The dark side of the sun - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,42

had an idea at the start that it was just a matter of finding some cute explanation like – well, like Hrsh-Hgn’s.’

That is in fact very poetic, and quite possible. But it ...

Another lapse into intranslatability. An itch; a sense of wrongness, traditionally embodied in the almost physical pain some people experienced in seeing a picture hung crooked and being unable to right it; a feeling of discord.

That would make them like Creapii. Environment conditions the mind, and the Jokers did not think like Creapii. However, the Creapii are indubitably the most advanced race at present. I suggest you study them. In the Creapii is a clue to the Jokers.

‘So I won’t discover a world.’

I did not say so. But the idea is more important. Do you not say ‘the world of the common wasp’, or ‘the world of the poet’? They are worlds, and only incidentally include some reference to a physical reality like a planet.

‘I think I see,’ said Dom, getting up. ‘The world of the Jokers may be just a way of looking at the universe?’

Precisely.

‘I shall visit the Creapii.’ He tried to remember. ‘I think the High-Degrees have just opened a study raft on the Chain Stars, haven’t they?’

So I understand. Since the High-Degrees represent the most advanced Creapii and specialize in the study of other lifeforms your choice of destination is a good one.

Dom prepared to swim to the surface, but stopped. ‘There was something you wanted me to do?’

It is a great favour. You are Chairman of Widdershins, a world largely composed of water?

‘On the surface, yes. Over ninety per cent, including the marshes.’

I would like to emigrate.

Chatogaster explained. Band was a pleasant world, but lacked stimulation. He could communicate with the liquid content of sundogs who had as pups drunk from the lake, and hence through their own telepathy – which was no more than a by-function of their massive brains – learn from the minds of travellers. But Chatogaster wanted to spread out. He needed no ship. If Dom could take the little container that had held his drinking water, and let it be filled, enough of Chatogaster could be taken to Widdershins to let the great Tethys ocean become Chatogaster as well. He was persuasive.

I could take care of your fish, and police your sea-lanes. I could provide surf with the muscles of the tide, and an inspiration for your poets. Who drinks of me drinks of the well of the universe. Please.

Dom hesitated, and the lake saw why.

I have no power. I may aid, but I cannot fight. What should I want with conquests? I am …

Untranslatable, but images of a mind rather than a force; an idea formed in water rather than a creature; a certainty that the lake was speaking – not the truth, because that suggested it could lie, and Chatogaster could not lie …

‘I may be overruled by the Board but,’ he opened the little bottle that had been in his carryall, ‘step right in.’ An air bubble escaped from the bottle.

Thank you.

A kick carried Dom easily to the surface. He broke water and struck out for the shore.

Crackdown appeared to have ended. One or two eggs spiralled down as he scrambled up the slope, but they exploded a long way off in the south. A few damp pups, no bigger than a man, were taking their first shaky steps.

Here and there older pups were baying at the sky, long snouts pointing trembling at the clouds. The reddish hair on their cone-shaped bodies was sleeked down. One near to the lake was shuddering.

‘Pssst!’

Hrsh-Hgn and a robot with a large Three on its chestplate leapt out of the grass. Without pausing in their stride they each grabbed him by an elbow and the three of them tumbled back towards the lake.

The air began to smell of methane, a fruity foul smell that caught in Dom’s throat.

‘Hrsh! Isaac got you, then? What’s happened to Isaac? You’re Isaac? What happened?’

The robot was half covered in soot, and there were superficial metal runs down one arm. The phnobe nodded absently and peered back across the plain. The nearest pup was trembling now, violently, and a thin plume of vapour was coming from three swollen glands around its broad rump.

‘The robot was bitten by a dog,’ murmured Hrsh-Hgn. ‘It’ss been ssomewhat exciting up here. Cave canem!’

They hit the grass. An explosion dug a crater in front of them. A hot wind whipped over the sweetgrass, driving a boiling cloud of greasy