Everyone who had been watching the kits clinging to the Oak moved closer, staring. They seemed quite at home plastered to the tree, and gibbered at each other as though they were racing around on the ground. Tilde gently removed one kit and placed it an arm’s length higher on the tree, where it grabbed on and laughed at the one below it, mocking from above with our inborn sense of the superiority of greater height. The lower kit scowled, yelped defiantly, and began to climb towards the other one. As we stared, the higher kit moved up as well, trying to retain it’s advantage. Before Tilde could react, the two of them had scrambled up past her reach and by the time Point came over to inspect this display closer, they had climbed to the lowest branches and were frolicking among the leaves. An acorn sailed down, almost hitting Dollar on his head.
Greater Than moved closer, staring upward. He looked down at Point and started to say something, but the pilot was already grabbing up another kit and putting it to the trunk. This time Tilde kept it from scaling out of reach, but we closely examined how it managed to climb. The big secret, which I suppose should have been obvious to all of us, was the tough spurs we all have at our elbows, knees, ankles and toes. We trim them down because they’re not needed in our cities, are seen as vestigial and absurd, and interfere with our normal contact. Some sophisticates even have them surgically removed. Once again, Underscore’s wild-eyed concepts were being justified.
He leapt to the tree and tried to imitate the kit’s odd posture: ankles together, knees embracing the tree, forearms vertical with all “nails” in contact with the tree. But they weren’t long enough to support him. Comma stepped up beside him and addressed the trunk of the Oak. Her spurs and nails were longer since not trimming them had become fashionable among certain Asuncion females. Who are supposed to be above and beyond decadent ideas like fashion.
She imitated the kits as best she could, hugging the tree in a manner many found funny. But she ignored the jeers and applied herself, Underscore hovering near her in rapt attention, but not giving her any aid. She dug her elbows and knees into the bark, squeezing tightly. She splayed her fingers, clawing into the soft wood. She shifted her weight, her posture, her approach. And all at once she pulled herself up off the ground, and slowly started to climb! You may well believe that the hecklers and gawpers fell silent.
Several kits who had mounted the tree skittered back down when they saw her coming up to join them and several more ran to the tree and started climbing beside her, chortling in amusement and daring each other to greater scaling feats. Question, a tri-color kit who had already shown signs of notable intelligence, leadership, and troublemaking, worked so hard at impressing his contemporaries–clapping his hands, then seeing how little traction would support him–that he fell, his smug smile turning into a frightened squawk as he plunged towards the ground. Underscore had only to reach out one hand to catch him. He held the squirming kit in front of his face, shook his head in caution, and tossed him back onto the bark, where he slid, then caught and scampered off insolently.
Meanwhile, Comma was climbing the Oak. I noticed that she was gaining confidence and changing her style from raising one hand and knee at the time to a more integrated style like the kits used, extending upward, then smoothly drawing both knees up and once. She moved higher steadily, Underscore standing braced below her in case she fell. Strikeout suddenly burst out laughing.
“This is a day we will all long remember,” he tolled out in imitation of Underscore’s ponderous pronouncements. “And tell our children, who will tell their children. We have witnessed an Ascensionist who can actually ascend.”
He drew laughter with that, but not as much as the previous barbs: she was climbing the tree! Hard to argue with that.
Watching her, I experienced a revelation: many have wondered and commented and joked over the years about the fact that our spurs and claws are on the insides of our knees and elbows, curve inward from our heels, tend to curl down over our fingertips if not trimmed. Why would they be positioned where they could interfere with walking, and performance of delicate manual work, rather than on the outer sides of things, defensively positioned and out of the way? And Comma was giving us a demonstration of just precisely why.
The discovery that our genes had provided us with climbing equipment we had never used was electrifying. (The rather troubling question of why we would have features that were useful on another planet than our own was not approached until much, much later.) There was a sudden rash of experimentation, others imitating Comma as she herself approached the lowest limb of the Oak. And not just by the Ascension, either.
One thing became obvious immediately: fortune favored the light of weight, like the slightly-built Comma. And also that those with longer spurs fared better. Stroke was the next to manage getting off the ground, followed by Lesser Than, a roan-colored cultist who surprised me in daring to climb since he’d always been a “wimp”. Plus also gave it a shot and seemed to have the moves, as well as fairly long spurs, but couldn’t seem to get the purchase he needed. He gave up and squatted, examining his elbows critically. “They’re long enough,” he said, “Just not sharp enough.”
Point’s ears jerked at that and he approached to take a closer look at the spurs Plus held up to his examination. Suddenly he slapped his ear tufts in self-derision. He turned without a word, went to open the Stage One pack, and searched among the compartments. Greater Than, who’d been watching the climbing with forearms clasped disapprovingly behind his back, went over not to interfere, but out of curiosity. I was realizing that he had some training about the pack, but nothing extensive. Point was apparently more familiar with it, but also lacked a complete understanding, as he showed by pulling out a rounded metal rasp and telling Greater Than, “I’d wondered what this what this was for, frankly.”
He walked back to Plus, who eyed the dark metal file with certain misgivings, but allowed Point to grasp his elbow and start filing away at his spur. Sharpening it, I realized. Again, it was a long time before I thought to question the presence in the pack of an implement so specific, yet so unneeded in our entire system. Point inspected his work then handed the rasp to Plus so he could continue honing his climbing tools, so to speak. Just as Comma achieved a perch on the low branch above us.
She stood on the wide limb and waved to us all, laughing with a light-hearted joy I’d never seen her show before. The kits frisked around her, showing off and cackling. Those of us still on the ground applauded sincerely as she started moving around and exploring the limb, easily walking far out along it its tapered path. She leaned over the edge and drew more applause by calling to Underscore, “Plenty more nuts up here!”
Minus, a small, meek Ascension follower whose yellow-marked coat always struck me as being the color of dirt, had overcome his usual reticence and achieved climbing success due to the factor that had contributed to his general failure in life: small size and poor personal grooming. Stroke was approaching the limb now and Comma called down encouragement the kits yammered at her from higher limbs. I saw Dash, one of the stronger kits, actually leap from one limb to a lower one, soaring across space as if he’d done it every day.
Plus finished whetting his nails and turned to the tree confidentially. He embraced the trunk without experimentation or equivocation and started upwards. He’d had the benefit, of course, of example. He left the rasp with At, who was examining it with his characteristic focus, head cocked to the side and ears pointed so far forward they seemed to be reaching in to grasp what he held in his hands. He didn’t squat to groom his spurs, but moved to the trunk and used the rasp to carve a groove in the soft bark. Equal had come over to join in his examination and quickly grasped what he was doing because he looked at At’s legs in calculation, then indicated a higher spot on the tree. At made another groove there, undercut slightly to create a raised edge on the slot.
He raised his hands above his head, grunting with the effort of making another groove in that awkward position. He stood back and examined what he’d done, then stepped up to place his left foot in the lower groove, raise up on it to grasp the highest one with his fingers, and wedge his right toenails in the second groove. Equal moved in to support him from behind as he made another slot further up the tree.
They had a ring of observers by that time, very interested in what the stringy brown artisan was doing. He stepped up to the next “rung”, then lightly jumped down. We were all interested but he spoke only to Equal. “We can lower a line from the limb, extend this all the way up.”
Equal nodded, examining the beginnings of their “ladder”. “Shouldn’t be a problem. From that branch it’ll be easy to access the higher ones.”
There was a quick babble in response to that. Suddenly the tree was potentially accessible to all. Not myself, of course. I was too old for that sort of agility. But I was quite impressed. Point spoke up from where he sat by the StagPak. “There’s good, strong line in here, but I don’t know if there’s enough to reach.”
At shrugged, “We’ll make more.” And nobody seemed to doubt the possibility. It had been a morning in which possibilities just seemed to take wings and fly aloft.