Sentenced to Prism

by Alan Dean Foster

  They were halfway to the station when Evan's face broke out in a big smile. He pointed toward the bow of the shuttle. "That settles it. You can relax now."

  Sure enough, there on the bow was the company logo, big and bright and sassy. Martine echoed his smile, but less certainly.

  "I'm still surprised that they'd come looking for you before receiving a single report and without knowing what to expect. You must be a pretty important member of the corporate structure."

  "Yes, I am," he replied blithely. "Obviously someone got nervous enough to take the risk and authorize the inperson check on my status. One of the original company scenarios postulated a station-wide communications failure. Probably they decided that was what's happened here, and that it subsequently also affected my ability to communicate. That's completely wrong, of course, but it would explain this unsolicited visit."

  He wanted to let out a joyful shout when the first survival-suited figure appeared among the buildings. The woman was making a detailed inspection of the camp's nonfunctioning defensive perimeter, not attempting to fix it so much as trying to figure out what had caused it to fail. She was on her hands and knees, inspecting a relay pylon, and failed to notice their approach.

  "Hi," Evan said. She didn't react, and it occurred to him that her external audio was probably turned off. The suit she was wearing was not nearly as massive or elaborately equipped as his abandoned MHW. Her tools were contained in an external belt.

  She looked up then and her eyes widened at the sight of the two figures. Evan could sympathize with her reaction.

  He waved. "Hello again!"

  An audible click followed by a soft hum as she switched on her outside audio. "Who the hell are you?" She looked from Evan to his companion. "And what the hell is that?"

  "I'm Evan Orgell. Senior company research, non­specific. The troubleshooter who was shipped here to find out what happened? You know."

  "Oh— yeah, right. I forgot." She waved toward his transparent torso. "It's just that I wasn't expecting to run into you out here. Not to mention looking like that."

  "Or like this," Martine added quietly.

  The woman came close, eyed Evan's companion up and down. "What is she? Some kind of local hybrid?"

  "Something like that," Evan told her hastily. "This is Martine Ophemert, the only surviving member of the original station staff. She knows what happened here, and why."

  "We need to talk to whoever's in charge."

  "Sure, sure. Tell me, what did happen here?"

  "A bit more than your usual cut-and-dried industrial espionage. Some rival concern managed to slip an agent onto the station staff. He waited until the time was right, then killed everyone except me. That's what happened here."

  The woman nodded thoughtfully. She was taking it well, Evan thought. "Yes, you could see it was something like that. We've been cleaning up the bodies. Hang on. I'll call in and tell them you're here."

  Silence while she attended to in-suit communications. Eventually she looked up, chose to direct her attentions to Evan. He had the feeling that Martine's half-human, half-silicate stare made the other woman nervous.

  That was understandable.

  "What happened to the spy?"

  "He started to come after me," Martine said, not caring whether the woman was looking at her or not, "but Prism took care of him. On this world the cocky don't live very long."

  "We've seen what some of the local lifeforms are capable of," the woman replied uneasily. "We weren't expecting anything like what we found."

  "No one was," Evan said easily. "There wasn't any reason to suppose that standard operational procedures would prove insufficient to protect the station and its staff. I still think the staff here could have coped if this Humula hadn't intervened."

  "You're probably right about that. Oh, my name's Winona. Winona Strand. Follow me. I've just been talking to Frazier and he said to bring you in straight away. Our temporary HQ's in the old administration building, what's left of it." She shook her head. "We're still clearing out native lifeforms. They're tough as hell. Trying to reestablish the perimeter, too, but we're having trouble bringing power back on line."

  Evan chuckled. "Something's probably eaten half the wiring, not to mention the solar receptors."

  "Eaten. Yeah." The woman kept glancing back at Martine, hurriedly turning away whenever her stare was noticed. Martine did not comment on the attention.

  "The local silicate and organosilicate species have an insatiable appetite for rare-earth compounds. They have developed novel methods of extracting such elements from more complex compounds."

  "I see," Winona murmured. "I'm sure the two of you have learned quite a lot since you've been stuck here. Our people are going to want to debrief you extensively. Your reports are going to be extremely valuable."

  "Invaluable," Evan corrected her. "Who is this Frazier? I don't recognize the name."

  "Not surprising. Strictly offworld operations. Hardly ever gets to Samstead, much less company central."

  Now that they were in among the buildings they began to encounter other members of the shuttle crew. The expected expressions of astonishment and disbelief greeted them as they strode by. Evan was able to chat privately with Martine by means of the Associative transmitters.

  "How does it feel to be back in camp?"

  Martine's eyes were scanning the grounds, the structures she had helped raise. Half of them were overgrown with Prismatic flora.

  "Different and yet the same. It's been a long time. Nothing looks quite the way it did the last time I was here."

  "Thank the physicians who altered your vision for that. It doesn't look the same anymore to me either, and I was here just recently."

  She let out a resigned sigh. "I thought I'd feel more at home. I don't. I suppose I can thank my doctors for that, too. It isn't fair. You're supposed to feel alienated when you're away from your home, not when you come back to it. Perhaps it has nothing to do with my perception of the way things are. Maybe it's just all the undergrowth that's taken over." Blue light danced in her shoulder. "Maybe I'll feel differently once we're inside."

  The administration building did look better. The rescue team had cleaned out the native intruders. Supplies were stacked against one wall and crated equipment lay nearby, but nothing to indicate that the newcomers planned to settle in for a long stay. That made sense. This was a search-and-rescue team, not a replacement crew. Rebuilding would have to await the arrival of a much larger and better equipped follow-up expedition.

  One of the admin consoles had been cleared completely. One man was seated behind the curving desk while a man and woman stood staring at a nearby computer screen, arguing over adjustments. Safely inside, they wore standard duty suits instead of cumbersome survival outfits. Tools dangled from pockets and belt straps.

  Winona led them forward, removed her suit and hood. Evan was beginning to get used to the stares. Their guide removed her suit hood, addressed the man behind the desk.

  "Evan Orgell and Martine Ophemert, Mr. Frazier. She's original station staff; he was sent in subsequently to update station status."

  "Right." Frazier inspected them each in turn, ended with his eyes fixed on Martine. "What about this Humula person, then?"

  She repeated her story. He listened quietly, attentively, until she'd finished.

  "I'm not going to ask how you were fixed. Time for that later. Suffice to say you're the most extraordinary-looking creature I've ever set eyes upon."

  "I am conscious of my uniqueness," Martine replied dryly. "I'm sure you'll find the details of my sea change even more fascinating."

  "No doubt." He shifted his gaze to Evan. "So you're the one who was sent here to find out what was going on. We thought you'd been killed along with everyone else."

  "Not hardly."

  The tall woman standing nearby spoke up. Her tone was demanding and harsh, unlike Frazier's. "What happened to your suits?"

  "Martine's was smashed by a fallin
g tree. Mine was— well, you've seen what the local lifeforms can do to alloys."

  Frazier nodded. "We've hardly had a moment's peace since we set down here. I've had to mount a round-the-clock guard on everything: buildings, supplies, even the shuttle. There's some kind of subterranean slug that keeps trying to eat the landing struts." He shook his head. "What a world!"

  "You're just not familiar with it," Martine told him.

  "Hellish," the tall woman snapped, "but rife with potential."

  "More than you can imagine," Evan assured her.

  "Yes, I'm sure the company analysts will be slavering over your store of information for months, trying to decide which development to authorize first."

  Frazier glanced up at Martine. "I'm sure you'll be able to point them in the most profitable direction."

  She was staring hard at him. "I might. If you can explain one thing to me first."

  Smiling, Frazier leaned forward. "Anything at all, Ms. Ophemert."

  "When you were talking to Evan a minute ago you said, 'We thought you'd been killed along with everyone else.' The way in which you said it implies that you thought everyone had been killed before you landed. Why would you think everyone here was dead? The station might have suffered nothing more than a failure of its communications equipment."

  Frazier shrugged. "The natural assumption, after such a long period of not hearing from you."

  "Really? I'd think it more natural to assume a problem with communications before I'd assume there was no one left to communicate."

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Evan was looking from Martine to Frazier, his thoughts churning. That smile— was it a bit forced?

  "Who was your contact at Prism Project?" Martine asked him sharply. "Who authorized your trip here?"

  "Houlton. Gabriel Houlton."

  "Who told you about my visit?" Evan asked softly. "Who told you to come looking for me before you heard from me?"

  Frazier glanced up at him. "Summer."

  Evan shook his head slowly. "Not good enough, Frazier. Summer's a minor functionary, and a public one. Anybody could know his mama. He's way down the ladder." When Frazier held his silence, Evan continued. "Fact is, hardly anybody knew about my visit. It was kept as quiet as possible. Only a few at the top knew I was coming here."

  "She asked about Humula." Martine jerked a thumb in Winona's direction. "You asked about Humula. Not a word for the station commander, senior researchers— just your friendly assassin and mine, Aram Humula. A bit performer in our little play here— unless he was one of your own, and vice versa."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Ophemert."

  "I'm afraid that you do. Come on, Evan. We need to talk." She turned to leave.

  Winona stood between them and the two men who now guarded the exit. All three of them held needlers. "Sorry." She didn't sound sorry, Evan thought. He whirled on Frazier.

  "Your shuttle displays the company logo."

  "Naturally. No point in taking chances. As your half-human friend unfortunately noted, we assumed you'd all be dead when we got here, but when we didn't hear from Humula, we got nervous. We were confident of what to expect, but we couldn't be positive. If something had gone wrong, we didn't want to alarm any company survivors. Simple enough to acquire company-issue suits and mount the logo on our shuttle and ship. The latter is the Sudaria, by the way. She's awaiting our return a few planetary diameters out."

  "I know the name." Evan's tone was grim. The concern which owned the Sudaria and its sister vessels was not renowned for its charity and kindness. He was disgusted at the situation. Mostly he was disgusted with himself, for having been taken in so completely by such a simple subterfuge. He'd been too excited by the prospect of rescue to think carefully.

  "I thought you would, Orgell." He turned his attention back to Martine. "I know he's Evan Orgell. You say you're Martine Ophemert. I know who that was. I'm not convinced you're her. You look more like a local lifeform than a research scientist. For all I know you're a clever copy who's managed to dupe Orgell. You might be an original alien construction instead of a repaired human being. Frankly, you make me very nervous and I'm thinking of having you shot on the spot."

  "I'm glad I make you nervous," Martine said dangerously, not helping the case for her survival one iota.

  "She's Ophemert," Evan said hastily. "I can vouch for it."

  "I'm going to assume that she is. Not because you vouch for it, Orgell, but because of what it means if she is human and has been repaired like this locally. Shame about Aram," he murmured to the tall woman. "He was a good man."

  "He was a liar and a murderer," Martine said evenly.

  "That sounds human enough." Frazier steepled his fingers, staring at her. "That's good. The information you've doubtless acquired during your extended sojourn out in that crystalline Hades will be invaluable. It'll save us a great deal of legwork."

  "If you think you can take over this station and claim by force— " Evan began.

  Frazier cut him off with a laugh. "By force? Why should we have to use force, Orgell? Your company is famous for its conservatism. First they lose contact with their staff here, then they don't hear from the 'specialist' they sent in to find out what's wrong. I don't think they'll chance a third check. No, if your Board follows true to form, they'll simply vote not to throw good money after bad. They'll roll up this project and forget about it for a year or two, at least. By that time we'll be well established here."

  "I wouldn't help you find your way to the toilet," Martine assured him.

  The tall woman was smoking something that smelled like old roses. It tickled Evan's nostrils. "You'll cooperate— what's left of you. We have our own specialists, you know. Easier to pry information out of a person than a planet. I think enough of you is still human to respond to the right probes." She turned to look right through Evan. "I know that enough of your friend is."

  "There isn't anything you or anyone else can do that would possibly induce me to tell you the least little thing about Prism," Martine said.

  "Well, maybe you're right and I'm wrong. In that case I'm sure there's much to be learned from taking you apart."

  "You're forgetting something," Evan put in. "It doesn't matter what you do to us. You can't build anything more elaborate than a research station on this world because Prism qualifies as Class A."

  The woman's companion spoke for the first time. "What's that?" He looked anxiously over at Frazier. "He's lying. There's nothing in the station files about a sentient native lifeform."

  "There are several." Evan was thoroughly enjoying their discomfiture. "Apparently you didn't pay close enough attention to Martine's story. She and I were repaired by natives acting from intelligence, not instinct. They're smart, smart enough to qualify as Class A inhabitants. You know what that means. Class A worlds are off limits for development."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Frazier sounded bemused. "Since we've been here we've encountered nothing but the expected primitive lifeforms. Nice try, Orgell, but it won't work."

  "You need proof? Who do you think did this surgery on us? Trees?"

  "Maybe. Nothing about this world surprises me."

  "If there are any 'intelligent' lifeforms here, they'll just have to keep out of our way," the tall woman added. "We've got a lot invested in this. Too much to be stopped by a story. For all we know you did the repair work on each other, or it was done by your surgeons before Humula got to them. If that's the case it'll turn up in the files when we've had time to run them all. I'll believe that a lot sooner than I'll believe you were rebuilt by some native life­forms."

  "You can't hide the existence of a new world forever. When the authorities find out what you're doing here that'll be the end of your whole Board of Directors."

  "Maybe, but that might be a hundred years down the line," Frazier responded. "Our people can deal with it then. We won't have to worry about it. We'll have made and spent our fortunes by then and been laid to re
st."

  "There's some terrific stuff in here." The tall woman's companion had turned back to the computer and was staring at the screen. "Nothing about them yet, though."

  "It'll turn up, you'll see," the woman said confidently. "They're trying to buy a little independence with a story too crazy to be checked."

  "What'll we do with them until then?" her companion asked.

  Frazier leaned to his left, looked around Evan as he spoke to Winona. "Put these two up in the observation tower. They can't cause any trouble from up there. Tomorrow we'll run 'em up to the Sudaria. Nodaway and his people can get to work on them and we can get back to business down here." He looked back at his prisoners. "I'd advise you not to try anything. My people are very efficient. You can be more valuable, to us alive, and it's better than being dead. You'll be well looked after." The smile that had greeted them earlier returned. "Nothing personal. This is just business."

  "Yes." The tall woman moved closer. "We're just doing our jobs, just like you were doing yours. I'm sure our own people will make you a very handsome offer to ensure your cooperation. It doesn't make any difference in this lifetime who you work for, does it?"

  Marline spat in her face. "No. But it does make a difference who I have to work with."

  The woman slowly wiped the spittle from her cheek. "Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe you'll keep refusing to cooperate. Wait till you meet Nodaway. Humula was a child compared to him."

  Winona stepped forward, started to herd them out. Marline called back over a shoulder.

  "I won't stand for any mistreatment of the natives."

  "Natives?" Frazier looked amused. "You're really going to stick to that story, aren't you?" He looked up at the woman. "You seen any natives?"

  "No, no natives." She spoke to one of the guards. "Either of you seen any natives out there?"

  "No, ma'am. Nothing but that godawful stuff that tries to wrap itself around your leg and the little hard-shelled things that keep crawling all over you looking for a hole in your suit. But no natives."