Sundiver u-1

by David Brin

  Members of the Hermes Colony Staff started leaving right away. Those wearing Earth clothing, recent arrivals and visitors, left more slowly.

  LaRoque was already gone, no doubt on his way to the maser station to send his story to Earth.

  That left Bubbacub. He had been talking to Dr. Mar-tine before the meeting began, but the little bearlike alien hadn’t come in. Jacob wondered where Bubbacub had been during the meeting.

  Helene deSilva joined him and Fagin.

  “Culla’s quite a little Eatee,” she said to Jacob, softly. “He used to joke that he got along with Jeffrey so well because they were both low men on the status pole, and because they’d both come down so recently from the trees.” She looked at Culla with pity, and put out one hand to the side of the alien’s head.

  I’ll bet that’s comforting, Jacob thought.

  “Sadness is the primary perquisite of youth.” Fagin rustled his leaves, like a tinkling of sand dollars in a breeze.

  DeSilva let her hand fall. “Jacob, Dr. Kepler left written instructions that I was to consult with you and Kant Fagin if anything ever happened to him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yessir. Of course the directive has very little legal weight. All I really have to do is let you in on our staff meetings. But it’s obvious anything you’d offer would be useful. I was hoping that the two of you, in particular, wouldn’t miss the telemetry replay.”

  Jacob appreciated her position. As Base Commandant she would bear the onus of any decision made today. Yet of those with substantial reputations now on Mercury, LaRoque was hostile, Martine was barely friendly to the project, and Bubbacub was an enigma. If Earth should hear many accounts of what went on here, it would be in her interest to have some friends as well.

  “Of course,” Fagin whistled. “We will both be honored to aid your staff.”

  DeSilva turned back to Culla and asked softly if the alien would be all right. After a pause, he lifted his head from his hands and nodded slowly. The chattering had stopped, but Culla’s eyes were still dull, with bright pinpoints nickering randomly at the edge. He looked exhausted, as well as miserable.

  DeSilva departed to help prepare the telemetry replay. Shortly afterwards Pil Bubbacub puffed importantly into the room, his sleek fur ruffled in a collar around his short fat neck. When he spoke his mouth moved in quick snaps and the Vodor on his chest boomed out the words in audible range.

  “I have heard the news. It vital that all be at the Tel-e-me-try Review, so I es-cort you there.”

  Bubbacub moved to look behind Jacob. He saw Culla sitting absently oft the flimsy folding chair.

  “Culla!” he called. The Pring looked up, hesitated than made a gesture that Jacob didn’t understand. It seemed to imply supplication, negation.

  Bubbacub bristled. He emitted a series of clicks and high pitched squeaks at a rapid clip. Culla stumbled to his feet quickly. Immediately Bubbacub turned his back on them all to start in short powerful steps down the hallway…

  Behind him, Jacob and Fagin walked with Culla. From somewhere at the top of Fagin’s “head” there came a strange music.

  12. GRAVITY

  Automation kept the Telemetry Room small. A mere dozen consoles made two rows below a large viewing screen. Behind a railing, on a raised dais, the invited guests watched as the operators carefully rechecked the recorded data.

  Occasionally a man, male or female, would lean forward and peer at some detail on a screen, in vain hope for a clue that a Sunship still existed down there.

  Helene deSilva stood near the pair of consoles closest to the dais. From there the recording of Jeffrey’s last remarks played on a visual display.

  A row of words appeared, representing fingerstrokes on a keyboard forty million kilometers away, hours before.

  RIDE IS SMOOTH ON AUTOMATICS… HAD TO DAMP TIME FACTOR OF TEN DURING TURBULENCE… I JUST HAD LUNCH IN TWENTY SECONDS HA HA…

  Jacob smiled. He could imagine the little chimpanzee getting a kick out of the tune differential.

  DOWN PAST TAU POINT ONE NOW… FIELD LINES CONVERGING AHEAD… INSTRUMENTS

  SAY THERE’S A HERD THERE JUST LIKE HELENE SAID… ABOUT A HUNDRED… CLOSING NOW…

  Then Jeffrey’s simian voice came on, gruff, abrupt, over a loudspeaker.

  “Wait ’til I tell em inna trees, boys! First solo onna Sun! Eat yer heart out, Tarzan!” one of the controllers started to laugh, then cut it off. It finished sounding like a sob.

  Jacob started. “You mean he was all alone down there?”

  “I thought you knew!” deSilva looked surprised. “The dives are pretty well automatic nowadays. Only a computer can adjust the stasis fields fast enough to keep the turbulence from pounding a passenger to jelly. Jeff had two: one onboard and also a laser remote from the big machine here on Mercury. What can a man do anyway, besides add a touch here or there?”

  “But why add any risk?”

  “It was Dr. Kepler’s idea,” she answered, a little defensively. “He wanted to see if it was only human psi patterns that were causing the Ghosts to run away or make threatening gestures.”

  “We never got to that part of the briefing.”

  She brushed a lock of blonde hair back.

  “Yes, well in our first few encounters with the magnetovores, we never saw any of the herdsmen. Then when we did, we watched from a distance to determine their relationship to the other creatures.

  “When we finally approached, the herdsmen just ran away at first. Then their behavior changed radically. While most of them fled, one or two would arc up over the ship, out of the plane of the instrument platform, and come down close to the ship!”

  Jacob shook his head, “I’m not sure I understand…”

  DeSilva glanced at the nearest console but there was no change… The only reports from Jeff’s ship were solonomic data — routine reports of solar conditions.

  “Well, Jacob, the ship is a flat deck inside an almost perfectly reflecting shell. The Gravity Engines, Stasis Field Generators and the Refrigerator Laser are all in the smaller sphere that” sits in the middle of the deck. The recording instruments line the rim of the deck on the “bottom” side, and the people occupy the “top” side, so both will have an unobstructed view to anything looked at edge on. But we hadn’t counted on anything purposely dodging our cameras!”

  “If the Ghost went out of view of your instruments by coming up overhead, why didn’t you just turn the ship? You have complete gravity control.”

  “We tried. They just disappeared! Or worse; they stayed overhead however fast we’d turn. They’d just hover I That’s when some of the crew started seeing some of the most damnable anthropoid shapes!”

  Suddenly Jeffrey’s raspy voice filled the room again.

  “Hey! There’s a whole pack of sheep dogs pushin’ those toroids around! Coin’ in to give em a pet! Nice Doggies!”

  Helene shrugged.

  “Jeff was always a skeptic. He never saw any shapes-in-the-ceiling and he always called the herdsmen ‘sheep dogs’ because he saw nothing in their behavior to imply intelligence.”

  Jacob smiled wryly. The condescension of super-chimp toward the canine race was one of the more humorous aspects of their me-too obsession. Also perhaps it diluted their sensitivity over the special relationship, of dog with human being, that antedated their own. Many chimps kept dogs as pets.

  “He called the magnetovores toroids?”

  “Yes, they’re shaped like huge doughnuts. You would have seen that if the briefing hadn’t… been interrupted.” She shook her head sadly and looked down.

  Jacob shifted his feet. “I’m sure there’s nothing anyone could have done…” he began. Then he realized that he was sounding foolish. DeSilva nodded once and turned back to the console; busy, or pretending to be, with technical readouts.

  Bubbacub lay sprawled on a cushion to the left, near the barrier. He had a book play-back in his hands and had been reading, in total absorption, the alien characte
rs that flashed from top to bottom on the tiny screen. The Pil had raised his head and listened when Jeffrey’s voice came on, and then gazed enigmatically at Pierre LaRoque.

  LaRoque’s eyes flashed as he recorded an “historic moment.” Occasionally he spoke In a low excited voice into the microphone of his borrowed steno-camera.

  “Three minutes,” deSilva said thickly.

  For a minute, nothing happened. Then, the big letters came on the screen again.

  THE BIG BOYS ARE HEADING TOWARD ME FOR ONCE! OR AT LEAST A COUPLE OF ’EM ARE. I JUST TURNED ON THE CLOSEUP CAMERAS… HEY! I’M GETTIN A T-T-TILT IN HERE! TIME-COMPRESSION JAMMED!!

  “Gonna abort!” came the deep, croaking voice, suddenly. “Ridin’ up fast… More tilt! ’S’ falling!… The Eatees! They…”

  There came a very brief burst of static, then silence followed by a loud hiss as the console operator turned up his gain. Then, nothing.

  For a long moment nobody said a word. Then one of the console operators rose from his station.

  “Implosion confirmed,” he said.

  She nodded once. “Thank you. Please prepare a summary of the data for transmission to Earth.”

  Strangely, the strongest emotion Jacob felt was a poignant pride. As a staff member of the Center for Uplift, he’d noticed that Jeffrey spurned his keyboard in the last moments of his life. Instead of retreating before fear, he made a proud, difficult gesture. Jeff the Earthman spoke aloud.

  Jacob wanted to mention this to somebody. If anyone could, Fagin would understand… He started over to where the Kanten stood, but Pierre LaRoque hissed sharply before he got there.

  “Fools I” The journalist stared about with an expression of disbelief.

  “And I am the biggest fool of all! Of any here I should have seen the danger in sending a chimpanzee down to the Sun alone!”

  The room was silent. Blank expressions of surprise turned to LaRoque, who waved his arms in an expansive gesture.

  “Can you not see? Are you all blind? If the Solarians are our Ancestrals, and there can be little doubt of that, then they have obviously gone to great pains to avoid us for millennia. Yet perhaps some distant affection for us has kept them from destroying us so far!

  “They have tried to warn you and your Sunships off ( in ways that you could not ignore, and yet you persist in trespassing. How are these mighty beings to react, then, if they are burst upon by a Client race of the race they have abandoned? What is it you expect them to do when they are invaded by a monkey… !”

  Several crewmen rose to their feet in anger. DeSilva had to raise her voice to get them to subside. She faced LaRoque, an expression of iron control on her features.

  “Sir, if you will please put your interesting hypothesis down on paper, with a minimum of invective, the staff will be only too happy to consider it.”

  “But…”

  “And that will be enough on the subject now! We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later!”

  “No, we don’t have any time at all.”

  Everyone turned. Dr. Martine stood at the back of the Gallery, in the doorway. “I think we’d better discuss this right now,” she said.

  “Is Dr. Kepler all right?” Jacob asked.

  She nodded. “I’ve just come from his bedside. I managed to break him out of his shock and he’s sleeping now. But before he fell asleep he spoke rather urgently about making another dive right away.”

  “Right away? Why? Shouldn’t we wait until we know for certain what happened to Jeffrey’s ship?”

  “We know what happened to Jeff’s ship!” she answered sharply. “I overheard what Mr. LaRoque said just as I came in, and I’m not at all happy with the way you all received his idea! You’re all so hidebound and sure of yourselves that you can’t listen to a fresh approach!”

  “You mean you really think that the Ghosts are our Ancestral Patrons?” DeSilva was incredulous.

  “Perhaps, and perhaps not. But the rest of his explanation makes sense! After all, did the Solarians ever do more than threaten before this? And now they suddenly became violent. Why? Could it be that they felt no compunctions over killing a member of a species as immature as Jeff’s?”

  She shook her head sadly.

  “You know, it’s only a matter of time before human beings begin to realize just how much we’re going to e to adapt! The fact is that every other oxygen-breathing race subscribes to a status system… a pecking order based on seniority, strength, and parentage. Many of you don’t find this nice. But it’s the way things are! And if we don’t want to go the way of the non-European races in the nineteenth century, we’ll just have to learn the way other, stronger species like to be treated!”

  Jacob frowned.

  “You’re saying that if a chimpanzee is killed, and human beings are threatened or snubbed, then…”

  “Then perhaps the Solarians don’t want to mess around with children and pets…” One of the operators pounded his fist onto his console. A glare from deSilva cut him off. “…but might be willing to speak with a delegation with members of older, more experienced species. After all, how do we even know until we try?”

  “Culla’s been down there with us on most of our dives,” the console operator muttered. “And he’s a trained ambassador!”

  “With all due respect to Pring Culla,” Martine bowed slightly toward the tall alien. “He is from a very young race. Almost as young as ours. If s apparent that the Solarians don’t think he’s any more worthy than us of their attention.

  “No, I propose that we take advantage of the unprecedented presence here on Mercury of two members of ancient and honored races. We should humbly ask the Pil Bubbacub and Kant Fagin to join us, down in the Sun, in one last attempt to make contact!”

  Bubbacub rose slowly. He looked around deliberately, aware that Fagin would wait for him to speak first. “If human beings say they need me down on Sol, then despite the seen dangers of prim-it-ive Sunships, I be inc-lined to ac-cept.”

  He returned complacently to his cushion.

  Fagin rustled and his voice sighed. “I too shall be pleased to go. Indeed, I would perform any labor to earn the lowest berth on such a craft. I cannot imagine what help I could be. But I will happily go along.”

  “Well I object, damnit!” deSilva shouted. “I refuse to accept the political implications of taking Pil Bubbacub and Kant Fagin down, particularly after the accident! You talk of good relations with powerful alien races, Dr. Martine, but can you imagine what would happen if they died down there in an Earth ship?”

  “Oh fish and falafal!” Martine said. “If anyone can handle things so no blame falls on Earth, it’s these sophonts. The galaxy is a dangerous place, after all. I’m sure they could leave depositions or something.”

  “Such documents are already recorded in my case.” Fagin said.

  Bubbacub, as well, stated his magnanimous willingness to risk his life in a primitive craft, absolving all of responsibility. The Pil turned away as LaRoque began to thank him. Even Martine joined in asking the man to please shut up.

  DeSilva looked to Jacob. He shrugged.

  “Well, we’ve got time. Let’s give the crew here a chance to check the data from Jeff’s dive, and let Dr. Kepler recover. Meanwhile we can refer this idea to Earth for suggestions.”

  Martine sighed. “I wish it were that simple, but you just haven’t thought this out. Consider, if we were to try to make peace with the Solarians, shouldn’t we return to the same group that was offended by Jeff’s visit?”

  “Well, I’m not sure that necessarily follows, but it sounds right.”

  “And how do you plan to find the same group, down in the solar atmosphere?”

  “I suppose you’d just have to return to the same active region, where the grazers are feeding… Oh, I see what you mean.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” she smiled. “There is no permanent ‘Solography’ down there to make a map from. The active regions, and sunspots themselves, fade away in a
matter of weeks! The Sun has no surface, per se, only different levels and densities of gas. Why, the equator even rotates faster than the other latitudes! How are you ever going to find the same group if you don’t leave right away, before the damage done by Jeff’s visit spreads over the entire star?”

  Jacob turned to deSilva, puzzled. “Do you think she might be right, Helene?”

  She rolled her eyes upward. “Who knows? Maybe. It’s something to think about I do know that we aren’t going to do a damn thing until Dr. Kepler is well enough to be heard.”

  Dr. Martine frowned. “I told you before! Dwayne agreed that another expedition should leave right away!”

  “And I’ll hear from him personally!” deSilva answered hotly.

  “Well, here I am, Helene.”

  Dwayne Kepler stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Beside him, supporting his arm. Chief Physician Laird glared across the room at Dr. Martine.

  “Dwayne! What are you doing out of bed! Do you want a heart attack?” Martine strode toward him, furious and concerned, but Kepler waved her back.

  “I’m fine, Millie. I’ve just diluted that prescription you gave me, that’s all. In a smaller dose it really is useful, so I know you meant well. It’s just that it wasn’t helping to knock me out like that!”

  Kepler chuckled weakly. “Anyway, I’m glad I wasn’t too doped up to hear your brilliant speech. I caught most of it from the doorway.”

  Martine reddened.

  Jacob felt relieved that Kepler didn’t mention the part he had played. After landing and obtaining Laboratory space, it had seemed a waste not to go ahead and analyze the samples he’d pilfered, back on the Bradbury, of Kepler’s pharmacopoeia.

  No one asked where he got his samples, fortunately. Although the base surgeon, when consulted, thought that some of the doses seemed a bit high, all but one of the drugs turned out to be standard for treatment of mild manic states.

  The unknown drug stayed at the back of- Jacob’s mind; one more mystery to solve. What sort of physical problem did Kepler have that required large doses of a powerful anticoagulant? Physician Laird had been incensed. Why had Martine prescribed Warfarin?