Dark Light Years - Hardcover

Aldiss, Brian

3.46

537 ratings by Goodreads

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0586049878 ISBN 13: 9780586049877

Publisher: Panther Books, 1980

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2 copies - one old and tired, but with character, the other modern and tidy. The first buyer choses which they want, ancient or modern?

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About the Author:

Brian Aldiss, born in 1925, is one of the most prolific authors of both general and science fiction. In a writing career stretching from 1955 to the present he has published over seventy books. He has also been an influential compiler of science fiction anthologies. A Science Fiction Omnibus is available as a Penguin Modern Classic.

Faber have reissued six of his best science fiction titles: Earthworks, Cryptozoic!, Barefoot in the Head, Galaxies like Grains of Sand, The Dark Light Years and The Shape of Further Things.

On the ground, new blades of grass sprang up in chlorophyll coats. On the trees, tongues of green protruded from boughs and branches, wrapping them about – soon the place would look like an imbecile Earthchild’s attempt to draw Christmas trees – as spring again set spur to the growing things in the southern hemisphere of Dapdrof.

Not that nature was more amiable on Dapdorf than elsewhere. Evan as she sent the warmer winds over the southern hemisphere, she was sousing most of the northern in an ice-bearing monsoon.

Propped on G-crutches, old Aylmer Ainson stood at his door, scratching his scalp very leisurely and staring at the budding trees. Even the slenderest outmost twig shook very little, for all that a stiffish breeze blew.

This leaden effect was caused by gravity; twigs, like everything else on Dapdorf, weighed three times as much as they did no Earth. Ainson was long accustomed to the phenomenon. His body had grown round-shouldered and hollow-chested accustoming him to it. His brain had grown a little round-shouldered in the process.

Fortunately he was not afflicted with the craving to recapture the past that strikes down so many humans even before they reach middle age. The sight of infant green leaves woke in him only the vaguest nostalgia, roused in him only the faintest recollection that his childhood had been passed among foliage more responsive to April’s zephyrs – zephyrs, moreover, a hundred light years away. He was free to stand in the doorway and enjoy man’s richest luxury, a blank mind.

Idly, he watched Quequo, the female utod, as she trod between her salad beds and under the ammp trees to launch her body into the bolstering mud. The ammp trees were evergreen, unlike the rest of the trees in Ainson’s enclosure. Resting in the foliage on the crest of them were big four-winged white birds, which decided to take off as Ainson looked at them, fluttering up like immense butterflies and splashing their shadows across the house as they passed.

But the house was already splashed with their shadows. Obeying the urge to create a work of art that visited them perhaps only once in a century, Ainson’s friends had broken the white of his walls with a scatterbrained scattering of silhouetted wings and bodies, urging upwards. The lively movement of this pattern seemed to make the low-eaved house rise against gravity; but that was appearance only, for this spring found the neoplastic rooftree sagging and the supporting walls considerably buckled at the knees.

This was the fortieth spring Ainson had seen flow across his patch of Dapdorf. Even the ripe stench from the middenstead now savoured only of home. As he breathed it in, his grorg or parasite-eater scratched his head for him; reaching up, Ainson returned the compliment and tickled the lizard-like creature’s cranium. He guessed what the grorg really wanted, but at that hour, with only one of the suns up, it was too chilly to join Snok Snok Karn and Quequo Kifful with their grorgs for a wallow in the mire.

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