Ash felt queasy. She had no trouble with ordinary robots, such as Maggie, who was recording the split-open head. But the idea of taking a living being and turning it into a robot bothered her. Even cockroaches, which had come to Venus with humans, deserved their own lives. The technology used to enslave bugs could be modified for other animals or humans, though that was illegal, of course.
“How did you know to look for it?” Arkady asked Boris.
“I looked at the security recordings. It was there, though only in glimpses. I don’t think there are any more.”
“My images are excellent,” Maggie said. “This will add drama to our story.”
“Is it the CIA?” asked Jason.
“I believe so,” Boris answered. “We live in their shadow.”
“Well, if Boris thinks there are no more, we can enjoy the rest of the evening,” Arkady put in.
“Can Baby eat the body?” Ash asked.
“No,” said Boris. “We don’t know what else might be in it. I’ll toss it in the garbage.”
“Sorry,” Baby said.
Boris carried the head and body out. Ash drank more raspberry brandy.
“We grow the raspberries in greenhouses, along with other fruit,” Arkady said. “Our crops may fail, but we always have brandy.”
Nothing more happened that evening or night. Ash slept badly, waking from time to time to listen for the rustling sound of a scorpion. She turned on the lights once, but saw nothing except Baby sleeping in his cage.
The next morning, they drove on. The rain stopped, and rays of sunlight broke through the cloud cover, lighting patches of the forest. There were lots of cone-shaped flowers. A group of large herbivores fed on one. Similar animals on Ishtar Terra were called forest cattle, though they didn’t seem especially cow-like to her, being larger than any cow she had ever seen, even in images from Earth, and green. A crest of hair went along their backs, and their large mouths had four big tusks. There were half a dozen of them around the bright-red flower, ripping into it. Petals coated their muzzles and dripped from their mouths like blood.
Boris braked.
“Look to the right,” Arkady said to the radio. “More megafauna.”
‘I would not call them charismatic,” Jason replied over the radio.
“They are two meters high at the shoulder, and they can be dangerous,” Arkady said. “If you don’t believe so, I can let you off here.”
“No,” said Maggie. “I need Jason.”
The trucks moved on. Ash had been on this route before, a loop that went from fortified lodge to fortified lodge, till it returned to Petrograd and dinner at one of several luxury hotels. A hospitality firm based in Venusport had built them and ran them, making sure that the tourists had a reliably luxurious experience.
“This is National Geographic,” she said to Arkady. “Can’t you show them something different?”
“We are thinking about that. But not today.”
She set down her camera and drank tea. As usual, it was strong and sweet. She felt tired, due to a bad night’s sleep, but mostly good. Baby was next to her in his cage, hunched up, his eyes closed. Was there anything cuter than a sleeping pterosaur?
There were more pterosaurs flapping in the trees, and bipeds scurrying through the undergrowth. Early in the afternoon, the clouds broke apart, and rays of sunlight slanted into the forest. A herd of forest cattle—twenty or more—crossed the track in front of them, forcing them to stop and wait, till the loutish herbivores finally moved on. But they saw no large predators.
“Apex predators are always rare,” Arkady said when Jason complained. “And this is not Earth in the Jurassic.”
They reached the next lodge late in the afternoon. It was a concrete pillbox, surrounded by a high fence. Alexandra and Irina did the check this time, stepping on several small land scorpions. There was something lonely about the two women, stalking through knee-high vegetation. They both carried rifles, but used them only for poking among the leaves. Beyond the fence, was the forest, darkening as daylight faded and denser clouds moved in. Ash took photos, as did Maggie.
They went inside finally, and Boris did another search. “My cans are in order,” he announced. “And I have found no scorpions.”
They unloaded the trucks, and Alexandra made dinner. This time it was a pilaf and a mixture of spinach and chickpeas.
“Home food,” said Arkady happily.
Heavy rain began to fall outside. Ash watched it through one of the virtual windows. It shone like a silver curtain in the lodge’s spotlights. The low plants around the lodge bent under the weight of water, and a gusty wind made them flutter. Arkady got out plum brandy this time.
Jason looked unhappy. Maggie recorded the lodge’s interior, and Ash took shots of the Leica, head tilted and lenses shining in the false firelight. She had the impression that Maggie was perfectly content, in spite of the lack of drama.
“Want outside,” Baby said.
“The weather is bad,” Ash replied.
The pterosaur hunched down, looking as unhappy as Jason.
Of course, the journalist wanted something exciting to happen. Ash was content to sit by the false fire and drink fruit brandy. What she liked about the outback was its strangeness, its inhumanity. Was that the right word? Being in a place without imported plants and animals, where people didn’t fit in, though they had made roads—a few, at least—and built lodges. Maybe what she liked about Arkady was his line of work. This was his turf. As much as anyone, he knew Aphrodite Terra.
In some ways, Venus was lucky. Earth did not have the resources to really settle the planet. The USSR had destroyed itself trying to win the Venus Race. The US had largely given up, in part because it no longer had a rival, and in part because the problems on Earth kept getting worse. Venus provided some raw materials—not many; the shipping costs were ridiculous—and it was a tourist destination. Some people retired to the gated communities near Venusport. Others bought beachside condos against the time that Earth was no longer habitable. But most of the planet remained empty of humanity.
The next day, they moved on. The ground was rising and getting stonier, and the trees were all short, with big, drooping, leaves. Small animals moved in the branches and the undergrowth. Midway through the afternoon, their truck turned off the rutted track into forest, mashing low plants and avoiding trees. The second truck followed.
“What?” asked Ash.
“We are going to show National Geographic a good time,” Arkady said. “As you asked us to.”
“And make a point,” Boris added.
“Do you mind telling me what?” Ash asked.
“In good time,” Arkady replied. “I’m tired of Jason complaining about our fauna. It reminds me of other safaris I have led, full of rich tourists who want dinosaurs. I tell them that Venusian fauna is similar to fauna on Earth, but not identical, and we are not in the Jurassic. I’ve had the bastards ask for money back, because we couldn’t show them an allosaurus. I wanted to feed them to a pseudosuchus, which might not impress them, but could certainly eat them.”
Arkady was usually even-tempered, but he sounded angry now. Well, she got angry at some of her work. The fashion shoots could be fairly awful.
They crunched through more undergrowth. There were rocks here, making the driving chancy: outcroppings of a creamy yellow stone.
“Limestone,” Arkady said. “This used to be underwater. There ought to be good fossils, though Jason does not strike me as a fossil man.”
“I’m not one,” Boris said, guiding the truck between two good-sized chunks of stone. A pair of pterosaurs rested on top of one. They were big, with impressive crests.
“Stop!” said Ash.
Boris did. She photographed the animals, which looked damn fine, their crests like orange sails.
“Don’t like,” Baby muttered. Of course not. These guys were big enough to eat him. They would, if given the chance. The pterosaurs were not cannibals, but they happily a
te related species, as humans once ate monkeys, when there were monkeys in the wild.
They went on, coming finally to another track, this one much less used than the one they had been following. Boris turned onto it.
“I don’t remember this,” Ash said.
“It’s good country,” Arkady said. “Interesting. But the damn, gutless executive committee has decided the area is off-limits.”
“Are you breaking rules?” Ash asked.
“Yes. This is the perfect time to explore, with a National Geographic videographer along.”
“And with the CIA putting poisonous spies in our lodge,” Boris growled.
Ash had a bad feeling. But Arkady ran the most reputable tours on the continent.
They bumped among more outcropping of cream-yellow rock.
“This looks right,” Boris said, glancing at his GPS, which was in Cyrillic. Ash could not read it.
“For what?” she asked.
“An impact crater,” said Arkady. “Or something else.”
Boris hit the brakes.
Next to the road was a low wall made of yellow limestone. It curved gently, apparently part of a huge circle. The section in front of them had been dug out. Heaps of dirt lay in front of it. Off to either side, the soil had not been excavated, and the wall was a mound, covered with low plants and vines.
“I wasn’t expecting the excavation,” Arkady said. “I suppose we have the CIA to thank.”
“Who built this?” Ash asked.
“Not us,” Arkady replied. “And not the CIA. It shows up in early satellite surveys, along with three other circles, all in this area and all arranged in a broad arc. One circle is broken, only half there. The rest are complete. None has been investigated. In theory, they are impact craters from a body that broke apart before it hit.
“Remember that our colony was run from Earth. The apparatchiks in Moscow said exploration could wait. This wasn’t a scientific settlement. It was military and economic. By the time we were ready to look around, the CIA was in the area. The government decided to leave them alone. We didn’t have the power to confront the Americans”
They all climbed out and walked to the wall. It looked to be made of the same stone as the outcroppings. But it was a single piece, as far as Ash could tell, and the surface was slick. Ash ran her hand along it. As smooth as glass. When she pulled her hand away, she saw blood. The edge of the wall was knife-sharp.
“Here,” said Arkady and handed her a red handkerchief.
“What’s that for?” Ash asked. “The revolution?”
“At the moment, it’s for your hand. Use it.”
Ash wrapped the handkerchief around the bleeding fingers. Maggie was recording her, she noticed.
The wall—the part above ground, at least—was more than a meter high, too tall to sit on comfortably, if one was human, and too tall to step over comfortably.
“Amazing,” Jason said. “If humans did not build this, then it is proof of intelligent life on Venus.”
“There isn’t any,” Ash put in. “The brightest things on the planet are animals like Baby. He’s bright, but he doesn’t build walls.”
“It can’t possibly be natural,” Jason said.
“I agree,” Arkady replied. “I also agree with Ash. I do not think this was built by anything native to Venus.”
Maggie was panning, making a record of the entire length of wall.
In back of them, a voice asked, “Who the hell are you?”
Ash turned, as did the others. A soldier in full body armor stood in the road between the two trucks. He was carrying a terrifying-looking, very-high-tech rifle. Ash saw that first, then she noticed that he was standing above the road, his boots not touching the surface.
“You are a hologram,” Boris said.
“Yes. But there are gun emplacements all around you. Take a look.”
Ash did. Red lights, sighting lasers, shone on top of neighboring rocks. As far as she could tell, they were aimed at her.
“If you doubt me, I can melt something,” said the hologram. “Your robot.”
“She is autonomous,” Jason replied quickly. “A citizen of the United States and an employee of National Geographic.”
“Shit,” said the hologram. “Stay put. I have to consult. If you move, the guns will fire.” The soldier vanished.
“Are you still recording?” Jason asked Maggie.
“Yes, and I’m uploading my images to the nearest comsat. This place is about to become famous.”
“That will make life uncomfortable for the CIA,” said Arkady in a tone of satisfaction.
“And the useless Petrograd executive committee,” Boris added.
“And for us,” Ash put in. “You have just pissed off the most dangerous organization in the Solar System.”
The hologram reappeared. “I have backup coming. Stay where you are. I’ve been informed that your robot is emitting radio signals. Stop that!”
“Very well,” Maggie said. She didn’t add that it was too late.
They waited, staying where they were, even though a fine rain began to fall. Inside the truck cab, Baby squawked for food.
“Later,” Ash called.
“Hungry!”
At last, a car appeared, bumping down the track. It stopped, and a pair of men climbed out, dressed entirely in black, with shiny black boots. They wore computer glasses with opaque lenses and dark, thick frames.
“Who are you?” one asked.
“Arkady Volkov Wildlife Tours,” Arkady said.
“National Geographic,” Jason added.
“Ashley Weatherman Fashion Art,” Ash put in.
“Shit,” the man said, then added. “Follow us, and don’t try anything funny. There are guns in the forest. Any trouble, and they will melt your trucks.”
They climbed into the trucks. Arkady handed Ash a first aid kit, and she sprayed a bandage on her fingers. The antiseptic in it made the cuts sting. Venusian microbes did not usually infect humans, but there were Earth microbes spreading across the planet, and some of them were nasty.
The car turned and went back the way it had come. The trucks followed. As they began to move, Ash looked back. The hologram soldier was still in the middle of the road, rifle in hand, watching. Then the second truck rolled through him, and he was gone.
“I apologize,” Arkady said. “I thought we could look at one crater and get out safely, with a few images that might—I hoped—endanger the CIA’s control of this region.”
“Were you expecting to find an alien artifact?” Ash asked.
“The longer we looked at the craters the more suspicious they have looked,” Boris said. “We were looking at the CIA, of course. We would not have examined the satellite images so closely otherwise.”
Ash leaned back and drank more tea. Next to her, Baby gnawed on a chow stick. Of course she was worried, but she couldn’t imagine the CIA taking out National Geographic. Even monsters had their limits.
The rain grew heavier. Looking out, Ash saw a group of fire scorpions resting on a tree trunk, sheltered by foliage. They weren’t large, but their exoskeletons were bright red, a warning of serious poison.
“I don’t think I will draw Maggie’s attention to them,” Arkady said. “The CIA might not want us on the radio. A pity. They look handsome, and they are very poisonous. Tourists always enjoy deadly animals.”
A half hour later, they reached a cliff made of the same yellow stone as the outcroppings. It rose above the forest, running as far as she could see in both directions. The road ended in front of it. The car stopped, and they stopped as well. Everyone climbed down.
“Leave the rifles in the trucks,” one of the men said. “And you can leave that thing too.” He waved at Baby in his cage.
“He gets lonely,” Ash said.
One man went ahead of them, opening a door in the cliff face. It looked human-made, but Ash was less sure of the opening it closed. Rectangular, very tall and narrow, it didn’t look like
the kind of doorway humans would cut. They filed through, followed by the second man, who closed the door and locked it. Inside was a corridor, as tall and narrow and rectangular as the opening. Lights were stuck along the walls. These were clearly human. As for the corridor itself—the stone was polished and as slick as glass. There were fossils in it. Ash made out shells, gleaming behind the glossy surface, as well as long things that might be worms or crinoids, though this world did not have crinoids. If she’d had another life to live, she would have been a biologist or paleontologist, though she had a low tolerance for the finicky work required of both. Maybe it was a better idea to shoot fashion models and megafauna.
Baby muttered in his cage.
The corridor ended in another narrow doorway, this one without a door. Beyond it was a rectangular room with polished stone walls. Like the hall, it was narrow and tall. It contained a table and chairs, all 3-D printed. Ash recognized the style. Human Office Modern.
“Okay,” said one of the men. He took off his glasses, showing pale blue eyes with dark, puffy skin below them. “What is this about? We have a deal with the executive committee of the Petrograd Soviet.” He looked at the other man, who still wore glasses. “Mike, get coffee, will you?”
“Sure,” Mike answered. “Don’t say anything exciting till I get back.” The voice was contralto.
Ash took another look. Mike was either a woman or an FTM, though it was well hidden by the boxy suit and heavy-rimmed computer glasses. Not that it mattered. A female CIA agent was as dangerous as a male.
Mike left, and they sat down. Arkady and Boris looked grim. Irina and Alexandra looked worried. The Nat Geo journalist had an expression that combined fear and excitement. Maggie’s gleaming lens-face revealed nothing.
“Who built this?” Arkady asked.
“We don’t know,” the man replied. “We found it.”
“Are there artifacts?” Arkady asked.
“Aside from the circles and these tunnels? Nothing we have found.”
“This is a site of system-wide historical importance,” Boris said. “Evidence that someone, not human, was on Venus before we came. You sat in it, keeping the people of Petrograd—and the scientists on Venus and Earth—from investigating. Not to mention the tourists we could have brought in, improving our economy.”
The Year's Best Science Fiction - Thirty-Third Annual Collection Page 13