Whipping Star by Frank Herbert

Author:Frank Herbert [Herbert, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Science Fiction, Philosophy, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780399108617
Google: cD2tpwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0765317753
Goodreads: 2012
Publisher: Putnam
Published: 1969-11-29T12:00:00+00:00

It is impossible to see any absolute through a screen of interpreters.

—Wreave Saying

When you came right down to it, McKie decided, this Beachball wasn’t as weird a home as some he’d seen. It was hot, yes, but that fitted a peculiar requirement of the occupant. Sentients existed in hotter climates. The giant spoon where the Caleban’s unpresence could be detected—well, that could be equated with a divan. Wall handles, spools there, lights and whatnot—all those were almost conventional in appearance, although McKie seriously doubted he could understand their functions. The automated homes of Breedywie, though, displayed more outlandish control consoles.

The ceiling here was a bit low, but he could stand without stooping. The purple gloom was no stranger than the variglare of Gowachin, where most offworld sentients had to wear protective goggles while visiting friends. The Beachball’s floor covering did not appear to be a conventional living organism, but it was soft. Right now it smelled of a standard pyrocene cleaner-disinfectant, and the fumes were rather stifling in the heat.

McKie shook his head. The fly-buzz “zzzt” of Taprisiot contact every two seconds was annoying, but he found he could override the distraction.

“Your friend reached ultimate discontinuity,” the Caleban had explained. “His substance has been removed.”

For substance read blood-and-body, McKie translated. He hoped the translation achieved some degree of accuracy, but he cautioned himself not to be too sure of that.

If we could only have a little air current in here, McKie thought. Just a small breeze.

He mopped perspiration from his forehead, drank from one of the water jugs he had provided for himself.

“You still there, Fanny Mae?” he asked.

“You observe my presence?”

“Almost.”

“That is our mutual problem—seeing each other,” the Caleban said.

“You’re using time-ordinal verbs with more confidence, I note,” McKie said.

“I get the hang of them, yes?”

“I hope so.”

“I date the verb as a nodal position,” the Caleban said.

“I don’t believe I want that explained,” McKie said.

“Very well; I comply.”

“I’d like to try again to understand how the floggings are timed,” McKie said.

“When shapes reach proper proportion,” the Caleban said.

“You already said that. What shapes?”

“Already?” the Caleban asked. “That signifies earlier?”

“Earlier,” McKie said. “That’s right. You said that about shapes before.”

“Earlier and before and already,” the Caleban said. “Yes; times of different conjunction, by linear alteration of intersecting connectives.”

Time, for the Caleban, is a position on a line, McKie reminded himself, recalling Tuluk’s attempt at explanation. I must look for the subtly refined differences; they’re all this creature sees.

“What shapes?” McKie repeated.

“Shapes defined by duration lines,” the Caleban said. “I see many duration lines. You, oddly, carry visual sensation of one line only. Very strange. Other teachers explain this to self, but understanding fails . . . extreme constriction. Self admires molecular acceleration, but . . . maintenance exchange confuses.”

Confuses! McKie thought.

“What molecular acceleration?” he asked.

“Teachers define molecule as smallest physical unit of element or compound. True?”

“That’s right.”

“This carries difficulty in understanding unless ascribed by self to perceptive difference between our species. Say, instead, molecule perhaps equals smallest physical unit visible to species.

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