A Call to Arms

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Is that what you woke me for?” Caldaq did not allow T’var time to reply. “This is a situation any Second should be able to deal with. Send another remote to see what happened to the first. Has anyone bothered to consider the possibility of mechanical failure?”

  “Staff does not think this one failed, Captain. They aren’t sure, but… some disquieting final transmissions were received.”

  “Disquieting? How?”

  “Visuals.” For the first time since he’d been awakened it struck Caldaq how much T’var was unlike his usual jovial self. “They are somewhat self-explanatory.”

  Caldaq bared his teeth as he strode forward. Crew and officers made room for him as he stormed into their midst and demanded explanations. Meanwhile T’var was murmuring in rapid S’van to Z’mam. Caldaq did not admonish his Second for speaking so. He wanted this settled quickly so he could return to his mate and his bed.

  An officer beckoned him to a screen. “This is what the remote observed before contact was lost, Captain.” Caldaq leaned forward.

  He was traveling at high speed over mostly flat, forested terrain. The ground was only intermittently visible because of thick, scattered cloud cover. The view was peaceful, even normal.

  As the journey progressed the remote passed above several small urban centers. Unexceptional lines radiating outward from the alien communities suggested the presence of limited surface transport facilities.

  Without warning the image lurched wildly, then steadied again. Caldaq addressed the officer and the staff gathered close by without taking his eyes from the screen.

  “What was that?”

  An O’o’yan tech squeezed between two Hivistahm, his translator humming. “At first we thought heavy local winds might be responsible, then equipment failure. As you can see, the remote righted itself and resumed course as plotted, though it gained altitude while so doing.”

  “This is the awkward part,” murmured the officer. “Here…” The Hivistahm reached out and adjusted the instrumentation.

  The image slowed at the officer’s command. As it did so one of the other Hivistahm pointed to the screen with a clawed finger. “There, see…”

  A small object came into view in the upper right corner of the screen. Soon after, the image rolled violently again, the land and the cloudscapes whirling wildly. Very little additional real time passed before the screen went black.

  Caldaq straightened. “I still see nothing to suggest other than mechanical failure.”

  An impatient officer, momentarily forgetting that the captain was not S’van, spoke sharply in the negative. “If the remote had crashed it would have continued sending audiovisual information until the moment of impact. Detailed study of the last available data clearly indicates it was airborne when final failure occurred.”

  “Some kind of lethal atmospheric phenomenon, then.”

  “We have reason to think otherwise.” Z’mam stepped up to the console. Caldaq watched as the Second ran back the last images transmitted by the remote, finally seizing on one and enlarging it substantially. From the flat view thus selected he chose a small area and enhanced it to three dimensions. The alien object he’d isolated hovered motionless above the console: cylindrical, metallic, and winged.

  “This was traveling at high speed proximate to the remote,” he explained. “Immediately after it appeared, the probe commenced its gyrations. As you saw, total failure occurred shortly thereafter.”

  A Massood off-shift officer spoke up. “All remotes are programmed to take evasive action if and when an airborne alien device should approach to within a prescribed distance.”

  Caldaq looked at the soldier. “Surely you do not think the natives destroyed it?” No one said anything. “I have studied the preliminary reports. Even allowing for certain deviations, the perceived level of technology of this planet’s inhabitants is much too low to include the ability to down an advanced survey probe.”

  T’var cleared his throat, brushed at his impenetrable black beard. “ ‘Perceived’ appears to be the operative word here, Captain. ‘Deviation’ may also enter into it. The evidence would seem to suggest…”

  “None of this is conclusive,” Caldaq said impatiently. “Send down another remote, but with a different program. There may be something special or unique about the particular area the probe was observing. This time run the survey over a different landmass.”

  Strange to be talking about multiple landmasses on the same world, he mused. A mystery for the geologists to solve. A sudden thought worried him.

  “Something not yet discussed. Could there be an Amplitur outpost here?”

  One of the S’van spoke up. “That was one of the first things we checked. There’s no indication of it. Though somewhat sophisticated, the satellites in orbit around this world are of strictly alien design and execution, and insofar as we have been able to determine, utilized strictly for surface-to-surface communication. No information is being directed outward, and no interspatial transmissions have been detected save for occasional bursts being sent to and from tiny mechanical devices located elsewhere in the system, none of which resemble anything the Amplitur or their allies employ.”

  “Does not make much sense, does it?” Caldaq asked rhetorically. “Be quick with that other remote.”

  He did not return to the rest he so dearly desired. Instead he spent the following time periods in Command Central, watching and waiting as the second probe was ejected from the ship and sent on its long, curving course planetward.

  From the time it entered atmosphere the probe functioned according to its programming. Therefore, unless a better explanation came to the fore, the loss of the first remote would be recorded as an isolated incident of probable mechanical failure.

  The second survey probe went about its business without interruption, recording information day by day and sending it back out to the ship. It was about to be recalled when it vanished in a manner similar to its predecessor. Intensive analysis pointed inexorably to the same explanation: it had been destroyed by artificial means.

  It was a more solemn than usual Chief-of-Study who addressed the assemblage in the gathering room. “In the event local sentients attempt to contact a remote, the device is designed to respond to the inquiry. Yet there is no evidence of such an attempt in these two instances. Is that correct?”

  “That is so,” said Third-of-Study, who supervised the remotes. His scales gleamed. “As near as we can determine, neither probe was contacted. Both were simply destroyed.”

  “I feel we are missing something.” Caldaq studied the tense group of multiracial techs and officers. “I worry still about Amplitur influence.”

  It was infuriating not to know anything for certain. He was so nervous he was unable to control his snout and had to turn away often to conceal the violent twitching from the others. In that he worried needlessly, since everyone was quite familiar with the by-products of the overactive Massood metabolism.

  The ship had gone to third-stage alert when contact with the second probe had been lost. They could not stay such forever.

  “Our options are limited. We can continue with our survey until we run out of remotes, we can return directly home to report all we have learned and let Weave Authority decide how to deal with this world, or we can fulfill our responsibilities here by whatever means necessary.” He regarded his advisors evenly.

  “I did not accept this command with the intention of failing in any aspect of our mission. We have accomplished great work. I will not allow it to be marred by incompleteness.”

  “The remotes are good at observing and recording. They are not designed to react to circumstances for which they have not been programmed. That requires observational capability backed by greater flexibility. Since mechanicals have failed to provide us with understanding, we must seek it in person.”

  Murmurings in several languages filled the room, whistles and words and demonstrative clicks careening off one another anxiously. One of the H
ivistahm verbalized the obvious.

  “If both remotes were destroyed by artificial means, a crewed shuttle could face the same danger.”

  “I have given the matter some thought.” The arguments ceased and he knew he had their attention. “Both probes kept to programmed courses and altitudes. We will go straight down, minimizing the opportunity for surface-based hostile observation or reaction. A shuttle can manage partial masking and once on the surface can be more completely concealed.”

  “Assuming the inhabitants were responsible for the destruction of the two remotes, it remains that it took them some time to track the first and considerably longer to destroy the second. It may therefore reasonably be assumed that their detection capability or their response time or both is limited.”

  “In addition, both remotes were programmed to fly over heavily populated regions. We will be more selective in choosing a place to touch down.”

  Soliwik had no objections. T’var and Z’mam voiced cautious agreement. Chief-of-Study and Third-of-Study thought it a bad idea, but being Hivistahm their response was predictable and Caldaq had allowed for it without in any way attempting to minimize the danger.

  “I want a mixed landing party,” he declared. “S’van and Hivistahm to observe and record, a Massood squad in case of trouble on the surface, and Wais to translate. Appropriate arms and equipment.”

  “Keep in mind we may be wrong in our conclusions. Meteorological interference or some other natural phenomenon unique to this world may still prove to be responsible for the failure of the remotes. The presence of a native aerial device in one of the recordings does not preclude those explanations. We may even be dealing with some kind of large, dangerous flying creature.”

  Even the S’van were impressed with his thoroughness, which they would have expected from one of their own kind but not from a Massood. Caldaq had no time to bask in their unspoken approval. He wanted answers.

  “Soliwik, you and Z’mam will command in my absence.” He looked to Chief-of-Study. “We will want to set down near one of the urbanized landmasses the remotes were studying without duplicating their paths. Close enough to observe, but isolated from immediate detection. It must be a place where the shuttle can be effectively hidden without restricting the range of our instrumentation. One where there is hopefully a diversity of habitats we can study.”

  Chief-of-Technicians objected. “It will be difficult to find a site meeting all your requirements from so far out. If we could approach the upper atmosphere…”

  “Do the best you can,” Caldaq told him. “We remain ignorant of the natives’ capabilities. Until we know more I will not risk moving the ship closer. The techniques used in masking are imperfect and work best when well away from a surface.” He turned to T’var.

  “Assemble the landing group. Bear in mind we will be carrying a heavy load of instrumentation. I want techs who are not afraid to contemplate originalities.” He glanced over at Soliwik. “And fighters who will pause to think before shooting.”

  Despite the necessary sense of assurance he was projecting, Caldaq was proceeding uncertainly at best in an unprecedented situation. He was simply giving orders fast enough to forestall serious dissension. Neither T’var nor Soliwik would have trouble finding crew eager to participate, regardless of potential dangers. After so long aboard ship, the chance to experience real gravity and breathe unrecycled atmosphere would be embraced enthusiastically.

  Another captain might elect to leave well enough alone and return home without determining what had happened to the two lost survey probes, but he could not.

  He explained as much to Jaruselka, who naturally requested to go along and who, just as naturally, he refused. There followed a barrage of traditional Massood verbal combat which resulted in her remaining on board to continue her own work and a strengthening of their mating bonds. He assured her he would take no unnecessary risks. He, too, wanted cubs.

  The selection of a landing site provoked intense discussion among the scientific staff. Each department had its own priorities, its own agenda. To make progress Caldaq had to remind them that until they better understood the nature of the world below, scientific concerns would have to be relegated to the background.

  Someone suggested that the planet might be home to several different intelligent species, which would go a long way toward accounting for the astonishing multiplicity of languages. This possibility was discarded as soon as native visual broadcasts could be analyzed. There was only a single dominant form, bipedal and apparently mammalian. Given the exceptions already noted, the very ordinariness of their appearance was remarkable.

  Caldaq was relieved. The natives were not monsters. They resembled the S’van in certain ways, the Massood less so, while clearly distinct from either.

  Selection of a landing site proceeded. The deep oceans would have been ideal for concealment, but too isolated for purposes of observation. Compromise among the members of the study and scientific staffs eventually produced a site.

  It was located south of the landmass where the first probe had disappeared, proximate to the heaviest concentration of electronic transmissions and aerial transport but well clear of their paths. Both could be studied from a safe distance. Caldaq declared himself pleased.

  It was unusual for the captain of a vessel to participate directly in such a sortie, but given the unprecedented nature of this world Caldaq felt strongly that his particular abilities might be of use. He was not leaving his command understaffed. Soliwik and Z’mam were more experienced and competent at shipboard administration than himself. If anything happened to the landing party, they would have no difficulty guiding the ship back home.

  Having three Seconds gave him considerable flexibility. Furthermore, if it became necessary to employ the talents of the Massood, he wanted to be there to direct his own people. There would be twelve fighters in the squad. That should be sufficient to deal with any minor problems on the ground.

  By avoiding urbanized regions where the two probes had vanished, they hopefully could avoid any such problems themselves.

  They went down at the height of the nighttime phase, dropping uncomfortably fast toward the designated site and slowing only as they approached the surface. Preliminary observations confirmed the accuracy of the painstaking work which had been done in haste on board ship.

  Below lay a multitude of shallow places surrounded by deeper water. All were uninhabited. Surface activity was nonexistent and communications transmissions feeble and infrequent. It was only a matter of choosing the site which best suited their requirements.

  Personally Caldaq would rather have set down on land. The Massood were not water-lovers, and there was entirely too much water on this world to suit him. Only the Lepar would be comfortable in this place, he decided. But shallow seas offered the best opportunity for quick and easy concealment of the shuttle.

  They entered the water as silently as possible, coming to rest on a firm bottom with sufficient clearance between the top of the ship and the surface. Since they had chosen an enclosed, protected area they would not have to worry about dangerous currents or wave action.

  The tiny islets that encircled the landing site boasted modest vegetation in the form of dense bushes and tall branchless trees. The biologists went to work immediately, and it wasn’t long before one discovered that the islets themselves were composed not of solid rock but rather of the decomposed skeletons of minute marine organisms.

  Their chemical composition was quickly analyzed. It proved to be a simple, straightforward series which the shuttle’s computer programmed into the onboard camouflage instrumentation. Working feverishly, Hivistahm and O’o’yan techs directed Lepar workers in the erection of an electrified grid around the shuttle. Thus stimulated, calcareous growth immediately began to form on the gridwork. In a few days the shuttle would be enclosed by a hard mantle indistinguishable from the reef surrounding it.

  New information enabled the technicians to accelerate the process
. Lepar sculpted the blossoming camouflage to better mimic the original, and the brightly colored local aquatic life-forms which throve in the vicinity did their part by readily moving into the new rills and ridges materializing unexpectedly in their atoll home.

  From the site it was possible to monitor major transmissions in several of the major languages without having to utilize high-gain reception equipment. The Wais worked overtime breaking down structure and grammar, their computers churning with correlations and analysis. Theirs was a talent Caldaq did not have, and he was grateful for their ability and persistence.

  What a world this must be, he mused. Multiple languages, splintered lands, volcanic activity: the wonder was that any intelligence could triumph over such natural handicaps.

  But it was a beautiful world, both above and below the surface. The ambient temperature was pleasing, the winds light, the amount of ultraviolet reaching the surface tolerable. If only the oxygen content were higher. Breathing would require more effort than usual. Still, he was impatient for a chance to leave the shuttle and feel solid ground beneath his feet again. It would be difficult not to take off running, for all that the little islands did not provide much room.

  Given the opportunity he would have to restrain himself. The vegetation looked harmless enough, but no one could imagine what hungry or toxic creatures might lurk among the bushes. The same was true of the chromatically colored life-forms which swarmed in such profusion in the waters outside the ship.

  Eventually a camouflaged access tube was constructed to the nearest islet and members of the crew were allowed outside at night, for exercise and by way of reward. The Lepar had preceded them, luxuriating in the warm water as they worked. You could envy them in their ability to breathe both in and out of the water, but that was about all you could envy them for, Caldaq reflected.

  That first night he found himself gazing at the sky and its myriad unfamiliar stars. He did not worry about overflights by native aircraft. There had been none since they had landed.