"You're right, we couldn't," Martine admitted readily. "But you forgot about our friends."
"Friends?" Frazier's brows drew together. "What friends? The animals?"
"You saw the dome outside? Yes, of course you did, or you wouldn't have come here first. The 'animals' made that. Our friends. When they're given sufficiently detailed diagrams and a little help, they can duplicate anything. It's a game to them, a puzzle, a challenge. They're also capable of making some interesting improvements to whatever they're working on at the time.
"The instrumentation they put together is unorthodox but it works. The message we were finally able to get off with it wasn't too coherent, but it was effective enough."
"It was kind of an explosive, desperate grunt," Evan told them. "What it lacked in eloquence it made up for in strength. It was picked up and recorded, and someone got curious because it was emanating from what was supposed to be an uninhabited region of space. So some official directed that it be checked out. When I find out who, I'm going to nominate him or her for sainthood in the Church."
Frazier was gaping at him in disbelief. "Then you gave it all away! Now that the government knows about this world your own company won't be able to profit here any more than ours, or anyone else's. This place will be put under regulation. Development will be regulated to death."
"It doesn't matter." Evan smiled. "You see, our company isn't our company anymore."
Martine moved to stand close to him. "We've both tendered our resignations. We're going to stay on here to work with the natives. They have a lot of potential and they're very enthusiastic and anxious to learn. They're not interested in joining our mechanical civilization because they don't have to, but they very much want to learn from it. That new beam amplifier out back— that's half alive. It can't walk and it can't talk, but my, can it amplify! It's sort of a superevolved version of the talker towers each Associative counts among its members— but you wouldn't know about that. It wasn't built; it was hatched. These 'animals' are going to alter Commonwealth technology in ways we haven't begun to imagine."
"Think what you gave up." The tall woman spoke contemptuously as she was led away. "Great fortunes. Power." She shook her head. "Idiots."
"I think not," replied Martine imperturbably. "Which one of us is under arrest?"
When the last of the landing party had been taken into custody, the representative of the United Church on Prism came looking for them. Manheim had been dispatched along with the rescue party to see to the moral development of the natives— should any such development be required. From what he'd observed so far of Azure and library and the rest of Evan and Martine's friends, any extensive Church presence on Prism would be superfluous at best. He was delighted. The Church hated to meddle.
He found them on the observation platform, gazing out across the forest. Prism's sun was beginning to set. The waning light, harbinger of the long night to come, made the forest resemble more than ever an endless ocean of elfin castles, every tower alight, every rampart a sheet of jewels.
"Hello, Manheim," Evan said absently, not taking his eyes from the view. The Churchman didn't blame him. The sparkling panorama was far more pleasant to look upon than his own pudgy visage. He joined them in drinking in the fiery vista.
"I understand you two want to go back out into the forest to try and establish a native city— excuse me, a large Associative— where other natives can come to partake of humanx philosophy and ideas. You won't be able to give them any more advanced technology, you know. Not yet. Against Church edicts."
"There's no need to hurry the technology. They have to realize the time has come for them to abandon their tribal organizations. That's paramount. Introduction of technology can come later. We have no intention of trying to circumvent Church strictures." His tone was firm.
Manheim smiled. "I didn't mean to imply that you did. I've had a chance to review your preliminary reports, you know. I'd like to see this Integrator thing."
"That might be arranged," Martine told him. "From a distance, of course. The Integrator is no respecter of rank. Or sanctity."
"Knowledge like that is why the outpost that's going to be established here will have to rely on you two to get its people safely through the first couple of years. You're the only ones who know this world. I suppose you qualify as the first colonists."
Martine looked down at her right side. "It's more like Prism has colonized us." Evan nodded agreement.
"It's a wonderful thing you've done for these, uh, people. I intend to recommend that you receive full Church support for any projects you wish to initiate."
"That'll be much appreciated," Evan told him sincerely. "Save us from having to deal with the bureaucracy."
Manheim nodded knowingly. "If you'll excuse me, I'd love to stay until sundown, but I have business that needs to be taken care of. The matter of cosigning formal indictments and other distasteful things that are best disposed of as soon as possible. I'll see you later."
"Looking forward to it." They watched as he descended from the platform and crossed the shadowy open ground below toward the administration building.
"What do you think?" Martine whispered. "As far as what's being done about Frazier and his people?"
Evan didn't try to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "I've seen much more of how big companies operate in a crisis than you have, Martine. They'll never make any indictments against his employers stick. Frazier and his underlings will bite their lips and suffer whatever punishment the courts mete out. But you'll never see any Directors undergoing Correction. They'll deny everything, claim that Frazier was operating entirely on his own and without official permission from higher up, and produce the documents to prove it. Charges and countercharges will be filed, the media will have a held day, and within two years it'll be business again as usual. You can't imprison a company. You can irritate it, bleed it, aggravate it, but you can't lock it up."
"That's unfair, and immoral."
"That's business."
It was quiet atop the platform for a long time. The sun was almost down when a third figure joined them. It limped out of the newly repaired lift and complained about the inefficient design. The controls were much too high to be useful.
Evan smiled affectionately down at the newcomer. "Evening, Azure."
"Downtime greetings, my friends. How does it proceed?"
"The disturbed members of our Associative have been restrained and will be repaired." Azure would not be able to grasp the meaning of the term 'punishment'. "We are looking at one small problem, though."
"What kind of small problem?"
"Our greater Associative has laws that govern how much information, how much of our learning we can share with prim— with new friends. We may not be able to help you progress as fast as library and some of the others would like to."
"Martine told us about such laws." Was that a wink? Just the evening light, Evan decided: "The libraries have been busy with the physicians. Already they have absorbed most of the knowledge that was contained within the dead library here. They will hold it for future study."
Evan's eyebrows lifted. "You didn't say anything about that. No one said anything about it to me— until now."
Azure gave a mental shrug. "We saw no need to burden you with trivia while you were engaged in capturing your disturbed relatives."
"I see. And what are library and the others planning to do with this information they've quietly stolen?"
"You cannot steal information, Evan," Azure said reprovingly. "Library says you can only borrow it. The libraries have one or two projects in mind."
"Better battery systems for your bodies?" Martine asked interestedly. "New variations on the — barrean defensive beams?"
"I don't think so. Actually, there is nothing at the moment we want for ourselves. The projects are designed to thank you, for what you have done for us."
Both humans expressed their surprise. "Now what could you be doing for us, Azure?"
&
nbsp; "Well, I believe one group is trying to design a device that would replace that gruesome soft sac in your torso, as well as the need to constantly fill it with organic compounds, with a system akin to our own, so that you would be able to live as we do, on the clean food of the sun."
"That was suggested to me before," Evan told him, "by the physicians of your own Associative. It's a quaint thought, but even if they succeed I'm not sure I'm ready to substitute solar power for a good steak. What else?"
"They are working on a way for walls to defend themselves from the devices you call needlers. Lastly is a favorite project which is still only in the discussion stage but which has the physicians and processors in particular very excited. It is only in the discussion stage because it would take the combined efforts of hundreds of physicians and thousands of processors to complete.
"They are also afraid that your own people would not understand it, so I must ask you not to mention it to any among your own kind." Azure's somber tone precluded the possibility that the scout was joking with them.
"Well, that does sound serious. What is it? Some kind of super battery that will enable you to function around the clock? A more refined communications system based on the exploding stars and the talkers?"
"No." Azure sounded at once troubled and excited. "You see, until you came among us, Evan, we had never thought of traveling at night, much less traveling through the night that separates the stars. There was a great deal of information about such matters contained within your machine. So library tells me."
It took a moment for the scout's words to seep through Evan's preconceptions. "You're not telling me," he said laughingly, "that the libraries are thinking of trying to build a starship?"
"No, of course not." Azure was very earnest. "We wouldn't know how to begin building a ship to travel between the stars.
"We are going to try to grow one."
About The Author
Born in New York City in 1946, Alan Dean Foster was raised in Los Angeles, California. After receiving a bachelor's degree in political science and a Master of Fine Arts in motion pictures from UCLA in 1968-69, he worked for two years as a public relations copywriter in a small Studio City, California, firm.
His writing career began in 1968 when August Derleth bought a long letter of Foster's and published it as a short story in his biannual Arkham Collector Magazine. Sales of short fiction to other magazines followed. His first try at a novel, The Tar-Aiym Krang, was published by Ballantine Books in 1972.
Foster has toured extensively through Asia and the isles of the Pacific. Besides traveling, he enjoys classical and rock music, old films, basketball, body surfing, and karate. He has taught screenwriting, literature, and film history at UCLA and Los Angeles City College.
Currently, he resides in Arizona with his wife, JoAnn (who is reputed to have the only extant recipe for Barbarian Cream Pie).
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