The Boy Who Had the Power - Jean Sutton, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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The Boy Who Had The Power -- Jean and Jeff Sutton -- (1971)
(Version 2002.09.29 -- Done)
For Erin and Michael Patrick Mahanay
1
SPRAWLED COMFORTABLY in the lush green panda grass, Jedro idly watched
the big yellow sun Klore slide downward toward the rim of the Ullan Hills. Its
warmth felt good. Far behind it, small and bright in the yellow-blue sky,
raced the small orange sun Bergon. Once Klore fell below the horizon, Bergon
would splash the darkening hills with its dusky orange light.
Jedro lazily reached out to scratch the ear of a browsing gran, his
thoughts languid. He seldom wondered that most of his days and nights, for as
long as he could remember, had been spent tending the sleek woolly animals
that grazed the rolling hills. He could scarcely conceive that life, at least
his own, could be much different.
Neither did he know that his memory cells were blocked.
Yet occasionally in the quiet of night, when Klore and Bergon were down
and the sky was agleam with stars, strange things nibbled at his mind --
unidentifiable things which crouched just beyond the borders of his awareness
so that he never quite managed to give them shape or substance. But he could
remember his life quite clearly, all the way back to that morning, some four
years earlier, when he had awakened in the attic room of Oscar Krant's ranch
house. That far he could remember, but no further. Beyond that morning was a
nothingness.
He had awakened, not knowing who or where he was -- a small boy staring
blankly at a dirty ceiling, the scarred and grimy walls that hemmed him in,
the tattered curtains that hung limply over the single narrow window. A stale,
musky odor touched his nostrils. Lying there, he wondered without wondering,
his mind grappling with an awesome vacuum. It was like gazing into a curious
emptiness that extended back and back and back.
Who am I? The question came unbidden, bringing a moment of stark terror.
His body shook convulsively. He gazed for a long moment at the pale light
filtering through the window before rising stealthily to pull aside the dingy
curtain. Trees, bushes, low rolling hills limned against a strange yellow-
orange horizon -- he knew what he was seeing, knew the names of most of the
objects that met his eyes, but with no comprehension of the source of his
knowledge. Neither could he remember ever having seen such a strange
landscape. That bizarre yellow-orange light on the horizon...He trembled and
moved his gaze.
His eyes settled on a dilapidated barn fronting a series of large fenced
fields that had been designed to hold what? He didn't know, for the fields
were empty. Trampled mud around a nearby water hole suggested that the fenced
areas had held animals of some kind.
He let his gaze wander. A rutted dirt road winding off into the
distance, an old wagon with a broken wheel, a small vegetable garden overgrown
with weeds -- his recognition came totally without conscious memory. It was as
if his strange surroundings had been conjured up in some nightmarish dream.
Who am I? The question came again, this time more forcefully. Swirling
out from some hidden place in his mind, it brought with it an anxiety that
caused him to tremble anew. Trying to remember was like looking into a black
and bottomless well; the effort was almost a pain. Closing his eyes, he fought
to think.
J-E-D-R-O...Letter by letter the name formed in his mind. Flaring there
in the darkness of his thoughts, it gave him an odd sense of identity. The
name (for he instinctively knew that it was a name) had seeped out from that
region of blankness from which he himself had seemed to come. I am Jedro! He
gripped the window ledge filled with the knowledge while the name surged
through his consciousness like a pleasant stream. He was Jedro!
A door slammed somewhere below, followed by the loud clomp of boots
coming closer. Frightened, he sprang back into bed and watched the door. It
opened and a heavy-set man with coarse, mean features stepped into the room.
His grimy trousers, faded shirt, and muddy boots were oddly at one with his
dark, scowling face.
"Awake, eh?" he snarled. "It's about time." Staring down at the boy, he
rubbed his nose on his sleeve.
Terrified, Jedro asked, "Where am I?"
"Where are you? Ha, you are dumb."
"Please," he whispered.
"My name is Mr. Krant, and you're here to work on my ranch."
"Please, Mr. Krant, how did I get here?"
Krant's eyes narrowed. "The fewer questions you ask, the better off
you'll be," he warned.
"But..."
"Get up," he roared. "Get dressed and go downstairs. I can't have you
loafing around all day."
"Yes, sir," Jedro answered hurriedly. Frightened and bewildered, he
hastened to comply. Krant left the room, clomping back down the stairs.
That's the way it had been that morning, when first he had awakened in
the attic room -- back at the edge of his memory, beyond which there was
nothing. Dressing, he'd hurried downstairs. Krant's wife, Lena, had served him
a bowl of cold mush. Thin and sloppy, with stringy gray hair that she seemed
to be continually brushing back from her narrow face, she didn't speak until
he began to eat.
Then she said to her husband, "He looks puny."
"I'll build him up," growled the rancher.
"Hmmmph!" She eyed Jedro disparagingly. Shifting uncomfortably, he
looked down into his bowl.
"Hurry up and slop it down," snarled Krant. "I can't wait all day."
Hastily gulping the mush, he trailed the rancher from the house. The big
yellow sun, balanced on the morning horizon, held an alien look that startled
him. Halting to gaze at it, he felt a slow hammering somewhere deep inside him
-- the hammering of a thought trying to break through into his consciousness.
That sun wasn't, wasn't.
"Hurry up," barked Krant. Jedro tore his eyes from the gleaming yellow
ball and hurried after him.
The rancher outlined Jedro's duties while giving him a quick tour of the
yard and barn. From early spring until late fall he would pasture Krant's
flock of gran in the Ullan Hills, moving the animals along the rolling slopes
to keep them from cropping the grass to the roots. Sleeping and eating in the
open, he would return to the ranch house only occasionally to get food; the
rest of the time he would be alone. He savored that.
Before the onset of winter the fattened gran would be herded into the
fenced yards to await the chain of relkdrawn wagons that would take them to
market in a distant town. Relks, Jedro learned, were large, flat-headed
quadrupeds that served both for transportation and as beasts of burden. Krant
owned two of the creatures, thin, nervous animals that were kept locked in
small stalls in one corner of the gloomy barn. They reared, snorting with
terror, whenever Krant entered. Their large, dark eyes rolling wildly, their
brown and white bodies would tremble. Sight of them evoked a deep stirring in
some hidden part of Jedro's mind, although he was quite certain he had never
seen such animals before. He could sympathize with them and understand their
fear.
"Not worth their feed," explained Krant. "Only use 'em a few times a
year to go to town or ride out to pasture. The rest of the time they're dead
weight."
"What are their names?"
"Names? They haven't any. They're just animals."
"They look hungry," he ventured timidly.
"No work, no food," snapped Krant. "That's the policy around here and
don't ever forget it."
He gulped, feeling a surge of pity for the animals. He could see no
reason why they couldn't be pastured in the nearby panda grass, especially
when the relks were only ridden a few times a year. He wanted to suggest it
but didn't dare.
The rancher pointed out the various tools and pieces of equipment,
explaining how each was to be used. "I'd better not catch you breaking
anything," he warned. It struck Jedro that almost everything he'd seen already
was broken, but he didn't say so.
As he followed the rancher outside, he glanced at the sky, then jerked
straighter. Two Suns! The big alien yellow sun and another -- a small orange
sun just lifting above the horizon. Fright stabbed at his mind.
"What are you gawking at?" growled Krant.
"Two suns," he exclaimed.
"What did you expect?" asked the rancher sarcastically. Caught with a
deep sweeping incredulity that told him that such a thing could not be, Jedro
scarcely heard him.
"An orange sun," he whispered.
"You'd better give me your attention," grated Krant, "because I'm not
going to tell you anything twice. You'd better remember that."
"Yes, sir." Jedro wrenched his gaze from the sky, his mind in tumult.
Again he had the impression of living a hideous nightmare. He could recognize
things that he was certain he'd never seen before, even read the words on the
supply containers he'd seen in the barn and know what they meant, although he
couldn't remember ever having seen a written word before. Yet he knew his
name, the individual letters that composed it. How was that? But a sky with
two suns! Although he couldn't recall ever having seen another sky, he knew
that two suns couldn't be; and yet they were.
Krant continued outlining his duties. During winter he would repair the
barn, fences, water troughs, and perform innumerable other tasks. There was
the garden to be tended, fruits and nuts to be picked, wood to be chopped.
After dark he would help Mrs. Krant in the house. Jedro couldn't imagine there
were enough hours in a day.
When his first day's chores were finished, long after the big yellow sun
and its smaller orange companion had set. Mrs. Krant provided him with a bowl
of watery soup, some greens from the garden, and a chunk of stale bread. He
gulped the food greedily, then asked for more.
"More?" she demanded. She towered over him, hands on her bony hips, her
narrow face wrathful. "You'll get exactly what I give you and no more," she
snapped.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered meekly.
Still feeling the pangs of hunger, he went outside. It felt good to
escape, even if for but a few moments. The sky was alive with stars and a cool
breeze touched his face. The cry of a nightbird came faintly from a distance.
Again he had the sense of the unfamiliar familiar. Whispers from a deep corner
of his mind told him that the strangeness around him was not strange at all,
but was merely things he had known in different shape, color, and context. But
two suns! He shuddered with the sense of something terribly wrong.
The consciousness of his hunger made him think of the relks. Glancing
cautiously at the house, he sneaked toward the barn. Reaching the door, he
hesitated, remembering how the animals had reared and snorted at Mr. Krant's
approach. If they kicked up a fuss with him, Mr. Krant would hear for sure.
Yet they had to be fed. The knowledge fortified his courage.
Boldly opening the door, he crept inside and paused in the darkness. To
his relief, he heard only a low whinny, followed by a stark silence. He had
the strange feeling that the animals had been waiting for him. Procuring an
armload of fodder from a bin he'd noticed earlier, he dropped half in each
stall.
The relks' eyes, aglow in the blackness, fastened on him. The animal
nearest him moved forward to brush its moist nose across his cheek. Gazing at
the creatures, he felt an odd sense of companionship with them.
"Eat, boy," he whispered. He patted the animal, appalled at its
thinness. It seemed scarcely more than skin and bones. As the relk dropped its
head and began munching, Jedro patted the animal in the adjacent stall and
went outside.
The next night he fed them again, and on the following night. On the
fourth or fifth night, as he stole toward the barn, he heard a loud snorting
in the stalls. Hoofs thudded against the wooden walls. Frightened, he halted.
Abruptly the barn door burst open and Krant rushed out.
"Caught you," he shouted angrily. He struck Jedro alongside the jaw,
sending him sprawling.
"I didn't do anything," Jedro shrieked, scrambling to his feet.
"Don't lie to me," roared Krant. "You've been feeding those worthless
relks." He lashed out again, a smashing blow to the ribs that sent Jedro
reeling back into the dirt. This time he was smart enough not to get up.
Krant sprang forward, glaring down at him. "That's just a small sample
of what you'll get if I catch you at it again," he shouted. His face contorted
with anger, he kicked Jedro savagely and strode back into the house.
Jedro pulled himself to his knees, staring at the rancher's retreating
figure. "I hate you," he said through gritted teeth. Holding his side, he
pushed himself painfully to his feet and gazed toward the barn. The relks had
tried to warn him! He felt grateful for that.
Each night thereafter he was more careful. Long after the Krants were
asleep, he would tiptoe from the silent house to feed the animals. Certain
that Krant was checking the fodder in the bin, he brought them fresh panda
grass from the nearby field. His reward each night was the nuzzling the
animals gave him.
It was the only love he had known that whole first winter.
But all that was long ago. Since then he'd learned many things. Here and
there, beyond the Ullan Hills, were villages and towns. Ramsig, a neighboring
gran herder, had told him of them. "Big towns," explained Ramsig. "Some have
four or five thousand people."
"That many?" Jedro was amazed.
Ramsig nodded. "One town around the curve of the planet -- they call it
New Portland -- has close to ten thousand people. It's the biggest town on
Doorn." His dark eyes gazed thoughtfully across the rolling hills of panda
grass. "That's hard to imagine."
"Ten thousand people," exclaimed Jedro. His eyes grew wide with wonder.
"Have you ever seen a town?"
"Little Paris," answered Ramsig. "That was close to six years ago. I got
to stay there for five whole days."
"What was it like?" he asked eagerly.
"Little Paris?" Ramsig rubbed his jaw reflectively. "What I remember
most were the trucks."
"Trucks?" The word held a familiar ring.
"They're like the flatbed wagons that haul the gran to market, only
they're drawn by what they call engines instead of relks," he explained. "They
go chu-chu-chu-chu, a real odd sound. They can go faster than a man can run.
Even faster than a relk," he added.
"I remember." Jedro searched his mind. "I heard Mr. Krant say that
people back on the home planet had millions of them."
"Earth? I've heard that. They say that place is just one big city."
Ramsig frowned. "Imagine a planet being all city? But it's true. I saw
pictures of it in a library."
"What's that?"
"A building in Little Paris where they keep books and tapes that talk.
They've even got a machine that makes pictures move, just like in real life.
Some of the pictures showed people flitting around in the sky in what they
call aircars."
"Aircars." Something pinged in Jedro's memory, then faded before he
could grasp it.
"You should see the buildings," said Ramsig. He gestured toward a
distant hill that humped against the sky. "Some were even higher than that."
"In Little Paris?" Jedro was awed.
"On Earth," corrected Ramsig.
"That must be a long way off," he suggested tentatively.
Ramsig smiled wisely. "Thousands and thousands of miles," he said. "It
goes around another sun."
"Another sun!" The words burned in Jedro's mind.
As Ramsig turned to leave, Jedro called after him, "Better find a good
shelter tonight. It's going to rain."
"Rain?" Ramsig glanced at the cloudless sky. "Not a chance."
"It's going to rain real hard," insisted Jedro. The gran herder,
striding down the slope, gave no sign he heard him.
That night, wrapped in his blanket under the shelter of an otog tree
while the rain slanted down, Jedro pondered all the wonderful things Ramsig
had told him. Most wonderful of all was the planet Earth that was all city.
People flitting like birds in aircars and buildings that touched the sky!
While contemplating the story with awe, he was aware that the scene the gran
herder had painted had roused small echoes in his mind. What was it that lay
hidden there? He struggled to bring it to the fore, and failed, yet retained
the awe.
Surely the universe was a strange place.
The following week, when their flocks came close together again, Ramsig
waved him over. "How did you know it was going to rain?" he called, as Jedro
drew near.
"I just knew."
"But how?" demanded Ramsig. "The sky was clear."
"I just felt it." Jedro didn't believe it strange; he always knew when
it was going to rain. It wasn't a feeling exactly, and yet it was. Because the
knowledge came so naturally, he had never questioned it.
"That's quite a trick," admitted Ramsig. It was his turn to be puzzled.
That summer Jedro kept his flock as close to Ramsig as possible, talking
with him at every opportunity. The tall, silent, taciturn youth, who liked to
stand facing into the yellow-blue sky, told him many marvelous things.
Ramsig said that the large yellow sun Klore and the small orange sun
Bergon went around each other, just as Doorn -- the planet on which they lived
-- circled Klore. Fascinated, Jedro drew their paths in the dust, trying to
imagine how it must be.
More magical yet was a third sun named Glost, which appeared as little
more than a red spot in the sky. One night, after both Klore and Bergon had
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