A large anthology of sci.., p.880
A Large Anthology of Science Fiction, page 880
Create a distraction? That might work. He could fire up the hydrophone and make a lot of noise, maybe use the drones as decoys. The Ilmatarans might drop Henri to go investigate, or run away in terror. Worth a shot, anyway.
He sent the two drones in at top speed, and searched through his computer’s sound library for something suitable to broadcast. “Ride of the Valkyries” ? Tarzan yells? “O Fortuna” ? No time to be clever; he selected the first item in the playlist and started blasting Billie Holiday as loud as the drone speakers could go. Rob left his camera gear with Henri’s impeller, and used his own to get a little closer to the group of Ilmatarans carrying Henri.
Broadtail hears the weird sounds first, and alerts the others. The noise is coming from a pair of swimming creatures he doesn’t recognize, approaching fast from the left. The sounds are unlike anything he remembers—a mix of low tones, whistles, rattles, and buzzes. There is an underlying rhythm, and Broadtail is sure this is some kind of animal call, not just noise.
The swimmers swoop past low overhead, then, amazingly, circle around together for another pass, like trained performing animals. “Do those creatures belong to Longpincer?” Broadtail asks the others.
“I don’t think so,” says Smoothshell. “I don’t remember seeing them in his house.”
“Does anyone have a net?”
“Don’t be greedy,” says Roundhead. “This is a valuable specimen. We shouldn’t risk it to chase after others.”
Broadtail starts to object, but he realizes Roundhead is right. This thing is obviously more important. Still—“I suggest we return here to search for them after sleeping.”
“Agreed.”
The swimmers continue diving at them and making noise until Longpincer’s servants show up to help carry the specimen.
Rob had hoped the Ilmatarans would scatter in terror when he sent in the drones, but they barely even noticed them—even with the speaker volume maxed out. He couldn’t tell if they were too dumb to pay attention, or smart enough to focus on one thing at a time.
He gunned the impeller, closing in on the little group. Enough subtlety. He could see the lights on Henri’s suit about fifty meters away, bobbing and wiggling as the Ilmatarans carried him. Rob slowed to a stop about ten meters from the Ilmatarans. The two big floodlights on the impeller showed them clearly.
Enough subtlety and sneaking around. He turned on his suit hydrophone. “Hey!” He had his dive knife in his right hand in case of trouble.
Broadtail is relieved to be rid of the strange beast. He is getting tired and hungry, and wants nothing more than to be back at Longpincer’s house snacking on threadfin paste and heat-cured eggs.
Then he hears a new noise. A whine, accompanied by the burble of turbulent water. Off to the left about three lengths there is some large swimmer. It gives a loud call. The captive creature struggles harder.
Broadtail pings the new arrival. It is very odd indeed. It has a hard cylindrical body like a riftcruiser, but at the back it branches out into a bunch of jointed limbs covered with soft skin. The thing gives another cry and waves a couple of limbs.
Broadtail moves toward it, trying to figure out what it is. Two creatures, maybe? And what is it doing? Is this a territorial challenge? He keeps his own pincers folded so as not to alarm it.
“Be careful, Broadtail,” Longpincer calls.
“Don’t worry.” He doesn’t approach any closer, but evidently he’s already too close. The thing cries out one more time, then charges him. Broadtail doesn’t want the other Bitterwater scholars to see him flee, so he splays his legs and braces himself, ready to grapple with this unknown monster.
But just before it hits him, the thing veers off and disappears into the silent distance. Listening carefully lest it return, Broadtail backs toward the rest of the group and they resume their journey to Longpincer’s house.
Everyone agrees that this expedition is stranger than anything they remember. Longpincer seems pleased.
Rob stopped his impeller and let the drones catch up. He couldn’t think of anything else to do. The Ilmatarans wouldn’t be scared off, and there was no way Rob could attack them. Whatever happened to Henri, Rob did not want to be the first human to harm an alien.
The link with Henri was still open. The video showed him looking quite calm, almost serene.
“Henri?” he said. “I tried everything I could think of. I can’t get you out. There are too many of them.”
“It is all right, Robert,” said Henri, sounding surprisingly cheerful. “I do not think they will harm me. Otherwise why go to all the trouble to capture me alive? Listen: I think they have realized I am an intelligent being like themselves. This is our first contact with the Ilmatarans. I will be humanity’s ambassador.”
“You think so?” For once Rob found himself hoping Henri was right.
“I am certain of it. Keep the link open. The video will show history being made.”
Rob sent in one drone to act as a relay as the Ilmatarans carried Henri into a large rambling building near the Maury 3a vent. As he disappeared inside, Henri managed a grin for the camera.
Longpincer approaches the strange creature, laid out on the floor of his study. The others are all gathered around to help and watch. Broadtail has a fresh reel of cord and is making a record of the proceeding. Longpincer begins. “The hide is thick, but flexible, and is a nearly perfect sound absorber. The loudest of pings barely produce any image at all. There are four limbs. The forward pair appear to be for feeding, while the rear limbs apparently function as both walking legs and what one might call a double tail for swimming. Roundhead, do you know of any such creature recorded elsewhere?”
“I certainly do not recall reading of such a thing. It seems absolutely unique.”
“Please note as much, Broadtail. My first incision is along the underside. Cutting the hide releases a great many bubbles. The hide peels away very easily; there is no connective tissue at all. I feel what seems to be another layer underneath. The creature’s interior is remarkably warm.”
“The poor thing,” says Raggedclaw. “I do hate causing it pain.”
“As do we all, I’m sure,” says Longpincer. “I am cutting through the under-layer. It is extremely tough and fibrous. I hear more bubbles. The warmth is extraordinary—like pipe-water a cable or so from the vent.”
“How can it survive such heat?” asks Roundhead.
“Can you taste any blood, Longpincer?” adds Sharpfrill.
“No blood that I can taste. Some odd flavors in the water, but I judge that to be from the tissues and space between. I am peeling back the under-layer now. Amazing! Yet another layer beneath it. This one has a very different texture—fleshy rather than fibrous. It is very warm. I can feel a trembling sensation and spasmodic movements.”
“Does anyone remember hearing sounds like that before?” says Smoothshell. “It sounds like no creature I know of.”
“I recall that other thing making similar sounds,” says Broadtail.
“I now cut through this layer. Ah—now we come to viscera. The blood tastes very odd. Come, everyone, and feel how hot this thing is. And feel this! Some kind of rigid structures within the flesh.”
“It is not moving,” says Roundhead.
“Now let us examine the head. Someone help me pull off the shell here. Just pull. Good. Thank you, Raggedclaw. What a lot of bubbles! I wonder what this structure is?”
The trip back was awful. Rob couldn’t keep from replaying Henri’s death in his mind. He got back to the station hours late, exhausted and half out of his mind. As a small mercy Rob didn’t have to tell anyone what had happened—they could watch the video.
There were consequences, of course. But because the next supply vehicle wasn’t due for another twenty months, it all happened in slow motion. Rob knew he’d be going back to Earth, and guessed that he’d never make another interstellar trip again. He didn’t go out on dives; instead he took over drone maintenance and general tech work from Sergei, and stayed inside the station.
Nobody blamed him, at least not exactly. At the end of his debriefing, Dr. Sen did look at Rob over his little Gandhi glasses and say, “I think it was rather irresponsible of you both to go off like that. But I am sure you know that already.”
Sen also deleted the “Death to HK” list from the station’s network, but someone must have saved a copy. The next day it was anonymously relayed to Rob’s computer with a final method added: “Let a group of Ilmatarans catch him and slice him up.”
Rob didn’t think it was funny at all.
CARETAKER
Richard A. Lovett
Good intentions do not necessarily imply goodwill toward men . . .
The robot’s soundless entrance into his field of vision brought Loren Zarken back to reality with a start.
“What is it?” he demanded. His robots had been programmed not to let anything short of a true emergency interrupt his meditation. “It better be important.”
“A space vessel is approaching, master. The scanners located it just ten minutes ago. It appears to be on course for this planet.”
That might not actually qualify as an emergency, but it was important, and the central computer’s programming was flexible enough to allow it to override the robots’ specific commands. “Where is it coming from?”
“The direction of the globular cluster.”
“I see.” Zarken pondered for a moment. “Have they contacted us yet?”
“No. They seem to be unaware of our probes.”
“Then we will be the ones to speak first. Give them permission to land. In fact, issue an invitation. I must learn more.” He returned to his interrupted meditation, but somehow found it difficult to concentrate. Visitors, he thought. It’s happening all too quickly.
Loren Zarken was absolute ruler of an entire solar system. He was also its sole occupant. His domain included one star, seven planets, and an indeterminate number of lesser bodies. He spent most of his time on the fourth planet from his sun, the only one that could easily support life.
For years he’d dwelt there in solitude, attended by automatons, isolated from civilization. At first, he’d found it difficult, for he was not a hermit by nature. But as the months melded into years and the years to decades, he’d fallen into a routine, with each day divided into carefully determined segments for manual labor, reading, recreation, and contemplation. It was a routine which, until today, hadn’t been broken since the time—more than five years before—when an electrical fault had caused a fire in the robots’ workshop.
The planet was perfect for Zarken’s lifestyle. His garden grew rapidly, and native fruits and vegetable were plentiful. The world abounded with streams, lakes, snow-capped mountains, and wildlife. Zarken had visited hundreds of other planets throughout the Galaxy, and he knew his was unique. Never before had he encountered such serenity or beauty. He sincerely doubted it could be found elsewhere.
The visiting spaceship touched down on a pillar of fire, turning the lush meadow grasses to ash and singeing the leaves of the nearest trees. Before the blackened meadow ceased smoking, the main airlock opened, a landing escalator slid outward, and a small group of men and women disembarked. Zarken strode forward to shake hands with a tall, blond man who appeared to be the leader.
“Welcome to my planet,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay. Are you in charge of this expedition?”
“I am.”
Zarken bowed formally. “Loren Zarken at your service.”
The other looked startled. “No relation to the Loren Zarken, I suppose?”
“The inventor of the hyperdrive? We had our differences, but I still claim him as my grandfather.”
The visitor’s surprise became more pronounced. “Umm, excuse the bluntness, Mr. Zarken, but how can that be? You’d have to be—well, I’m not sure how old . . .” His voice trailed off in uncertainty.
Zarken smiled. “Five hundred twenty-nine standards, to be exact. It is amazing what money, medical science, and a disciplined daily routine can do for the body. Good cosmic ray shielding helps, too. And now, who might you be?”
“William Smith of Malor II, captain of the HV Starbird.” HV was an old-fashioned designation for hypervessels—old enough that Zarken was surprised it was still in use. What other type of vessel could have made it all the way out here, to the farthest fringes of human expansion?
“Ah. Well, Mr. Smith, I again welcome you and your people to my planet. Make yourselves at home for the duration of your visit.” Zarken stressed the last word ever so slightly, watching Smith’s reaction. Smith’s face, however, betrayed nothing, so Zarken continued his welcoming speech. He knew that he spoke as stiffly as one of his robots, but there is an art to communicating with real people, and the proper tone was eluding him.
Nevertheless, he continued as smoothly as he could manage. “If you and your crew would like to join me in my humble dwelling, I have prepared a feast to celebrate your arrival. It is not often that I have company. Unfortunately, you may find the facilities somewhat cramped. How many are in your party?”
“A hundred and two.”
Zarken’s felt dismay rise within him, but stuffed it into a mental compartment where it would not be apparent to his visitors, but where he could draw on it later, if needed. Only a colonizing vessel or a military craft would carry such a large crew, and this clearly wasn’t a military expedition. Maybe they were merely stopping for a rest on their way somewhere else. He could always hope.
Trying to focus on that relatively agreeable thought, Zarken forced what he hoped would be interpreted as a gracious smile and continued his invitation. “I am afraid that all of you cannot join me for dinner. I am not really sure how many I can accommodate, but I know that I do not have room for anywhere nearly that many.”
“That’s alright, Mr. Zarken. I and my division chiefs—these people with me now—will gladly accept your invitation. The rest of my people can dine aboard ship.” His lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “After such a long voyage, I’m not sure any of us really remember what it’s like to spend time outside of our own little hive, anyway.”
Zarken smiled politely at the obvious lie: the crew would undoubtedly be chafing for the opportunity to explore. Then, turning crisply on the balls of his feet in a style he’d learned during a long-ago stint in the military, he led his guests up the steep, dirt path to his residence, a laser-hewn cavern at the base of a cliff. “I hope,” he said as they entered the dining room, “that my servants have been able to find enough chairs. The last time I entertained was twenty years ago, for a scouting party out of Dennif.”
“A scouting party?” Smith was perplexed. “The records didn’t show that anyone had come here in the last hundred years.”
“What records?”
“At the Bureau of Colonial Affairs.”
“I see. You probably would have found the departure listed at the Bureau of Exploration, but that would have been all. The ship never returned.” Zarken lowered his voice. “A few days after it left here, it had a . . .”—he groped for the right word—” . . . a mishap, out in one of this system’s asteroid belts. I received the distress signal, but by the time I got there it was too late.”
“Oh . . .” Smith paused uncomfortably. “But that doesn’t explain another thing that’s been bothering me. There were no references to your presence.”
“Strange. The records of my emigration must have been—ah—misplaced.” Money, Zarken thought, can buy more than long life. But he didn’t appear to have gotten everything he’d paid for. Apparently, not all references to his solar system had been removed from the Colonial Bureau’s files. Zarken probed further. “Why are you so well informed about this planet’s records?”
“Well, I see no reason to delay telling you. We’ve filed a claim for this world. We’re here to start a colony.”
Zarken had suspected as much, and initially, he was able to treat the confirmation of his fears as merely another piece of information to be filed for later analysis. But he had staked more than he’d realized on the long-shot possibility that this was merely a social call, and as the reality began to penetrate, his heart cried in anguish. Simultaneously, a detached corner of his intellect calmly cataloged the fact that even after so many centuries, he still had both the capacity for emotion and the ability to deceive himself. It was so rare that he had reason for either.
Smith jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Don’t worry,” he said, “our claim needn’t conflict with yours. The anti-monopoly laws are still in force—none of our families can claim more than a hundred square kilometers. Since this area is much too mountainous for large-scale farming, we’ll be settling elsewhere, probably on the other side of the planet.”
With effort, Zarken willed himself back into the role of smiling host. After all, he’d feared for years that some shipload of colonists would stray into the system and settle, despite their lack of a legal claim. The arrival of a group expressly planning to colonize his world was a possibility he’d not considered, but the result was the same.
“We can talk more about these matters later,” he said. “First, let’s have dinner.” Zarken clapped his hands, and the room was filled with robots carrying trays of steaming food.
“Amazing,” Smith said as the robots removed the last of the dessert dishes. Zarken was seated at the head of the main table, with Smith immediately to his right. “You appear to rely almost entirely on robots.”
“I must. One man could not do the work necessary to keep this place running. By the way, you haven’t told me where your companions are from. Are you all from Malor?”
“No. We come from every part of the Cluster. I don’t believe any two families are from the same world.”
“But you are all from the Cluster. How times change. When I left, the Cluster wasn’t sending out colonizing missions.”
