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.These organs were eyes, developed, perhaps, from far more primitive light-sensitive cells, such as many forms of terrestrial flora possess.But during those early months, the spore plant saw little that could be interpreted as a threat, swiftly to be fulfilled.Winter ruled, and the native life of this desolate region was at a standstill.There was little motion except that of keen, cutting winds, shifting dust, and occasional gusts of fine, dry snow.The white, shrunken Sun rose in the east, to creep with protracted slowness across the sky, shedding but the barest trace of warmth.Night came, beautiful and purple and mysterious, yet bleak as the crystalline spirit of an easy death.Through the ages, Earth's rate of rotation had been much decreased by the tidal drag of Solar and Lunar gravities.The attraction of the Moon was now much increased, since the satellite was nearer to Terra than it had been in former times.Because of the decreased rate of rotation, the days and nights were correspondingly lengthened.All the world around the spore plant was a realm of bleak, unpeopled desolation.Only once, while the winter lasted, did anything happen to break the stark monotony.One evening, at moonrise, a slender metal car flew across the sky with the speed of a bullet.A thin propelling streamer of fire trailed in its wake, and the pale moonglow was reflected from its prow.A shrill, mechanical scream made the rarefied atmosphere vibrate, as the craft approached to a point above the desert gully, passed, and hurtled away, to leave behind it only a startling silence and an aching memory.For the spore plant did remember.Doubtless there was a touch of fear in that memory, for fear is a universal emotion, closely connected with the law of self-preservation, which is engrained in the texture of all life, regardless of its nature or origin.Men.Or rather, the cold, cruel, cunning little beings who were the children of men.The Itorloo, they called themselves.The invader could not have known their form as yet, or the name of the creatures from which they were descended.But it could guess something of their powers from the flying machine they had built.Inherited memory must have played a part in giving the queer thing from across the void this dim comprehension.On other worlds its ancestors had encountered animal folk possessing a similar science.And the spore plant was surely aware that here on Earth the builders of this speeding craft were its most deadly enemies.The Itorloo, however, inhabiting their vast underground cities, had no knowledge that their planet had received an alient visitation-one which might have deadly potentialities.And in this failure to know, the little spore plant, hidden in a gully where no Itorloo foot had been set in a thousand years, was safe.Now there was nothing for it to do but grow and prepare to reproduce its kind, to be watchful for lesser enemies, and to develop its own peculiar powers.It is not to be supposed that it must always lack, by its very nature, an understanding of physics and chemistry and biological science.It possessed no test tubes, or delicate instruments, as such things were understood by men.But it was gifted with something-call it an introspective sense- which enabled it to study in minute detail every single chem-ical and physical process that went on within its own substance.It could feel not only the juices coursing sluggishly through its tissues, but it could feel, too, in a kind of atomic pattern, the change of water and carbon dioxide into starch and free oxygen.Gift a man with the same power that the invader's kind had acquired, perhaps by eons of practice and directed will- that of feeling vividly even the division of cells, and the nature of the protoplasm in his own tissues-and it is not hard to believe that he would soon delve out even the ultimate secret of life.And in the secret of life there must be involved almost every conceivable phase of practical science.The spore plant proceeded with its marvelous self-education, part of which must have been only recalling to mind the intricate impressions of inherited memories.Meanwhile it studied carefully its bleak surroundings, prompted not only by fear, but by curiosity as well.To work effectively, it needed understanding of its environment.Intelligence it possessed beyond question; still it was hampered by many limitations.It was a plant, and plants have not an animal's capacity for quick action, either of offense or defense.Here, forever, the entity from across the void was at a vast disadvantage, in this place of pitiless competition.In spite of all its powers, it might now have easily been destroyed.The delicate, ruined tower of blue porcelain, looming upfrom the brink of the gully.The invader, scrutinizing itcarefully for hours and days, soon knew every chink and crack and fanciful arabesque on its visible side.It was only a ruin, beautiful and mysterious alike by sunshine and moonlight, and when adorned with a fine sifting of snow.But the invader, lost on a strange world, could not be sure of its harmless-ness.Close to the tower were those rude, high, sugar-loaf mounds, betraying a sinister cast.They were of hard-packed earth, dotted with many tiny openings.But in the cold, arid winter, there was no sign of life about them now.All through those long, arctic months, the spore plant continued to develop, and to grow toward the reproductive stage.And it was making preparations too-combining the knowledge acquired by its observations with keen guesswork, and with a science apart from the manual fabrication of metal and other substances,A milder season came at last.The Sun's rays were a little warmer now.Some of the snow melted, moistening the ground enough to germinate Earthly seeds.Shoots sprang up, soon to develop leaves and grotesque, devilish-looking flowers.In the mounds beside the blue tower a slow awakening took place.Millions of little, hard, reddish bodies became animated once more, ready to battle grim Nature for sustenance.The ages had done little to the ants, except to increase their fierceness and cunning.Almost any organic substances could serve them as food, and their tastes showed but little discrimination between one dainty and another.And it was inevitable, of course, but presently they should find the spore plant.Nor were they the letter's only enemies, even in this desert region.Of the others, Kaw and his black-feathered brood were the most potent makers of trouble.Not because they would attempt active offense themselves, but because they were able to spread news far and wide.Kaw wheeled alone now, high in the sunlight, his ebon wings outstretched, his cruel, observant little eyes studying the desolate terrain below.Buried in the sand, away from the cold, he and his mate and their companions had slept through the winter.Now Kaw was fiercely hungry.He could eat ants if he had to, but there should be better food available at this time of year.Once, his keen eyes spied gray movement far below.As if his poised and graceful flight was altered by the release of a trigger, Kaw dived plummet-like and silent toward the ground [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]