He was still in a brown study when he heard a whoosh of air as his living airlock deflated itself. Three warriors had come for him. There was no reek of anger about them. They moved slowly and carefully. He knew better than to try to resist. One of them seized him gently in its massive jaws and carried him off.
It took him to the alates’ chamber and into the guarded tunnel. A new, large chamber had been excavated at the end of the tunnel. It was filled almost to bursting by a black-splattered white mass of flesh. In the center of the soft speckled mass were a mouth and two damp, shining eyes, on stalks. Long tendrils like conduits dangled, writhing, from a clumped ridge above the eyes. The tendrils ended in pink, fleshy plug-like clumps.
One of the tendrils had been thrust through Mirny’s skull. Her body hung in midair, limp as wax. Her eyes were open, but blind.
Another tendril was plugged into the braincase of a mutated worker. The worker still had the pallid tinge of a larva; it was shrunken and deformed, and its mouth had the wrinkled look of a human mouth. There was a blob like a tongue in the mouth, and white ridges like human teeth. It had no eyes. It spoke with Mirny’s voice. “Captain-doctor Afriel. . . .” “Galina. ...”
“I have no such name. You may address me as Swarm.” Afriel vomited. The central mass was an immense head. Its brain almost filled the room.
It waited politely until Afriel had finished.
“I find myself awakened again,” Swarm said dreamily. “I am pleased to see that it is no major emergency that concerns me. Instead it is a threat that has become almost routine.” It hesitated delicately. Mirny’s body moved slightly in midair; her breathing was inhumanly regular. The eyes opened and closed. “Another young race.”
“What are you?”
“I am the Swarm. That is, I am one of its castes. I am a tool, an adaptation; my speciality is intelligence. I am not often needed. It is good to be needed again.”
“Have you been here all along? Why didn’t you greet us? We’d have dealt with you. We meant no harm.”
The wet mouth on the end of the plug made laughing sounds. “Like yourself, I enjoy irony,” it said. “It is a pretty trap you have found yourself in, captain-doctor. You meant to make the Swarm work for you and your race. You meant to breed us and study us and use us. It is an excellent plan, but one we hit upon long before your race evolved.”
Stung by panic, Afriel’s mind raced frantically. “You’re an intelligent being,” he said. “There’s no reason to do us any harm. Let us talk together. We can help you.”
“Yes,” Swarm agreed. “You will be helpful. Your companion’s memories tell me that this is one of those uncomfortable periods when galactic intelligence is rife. Intelligence is a great bother. It makes all kinds of trouble for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are a young race and lay great stock by your own cleverness,” Swarm said. “As usual, you fail to see that intelligence is not a survival trait.”
Afriel wiped sweat from his face. “We’ve done well,” he said. “We came to you, and peacefully. You didn’t come to us.” “I refer to exactly that,” Swarm said urbanely. “This urge to expand, to explore, to develop, is just what will make you extinct. You naively suppose that you can continue to feed your curiosity indefinitely. It is an old story, pursued by countless races before you. Within a thousand years—perhaps a little longer—your species will vanish.”
“You intend to destroy us, then? I warn you it will not be an easy task—”
“Again you miss the point. Knowledge is power! Do you suppose that fragile little form of yours—your primitive legs, your ludicrous arms and hands, your tiny, scarcely wrinkled brain—can contain all that power? Certainly not! Already your race is flying to pieces under the impact of your own expertise. The original human form is becoming obsolete. Your own genes have been altered, and you, captain-doctor, are a crude experiment. In a hundred years you will be a Neanderthal. In a thousand years you will not even be a memory. Your race will go the same way as a thousand others.”
“And what way is that?”
“I do not know.” The thing on the end of the Swarm’s arm made a chuckling sound. “They have passed beyond my ken. They have all discovered something, learned something, that has caused them to transcend my understanding. It may be that they even transcend being. At any rate, I cannot sense their presence anywhere. They seem to do nothing, they seem to interfere in nothing; for all intents and purposes, they seem to be dead. Vanished. They may have become gods, or ghosts. In either case, I have no wish"to join them.”
“So then—so then you have—”
“Intelligence is very much a two-edged sword, captain-doctor. It is useful only up to a point. It interferes with the business of living. Life, and intelligence, do not mix very well. They are not at all closely related, as you childishly assume.” “But you, then—you are a rational being-—”
“I am a tool, as I said.” The mutated device on the end of its arm made a sighing noise. “When you began your pheromonal experiments, the chemical imbalance became apparent to the Queen. It triggered certain genetic patterns within her body, and I was reborn. Chemical sabotage is a problem that can best be dealt with by intelligence. I am a brain replete, you see, specially designed to be far more intelligent than any young race. Within three days I was fully self-conscious. Within five days I had deciphered these markings on my body. They are the genetically encoded history of my race . . . within five days and two hours I recognized the problem at hand and knew what to do. I am now doing it. I am six days old.”
“What is it you intend to do?”
“Your race is a very vigorous one. I expect it to be here, competing with us, within five hundred years. Perhaps much sooner. It will be necessary to make a thorough study of such a rival. I invite you to join our community on a permanent basis.”
“What do you mean?”
“I invite you to become a symbiote. I have here a male and a female, whose genes are altered and therefore without defects. You make a perfect breeding pair. It will save me a great deal of trouble with cloning.”
“You think I’ll betray my race and deliver a slave species into your hands?”
“Your choice is simple, captain-doctor. Remain an intelligent, living being, or become a mindless puppet, like your partner. I have taken over all the functions of her nervous system; I can do the same to you.”
“I can kill myself.”
“That might be troublesome, because it would make me resort to developing a cloning technology. Technology, though I am capable of it, is painful to me. I am a genetic artifact; there are fail-safes within me that prevent me from taking over the Nest for my own uses. That would mean falling into the same trap of progress as other intelligent races. For similar reasons, my lifespan is limited. I will live for only a thousand years, until your race’s brief flurry of energy is over and peace resumes once more.”
“Only a thousand years?” Afriel laughed bitterly. “What then? You kill off my descendants, I assume, having no further use for them.”
“No. We have not killed any of the fifteen other races we have taken for defensive study. It has not been necessary. Consider that small scavenger floating by your head, captain-doctor, that is feeding on your vomit. Five hundred million years ago its ancestors made the galaxy tremble. When they attacked us, we unleashed their own kind upon them. Of course, we altered our side, so that they were smarter, tougher, and, of course, totally loyal to us. Our Nests were the only world they knew, and they fought with a valor and inventiveness we never could have matched. . . . Should your race arrive to exploit us, we will naturally do the same.” “We humans are different.”
“Of course.”
“A thousand years here won’t change us. You will die and our descendants will take over this Nest. We’ll be running things, despite you, in a few generations. The darkness won’t make any difference.”
“Of course not. You don’t need eyes here. You don�
�t need anything. ”
“You’ll allow me to stay alive? To teach them anything I want?”
“Certainly, captain-doctor. We are doing you a favor, in all truth. In a thousand years your descendants here will be the only remnants of the human race. We are generous with our immortality; we will take it upon ourselves to preserve you.” “You’re wrong, Swarm. You’re wrong about intelligence, and you’re wrong about everything else. Maybe other races would crumble into parasitism, but we humans are different.” “Certainly. You’ll do it, then?”
“Yes. I accept your challenge. And I will defeat you.” “Splendid. When the Investors return here, the springtails will say that they have killed you, and will tell them to never return. They will not return. The humans should be the next to arrive.”
“If I don’t defeat you, they will.”
“Perhaps.” Again it sighed. “I’m glad I don’t have to absorb you. I would have missed your conversation.”
The Nebula Winners, 1965-1981
1965
Best Novel: DUNE by Frank Herbert
Best Novella: “The Saliva Tree” by Brian W. Aldiss “He Who Shapes” by Roger Zelazny (tie)
Best Novelette: “The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth” by Roger Zelazny Best Short Story: ‘“Repent, Harlequin!’ Said the Ticktockman” by Harlan Ellison
1966
Best Novel: FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON by Daniel Keyes BABEL-1 by Samuel R. Delany (tie)
Best Novella: “The Last Castle” by Jack Vance
Best Novelette: “Call Him Lord” by Gordon R. Dickson
Best Short Story: “The Secret Place” by Richard McKenna
1967
Best Novel: THE EINSTEIN INTERSECTION by Samuel R. Delany Best Novella: “Behold the Man” by Michael Moorcock Best Novelette: “Gonna Roll the Bones” by Fritz Leiber Best Short Story: “Aye, and Gomorrah” by Samuel R. Delany
1968
Best Novel: RITE OF PASSAGE by Alexei Panshin Best Novella: “Dragonrider” by Anne McCaffrey Best Novelette: “Mother to the World” by Richard Wilson Best Short Story: “The Planners” by Kate Wilhehn
1969
Best Novel: THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS by Ursula K. Le Guin
Best Novella: “A Boy and His Dog” by Harlan Ellison Best Novelette: “Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stones” by Samuel R. Delany Best Short Story: “Passengers” by Robert Silverberg
1970
Best Novel: RINGWORLD by Larry Niven Best Novella: “111 Met in Lankhmar” by Fritz Leiber Best Novelette: “Slow Sculpture” by Theodore Sturgeon Best Short Story: No award
1971
Best Novel: A TIME OF CHANGES by Robert Silverberg Best Novella: “The Missing Men” by Katherine MacLean Best Novelette: “The Queen of Air and Darkness” by Poul Anderson
Best Short Story: “Good News from the Vatican” by Robert Silverberg
1972
Best Novel: THE GODS THEMSELVES by Isaac Asimov Best Novella: “A Meeting with Medusa” by Arthur C. Clarke Best Novelette: “Goat Song” by Poul Anderson Best Short Story: “When It Changed” by Joanna Russ
1973
Best Novel: RENDEZVOUS WITH RAMA by Arthur C. Clarke Best Novella: “The Death of Doctor Island” by Gene Wolfe Best Novelette: “Of Mist, and Grass, and Sand’ by Vonda N. McIntyre
Best Short Story: “Love Is the Plan the Plan Is Death” by James Tiptree, Jr.
1974
Best Novel: THE DISPOSSESSED by Ursula K. Le Guin Best Novella: “Born with the Dead” by Robert Silverberg Best Novelette: “If the Stars Are Gods” by Gordon Eklund and Gregory Benford Best Snort Story: “The Day before the Revolution” by Ursula K. Le Guin Grand Master: Robert A. Heinlein
1975
Best Novel: THE FOREVER WAR by Joe Haldeman Best Novella: “Home Is the Hangman” by Roger Zelazny Best Novelette: “San Diego Lightfoot Sue” by Tom Reamy Best Short Story: “Catch That Zeppelin!” by Fritz Leiber Grand Master: Jack Williamson
1976
Best Novel: MAN PLUS by Frederik Pohl Best Novella: “Houston, Houston, Do You Read?” by James Tiptree, Jr.
Best Novelette: “The Bicentennial Man” by Isaac Asimov Best Short Story: “A Crowd of Shadows” by Charles L. Grant Grand Master: Clifford Simak
1977
Best Novel: GATEWAY by Frederik Pohl
Best Novella: “Stardance” by Spider and Jeanne Robinson
Best Novelette: “The Screwfly Solution” by Raccoona Sheldon Best Short Story: “Jeffty Is Five” by Harlan Ellison Grand Master: Jack Williamson
1978
Best Novel: DREAMSNAKE by Vonda N. McIntyre Best Novella: “The Persistence of Vision” by John Varley Best Novelette: “A Glow of Candles, A Unicorns Eye” by Charles L. Grant Best Short Story: “Stone” by Edward Bryant Grand Master: L. Sprague de Camp
1979
Best Novel: THE FOUNTAINS OF PARADISE by Arthur C. Clarke Best Novella: “Enemy Mine” by Barry Longyear Best Novelette: “Sandkings” by George R. R. Martin Best Short Story: “giANTS” by Edward Bryant
1980
Best Novel: TIMESCAPE by Gregory Benford Best Novella: “The Unicorn Tapestries” by Suzy McKee Charnas
Best Novelette: “The Ugly Chickens” by Howard Waldrop Best Short Story: “Grotto of the Dancing Deer” by Clifford D. Simak
Grand Master: Fritz Leiber
1981
Best Novel: THE claw OF THE CONCILIATOR by Gene Wolfe Best Novella: “The Saturn Game” by Poul Anderson Best Novelette: “The Quickening” by Michael Bishop
Robert Silverberg was bom in New York and makes his home in the San Francisco area. He has written several hundred science fiction stories and over seventy science fiction novels. He has won two Hugo awards and four Nebula awards. He is a past president of the Science Fiction Writers of America. Silverbergs other Bantam titles include Lord Valentines Castle, Majipoor Chronicles, The Book of Skulls, The World Inside, The Masks of Time, Tower of Glass, Downward to the Earth, Dying Inside and Born with the Dead.
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