Starborn and Godsons

by Larry Niven

  “So they wanted to conquer the galaxy.”

  “For the human race.”

  Cadzie pointed to the well-tended graves outside the dwelling and stretching down the steep boulder-strewn slope. “Could they have been right? Could there be some single point of origin for life?”

  “Well, if you bought into panspermia, I suppose it makes sense.” She shrugged. “They could be persuasive. They got some big entertainment stars on their side, and some of the children of Geographic donors, even the son of one of the trustees. I guess the trustees were afraid of them. So they banned them.”

  “And now they are here,” Cadzie said slowly. “With just about everything we lost in the Grendel Wars, and some stuff that hadn’t been invented when Geographic left the Sol System.”

  “And they’re offering it to us?”

  “Well, a sort of trade. They have or can make almost everything we need. All they say they want is an uninhabited piece of the island for a safe startup base.”

  “That sounds reasonable. What happens then?”

  “Everything we hear makes it sound like they want to build up their industry, maybe on the mainland, but maybe on another part of the island. Goodness knows there’s enough room for a hundred times as many people here. They need enough industry to build another ship. Two ships.” He paused. “That means they might want to be closer to sources of iron. That means the mainland.”

  “Two like Geographic? How long would that take? My goodness . . .” She paused, considering. “I can’t say I’m totally surprised. Apparently, their prophet preached about seeding the stars. Wasn’t that the name of one of his core texts? ‘Star Seed’?”

  “Asking the wrong person.”

  “I suppose I never took them seriously,” she said.

  “Well, we have to now. They have 3D printers. Assuming that they have the technical skills, and all the information . . I don’t know. Twenty years to build another Geographic? Forty? Even several hundred?”

  “Goodness. Well, we’re certainly in for changes. But you didn’t come this way to tell me news. What is it, Cadzie?”

  “I suppose I just wonder how my grandfather would have thought about this.”

  “The newcomers?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked slowly, eyes focused not on the colony below them, but on a time before he was born. “He’d see potential. Possible problems, too.”

  “What problems?”

  She sighed. “I remember the Godsons had a militaristic streak. In some ways your grandfather would have felt right at home with them. But he would have kept his guard up.”

  “What if he’s right?” he said quietly. “What if they aren’t friendly, and have weapons we can’t handle?”

  She laid her hand on his. Her flesh felt paper-thin. “Your grandfather would have said that weapons aren’t made of steel and plastic. Human beings are the weapons. Guns are just tools.”

  That was a good one. The Cadmann in his heart embraced that thought. “That’s what he would have said?”

  “That . . and one thing more. Know the territory. Grendels weren’t even something we’d dreamed of, but he knew that high ground was critical.”

  Cadzie looked around his old home. And that was the truth, as he understood it. “So . . the planet itself is a weapon.”

  “The planet itself. And they don’t know Avalon.”

  “No. They don’t. Grandmom . . .” His voice trailed off, and she declined to step into the gap, awaiting his next words.

  It was a little war of nerves. She smiled at him, but didn’t speak. Finally he said, “Would Grandpa have been proud of me?”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you a little old to be looking for Daddy’s approval?”

  “Never,” he said, face neutral but a laugh in his voice.

  “Asks the man who rode a crippled Minerva up and down to fetch Cassandra. I think you’d be his hero.”

  His hero. And he liked the sound of that as well. Maybe he shouldn’t care, but he did, and that was all there was to it.

  Cadzie took her hand, and together they watched Tau Ceti IV sink toward the horizon, a star just a bit redder than Sol, but the only sun he had ever known.

  ♦ ChaptEr 18 ♦

  arrival

  Three weeks later . . .

  The crowd watched the clouds, shading their eyes against the sun.

  When the first finger rose and pointed at a gray-black sliver against the white and blue, they collectively emitted a sound halfway between a sigh and a gasp.

  As the shuttle hurtled toward the landing field, the moment that details could be distinguished with the naked eye, two hundred colonists burst into spontaneous applause, a sound that did not cease until the gleaming wedge shape actually hovered over the burn-marked concrete rectangle, entering an unexpected VTOL mode as it settled to the ground. That moment was observed in human silence, followed by cheers the moment the engines shut down.

  The design was more triangular than the Minervas, clearly a more advanced model, triggering “ooh”s and “ahh”s from Starborn who had never seen an unweathered shuttle, and a few aging Earthborn who felt more anxiety than excitement.

  Then . . they waited. Three minutes after it settled in there were a series of clicking sounds, and then a mechanical hissing, and a section of the side opened and descended to the ground.

  Carlos leaned on his cane, watching the landing pad with Cadzie from two hundred meters away. A safe zone, according to the tech folks who had discussed the descent with the newcomers. He felt a flutter of excitement.

  Everything was about to change.

  It seemed odd that treaded robots with cameras rolled first down the ramp. They filmed the waiting Avalonians as they came down, then all but one turned to face the ramp.

  Carlos didn’t have long to wait.

  They saw the Minerva pilot Marvin Stolzi first, walking out freely, waving and happy. That answered one question, Carlos thought. In this first act of the new drama, it seemed likely they were among friends.

  The crowd closed in, creating a rough semicircle around the landing pad, slapping Stolzi on his shoulder and peering up the ramp into the ship.

  And then . . three figures appeared, in orange and white-trimmed, beautifully designed flight suits more like uniforms than pressure gear . . but he strongly suspected they could double as vacuum-resistant in an emergency.

  The tallest of them was nearly a giant, over six and a half feet tall. Golden beard and hair, a Viking air about him. Looked like a born explorer. Introduced himself as Captain Sven Meadows.

  The next tallest was a woman, light olive skin, Greek heritage perhaps, with a beautiful strong face and piercing eyes that scanned the crowd with a combination of curiosity and caution.

  The third man was the shortest of the three, but their evident leader, leading the wedge. He was tanned and so fit he seemed to be moving through partial gravity. He was almost absurdly handsome, and had the kind of personal magnetism Carlos had associated with politicians and holo stars, not space travelers. He extended his hand. “Marco Shantel,” he said.

  “Carlos Martinez, and we welcome you to Avalon. This is quite a moment. We’ve been waiting for you for longer than most of us have been alive.”

  “Well, here we are,” Marco replied. “And you might say that we’ve been waiting to get here longer than you’ve been waiting.”

  “I suppose you have,” Carlos said. “How many of you are there?” Hundreds, certainly. Enough to begin a new assault on the mainland?

  “A million,” Marco said.

  Cadzie shook his head. “What?”

  The woman watched Cadzie with obvious amusement. “A million, three hundred and twelve.” She extended her hand to Cadzie. “Major Gloria Stype.”

  Major. Outranked the other two, but had held back, evaluating. A careful, reserved woman.

  “Cadmann Weyland Sikes,” he said.

  “I know that name,” the Viking said. “You . . are his son?”


  “He was my grandfather.”

  “A fine heritage. I’d hoped to meet him. Is he . . ?”

  “Gone,” Cadzie said.

  “But his grandson stands strong. He would be proud. I’m Sven.”

  “Who else would you be?” He shook the titan’s hand.

  “A million?” Carlos asked, still dazed. Had he heard correctly?

  Sven was amused. “She’s having you on. Three hundred and twelve adults. A million frozen embryos.”

  “That’s true,” Major Gloria Stype said. “We started with three hundred and twenty adults.”

  Carlos’ heart sank. Had the same problems recurred?

  “You . . lost eight?”

  “Yes,” Marco said, smile fading for the first time.

  “Hibernation instability?”

  “Old age,” Marco replied.

  ♦ ChaptEr 19 ♦

  family feast

  Two or three times a year, the colony’s main meeting hall, at the east point on the main quad, was used for a major banquet. Cadzie couldn’t remember a time when it was this crowded. And never a time when there were as many . . or really any guests in attendance.

  And now . . suddenly, with only a few week’s warning, Avalon had a new holiday: their own blessed Thanksgiving.

  By this time, eighty of the newcomers were down, and the clamour of the gathering drowned out the distant roar of the Minervas ferrying down load after load of the folk who called themselves Godsons. The tables had already run out of lettuce, as if the travelers were starving for green leaves.

  Cadzie noticed that Viking Sven had discreetly clipped chunks of food and drops of water and placed them in some pocket-sized apparatus he didn’t recognize. No Godson tasted their food until after about ten seconds of waiting, when Sven saw something he liked on the monitor, and broke into a big grin. Then everyone dove in.

  If Cadzie hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed.

  A sudden flurry around one of the tables: a flat rectangle nearly a meter across had entered an open window and buzzed the food, and Godsons were hurling themselves aside. A Starborn male lunged into the air and caught the birdle by the hind edge with both hands. Its four motor fins buzzed frantically as visitors crowded around to see. Cadzie edged his way in that direction.

  “They come in dozens of species, these birdles. Some bite,” Big Shaka was saying. “These big ones don’t. Note the shell is an airfoil. Motor fins at the corners—” He stopped at the tinkling of knives on glass.

  Zack Moskowitz stood, taking special care to stand straight, as if the passing years and ceaseless cares had not bowed him. “I would like to do something rather rare in recent years,” he said. “I would like to say grace.”

  “Hear hear!” And polite applause in answer. Sven carried the big birdle outside and released it, grinning like a conquering hero.

  Zack bowed his head. “We have no words for how grateful we are, Lord, that you bring unto us these new friends. Lord of all, we thank you.”

  The newcomers quieted. They had assumed the postures of their guests as soon as it became clear that prayer was intended. Accommodating, Cadzie thought, Making us feel good. And maybe they mean it.

  “Family!” Marco insisted. “Family. You’re rather stuck with us.” Much laughter accompanied this, easy, happy laughter, like a family reunion with nothing but optimism and happy memories.

  A hundred and forty Godsons had already descended, a little wobbly-legged from a century of cold sleep, rarin’ to go and a little frustrated that their arms and legs wouldn’t quite obey their hearts.

  It was clear to Cadzie that, once they had made the adjustments the Godsons would be a buff and hearty group, workhorses all, true believers in something he had yet to understand, but smart and as excited about their new adventure as . . well, as his own parents must have been on their own long-ago Landing Day.

  And more . . they were damned attractive. The men were perfect specimens, and the testosterone-fueled ape in the back of his head found himself constantly checking to see how he measured up against them.

  But the women . . .

  If male Godsons (was that the right terminology?) tilted toward hypermasculinity, then their women could be considered what . . ultrafeminine? That might make sense if the exaggerated characteristics did not include fashionable weakness. They were pioneer women, broad of hip and shoulder, athletic in appearance, with narrow waists, wide-eyed beauties broadcasting their fertility and readiness to breed. Every gale of brusque hearty laughter and confident step was filled with challenge . . and promise.

  Joanie was a healthy, fit, trained specimen of Avalonian womanhood, and she held up well. But some of the other colonists shrank in comparison . . and knew it. He watched them sit more closely to mates, spouses and paramours as if worried that the personal gravity of these newcomers would suck their loves into new personal orbits.

  The image amused him. If his neighbors reacted that way to Godsons while the newcomers were still wobblelegged with cold sleep, what would happen once they had made landfall adjustments?

  “Forty years ago, the children of Earth first landed here on Avalon. And decades later, we came to join you. We have so much to learn about this world, and everything you did to conquer it.”

  “What do you have with you?” Zack asked.

  Toad sat beside him, the little man’s plate piled high with hot bread and roasted beef. He raised his hand, and then spoke. “I’ve been going over the manifest, and it’s a treasure trove.”

  “And how do you see the division or distribution of these materials?” Zack asked.

  That triggered a moment of discomfort, noted by all. Then a woman stepped into the conversational gap. “We have personal gear, that is ours—”

  “Of course,” Carlos said.

  Marco smiled at her and took over. “But the majority of our gear is community property. We’re asking you to make room for us. It’s only fair that we offer what we can. We see how healthy you are, we just want to fit in.” He hoisted his glass. “To family!”

  His salute was returned across the room: “Family!”

  Cadzie’s eyes stung. He saw something wonderful in the faces of their new friends. New . . family.

  And in a blinding moment of insight, he realized why. It was that loneliness, that isolation, suddenly eased.

  When he noticed the groups were sitting at separate tables initially, Cadzie very deliberately picked up his tray and moved over to a Godson table, sitting between a blond God and an olive-skinned Goddess, both of whom seemed a meld of fatigue and excitement.

  “Hi!” he said. The Goddess smiled. the sterness had evaporated. “I’m Cadmann.”

  The Goddess showed instant recognition. “I remember. Cadmann Weyland?”

  “Sikes. Cadmann Weyland was my grandfather.”

  She extended her hand. “I’m Gloria Stype.” She pointed around him to the near-giant on the other side, haloed in cameras. “That’s Sven—”

  “I remember.”

  “And on the other side is Marco Shantel.” Shantel was the shortest of the three, perfectly fit and almost too pretty for a man.

  “Pleased to meet you!” Marco jumped up and gripped hands. A childish, rather fun moment of grip-testing followed. All in good fun, of course. Cadzie was glad for the countless hours of rock climbing. This man was strong!

  Marco shook his hand, as if trying to get feeling back into it. “Whoa! Quite a grip there!” Cadzie’s finger-bones felt like they’d been in a nutcracker. Wow. And these people were deconditioned. What in the hell would they be like once adapted? If there was going to be any sort of conflict between them, best that it happen soon.

  Not everyone mingled with the newcomers. Joanie Tragon had picked at her food, then stepped to the side of the room to watch the interactions. She had never been a mingler. Even as a child, she had tended more toward observing, watching the others play and then entering the fun with a plan. Spontaneity wasn�
�t her strong suit.

  She just wasn’t sure how she felt about all of this. The Godsons’ silent approach to Avalon had forced her to reveal an embarrassing secret, and that bothered her.

  Thor Sorenson shambled over to her. He was grace itself on a surfboard, second only to the teacher named Piccolo, but you’d never know it the way he plodded along on the land.

  They’d not really spoken since her return from Geographic, and she’d wondered if they were avoiding each other. Judging by her reactions as he approached, she decided that, yeah, that’s just what she’d been doing.

  “A lot happening here,” he said with a smile. “A little noisy. Step outside?”

  They did. He repeated his statement, as if he thought she hadn’t heard it the first time. “A lot happening here.”

  She sipped at her glass of bison milk. Higher in protein and fat than cow’s milk, it was creamy and delicious. She said, “When that birdle buzzed some of the Godsons, they all hit the dirt. Didn’t get up right away.”

  Silence. Then Thor said, “So you and Cadzie got pretty cozy, I guess.”

  She smiled over the rim of her glass. “You might say that.”

  Thor’s thick lips curled in a smile. Probably not as friendly as you and Mei Ling got, I’ll betcha.

  “I thought you guys didn’t like each other?”

  “We don’t.”

  He seemed to approve of that answer. “So it was hate sex, or what?”

  “Wouldn’t go that far. There’s this old song that says that if you can’t be with the one you love . . .”

  “Love the one you’re with,” he chimed in, and they both laughed. Not a lot. Just enough to break that odd tension. The sounds of camaraderie from the dining hall were strong and cheerful. It should have been warming, but somehow was not. It was probably her own fault, but she felt excluded. She often felt that way. The eternal outsider.

  Thor was still smiling at her. “So is what we have love? If it is, you’ve never said it.”

  “Did you miss me?” she murmured, and when he reached out to stroke her hair, she leaned into it.