," says my most tireless commentator. "Our Mother gave us so many good rules to follow. She taught us to judge bad people. Dore wouldn't have been fooled for a minute, once he saw that green light. What's inside that old shed?"

  Lalichë forgets that Dore did not think himself to be in any danger. He planned to finish his meal and bid Dr. Dread adieu. Our Mother's set of training principles was neglected for the moment. And, of course, this was the very sort of situation that she was trying to warn us about. She tried to impress us with the frustration of her position; the sole receptacle of wisdom on the planet, confronted with dozens of ignorant children who thought her old and silly. Whenever she said that, we'd all stand and try to convince her that she was wrong, that we didn't think that she was so old. Then she'd ask us to repeat her Precepts of Power. That's what she called them, Precepts of Power. I could never remember them, so I just moved my lips. All the girls had them memorized, though.

  Our Mother showed flashes of true concern for our education. She sometimes surprised us all by giving an unannounced quiz. She would go to the trouble of having some of the other neighbors originally from Earth come in to speak to us. She always called them "visiting lecturers," sometimes embarrassing the poor people as they stood before us in their tattered, home-made clothing. We were expected to listen closely, for each guest would recall details and scraps of life on Earth, things we knew nothing about and, perhaps, Our Mother had neglected. I remember once hearing old Charlie Twelve tell us about walnuts, about their sweet, ominous bat-shaped meats, looking sometimes like roast turkeys or warty busts of Zeus. For days afterward we tried to imagine the taste of walnuts, and we've never forgotten our feeling of poverty.

  And we tried desperately to include her in the growing relationship and joyful dependence we felt toward our adopted world. Only once did we carry her down to the edge of the River. She was always hearing us speaking of the River in hushed or excited tones, and she demanded to know what was going on. My older brother Sabt built a temporary throne for her in the mud of the Riverbank, and Nesp and Loml carried her, one holding her ankles, the other supporting her reverently under the arms. She sat with the water washing her feet and gazed wistfully downstream, crying and crying for her lost husband. My younger brother Wole claims that he saw a water sprite bow before the grieving figure of Our Mother. Later in the day we wandered off, one by one, to our chores or to seek other entertainment. So accustomed were we to having Our Mother fixed steadfastly on her throne that we all assumed that she had been returned to her place in the yard. But, sadly, no one had carried her back. She spent the rest of the day and all night by the water's edge, and in the morning when we went out to the fields we were horrified to find her throne empty. We had misplaced Our Mother, and we panicked until a cool head remembered where we had left her. It was a very embarrassing moment when we went to pick her up.

  Dore came to his senses strapped to an operating surface tilted almost perpendicularly to the floor. The first thing that he noticed was the ghastly green light in the room, indicating that he had been moved to the Doctor's secret laboratory.

  "Ah, welcome back, my young and curious friend. Did I not say that those whose inquiring minds got the better of their caution lived to regret it? Do you not wish that you had followed my advice? It was such a pity to spoil such a rare vintage with the sleeping liquor."

  "I insist, my impetuous host, that I never betrayed your trust," said Dore bravely.

  "Indeed? But it makes little difference now," said Dr. Dread, turning toward a bank of dials and flashing lights. "You are seeing too much to allow me to permit your escape. What would the innocent townsfolk do, after your tale confirmed their wild rumors and legends? Why, in no time at all I'd have a crowd of angry men out there, screaming for my life. Pitchforks, burning torches, the whole ugly scene. No, I'm afraid you'll have to continue to accept my meager courtesy."

  Dore heard a door slam, and though he couldn't see the door behind him, he did witness Dr. Dread's angry reaction.

  "Gort!" said the Doctor sharply. "Go back! Go back to your cell!" The Doctor picked out a flaming brand from the fireplace and waved it before him. Dore heard a loud, horrible rustling behind him, and he knew that it belonged to the demonic shape he had seen from the yard. The Doctor screamed, and Dore saw him throw the torch across the room. Dr. Dread hurried to the fireplace, but before he could find a new weapon the monster forced him into a corner. Dore could see it now: It stood easily ten feet tall, massive and globular in shape. It had neither head nor arms, but propelled its huge bulk on several thin, ropy appendages. Dore recalled that it was dark red in color, but looked almost black in the green light.

  "Call him!" said Dr. Dread hoarsely. "If you distract him, he'll be easily confused. Save me and I'll let you live."

  Dore took a deep breath and called the brute's name. As the Doctor predicted, it hesitated. It seemed to forget its furious attack on Dr. Dread, and stood in the center of the room, paralyzed with indecision.

  "My one defense is their stupidity," said the Doctor. "For years I have worked, building them up in size and mobility through selective breeding. Now I have the potential of a truly unstoppable army of vegetables!"

  "Vegetables?" asked Dore in astonishment.

  "Yes, I see that you're amazed. And well you should be. So should the entire world be, in a short time. Gort is the descendant of generations of genetically manipulated garden radishes. He is my prize, the most locomotive of my plant militia. Also, unfortunately, the most intelligent. That is why I need you, my feckless spy. Tonight I test my new toy. I shall transfer your human essence into Gort's nutritious self. Not your personality, or your memories, or anything like that. Just enough to make Gort a bit more of a man. And," said the untrustworthy scientist, "just enough to make you a bit more of a vegetable. I have dozens of these robots prepared, just waiting for this evening's success. Soon I alone shall rule; with my irresistible army I shall move from conquest to conquest. How can they stop a radish? How do you slay a scallion, a carrot? They have no vital organs at all. They're invincible!"

  "He's mad," says Lalichë bitterly. I reassure her.

  "I think not, evil one," said a new voice from the doorway. Our brother still could not see. He chafe
d against his bonds, but they were too strong.

  "Who are you, and how did you get past the guards?" said Dr. Dread.

  "My name is Glorian of the Knowledge, and one of the things that I know is that your cause, like all errands of wickedness, is doomed to failure."

  "Get me out of here, Glorian," called Dore.

  "Yes, my friend." And Glorian came around the platform on which Dore was prisoner. "Here," he said cheerfully, "take this." He put Battlefriend into Dore's hand. Immediately the iron shackles sprang open, and Dore was free.

  "How did that happen?" asked Dore in wonder.

  "Your enchanted sword conducted my inner wisdom, which, coupled with your own happy innate goodness, overpowered the bonds of corruption. But let us hurry, for our adversary has summoned his planty legions."

  "Thanks, Glorian," said Dore, rubbing his sore wrists. "Stand you behind me, for, despite your simple virtue, I see that you are defenseless. I shall try to keep them from you with the strength of my arm, dearest of friends." By now the room was crowded with the insane Doctor's vegetable guards. Great overgrown edible roots they were, milling about on disproportionately cultured secondary roots. The vegetables segregated themselves by variety: All the carrots grouped together, and the onions, scallions, beets, sweet potatoes, radishes, turnips, and garlics. Gort, their nominal leader, was now confused into inertness.

  "You may save your arm, my companion," said Glorian, "for you will see that they have none. What the good Doctor has forgotten is that his soldiers cannot grasp weapons, hurl grenades, or storm walls. Let us pass through them and go our way. Do not attempt to wound one, for with your especial sensitivity to green and growing things, you would be yourself disabled."