You could go, you know?
Random Walk can generate a pseudovelocity of around four hundred cee. Go to just the right point in the far periphery of the Tau Ceti system, where the gravitational lens focus for the galactic center is found. Fire the generators, cut in the drive. Watch the sky sparkle some brilliant, pure, impossible blue, ghostly fingers stroke you soul and...
How far? Fifteen thousand parsecs?
Something like that.
How long?
One-hundred-twenty-two point six-two-five years, said the library AI.
All right. So I’ll get back, assuming I choose to come back, no sooner than the late Spring of 2849.
I went over finally and cleared a patch of bare ground beside the pond, scraping it clean with an entrenching tool I found clipped to the side of the cabin extension. Went around in the dark gathering rocks of a certain size until I’d made a little circle, then went around again, gathering up bits of dead wood, breaking the longer branches to a fairly uniform length, making a little pile just so. Very nice. Now, if only I had a lighter.
There are moments when you feel exceptionally stupid, but then I remembered an old movie I’d seen, a twenty-third century remake of The Mountain Men, set on an imaginary future Mars that’d been improbably well terraformed, entirely software generated after the fashion of the times, featuring a faithfully resurrected version of Brian Keith. I went to the cab and got the sparkler, fired it down into the pile at its lowest power setting, and watched with some satisfaction as the wood glowed red and burst into flame.
I went in the camper, got out some frozen hamburger, a pan, a bottle of thick steak sauce, Alpha-Éna the label said, found an onion, a bag of frozen potato spheres, a stick of oleomargarine, and set to work. Pretty soon, I had the pan sizzling, some pretty good smells filling up my patch of woods, I...
Soft sound, up under the trees, over there.
I looked. Felt a little lurch in my belly. Big dark shadow. Eyes.
Oh, shit.
I glanced at the back of the camper. Not all that far. Maybe...
I stood slowly, starting to turn, realized with a start there was another one over by the pond, a fat white wolfen perhaps twice the size of the one I’d seen in the zoo, a bit bigger than the one in the pit, back in Orikhalkos.
I looked down at the sparkler, leaning against my boulder. Sure. Back on Earth, hunters use these things to knock down small gamebirds. Ducks, I guess. Thrush? Do people eat thrushes? Maybe not. Thinking of something else, I... God damn, I...
The spacesuit whispered, Gaetan, we think you’d better stand still for now. We’re running a quick library search.
A library search. Great. I wondered, How far away is the Takkor Boerderij?
Seventeen kilometers.
Great. I swallowed softly, saw the wolfen’s eyes move, realized it’d heard me, wondered if it could smell my sudden, cold sweat. A terrestrial animal, a predator would know by know just how terrified I was, heart beating so fast in my chest it seemed like one continuous vibration. People have been here on the Koperveldt for a long time. Long enough for them to... get used to us.
I looked toward the camper’s cab, where there was a compression rifle waiting for me in the gunrack. One blast from that and I’d have them all dead, probably knock down half these trees as well. I wondered, just briefly, what your average Greenie would hunt with a compressor. Hell, ordinary rifles had been enough for womfrogs hadn’t they, I...
There was another wolfen, smaller than the other two but bigger than me, sitting by the door.
Smiling?
No. No lips. Their teeth show even when their mouths are closed. Like an alligator.
Can you start the camper’s engine through the transponder box? Maybe it’ll scare them away. Maybe you can turn it around and... maybe you can run them...
The spacesuit whispered, If anything moves, according to the small literature on wolfen we’ve found, it is probable they’ll attack.
Attack? And then?
The library AI said, Hemmendoer’s Guide to Living On Your Own has the following statement: “If you let yourself get caught out in the open, each wolfen will likely get one good mouthful.”
I felt my heart falter.
The spacesuit whispered, Hold still, Gaetan. We’re calling for help.
Good idea. Fat chance. Just how long will it take for Vrijheer Borgen Takkor to come find the bits and scraps that are all that will be left of me?
The big one beside the pond was starting to inch forward again.
A tiny voice, very calm, somewhere deep inside, not one of the AIs, but not sounding much like me either, said, You know of course that being eaten alive is just not going to be very pleasant?
Wolfen standing up now, one of them yawning, mouth agape, teeth making my heart go bump, really hard.
Christ. Maybe I can just have a heart attack now and die before they can do anything. That’d be all right.
The little one over by the cab, still sitting on its haunches, whispered, a bubbling little growl, Awerroowaahhh...
So. Reach down now and grab that sparkler and start shooting the bastards. You won’t be able to kill them with a bird gun, sure, but it’ll sting like a son of a bitch, startle them. Maybe you can get in through the back door, lock yourself in. Then the suit can start the camper and just drive your ass away.
For God’s sake, Gaetan, hold still! Please!
Why the hell would an artificial intelligence be talking about God?
Klopklopklopklopklop...
Rhymthic sounds, coming up through the trees. The wolfen turned to look and so did I. A horse. I felt myself breathe a heavy sigh of relief. For Christ’s sake. Borgen Takkor, I presume? Got your rifle with you, mijnheer? OK, now shoot these bastards and...
Dull surge of horror. Riderless!
The horse stopped, reins dangling, though they hadn’t been before, and I could see a dark shadow, something like a giant lima bean draped across its back. The bean slid off, landed with a dull plop on the ground, then rose on long, thin crabs’ legs. Scuttled easily across the ground, walking more or less like a big spider, legs moving with machine-like precision, walking over, not to me, but to the big wolfen by the pond.
I’m not breathing. Not breathing at all. Going to suffocate and die and never know what was going on. I... It stood still, seven eyes like pingpong balls on stalks growing out of the middle of its back, waving two big lobster claws in the wolfen’s face. Great. Maybe I can run for the camper while they use it for an appetizer, I...
It grew a third arm, something like an octopus reaching out to touch the wolfen’s face.
Tableau.
Then the wolfen shook the octopus off its head, snarled softly, with just a hint of petulance and anger, I imagined. Barked, high, metallic, not like a dog’s bark at all, one, two, three...
They turned away, turned back into shadows, and were gone, just like that.
God. My chest. Like I’m caught in a vice... I drew in a strangled breath then, making a high noise of my own, something like a sob.
The Kapellmeister turned, eyestalks floating gently above its back, like flowers waving in the breeze. Stood looking, I guess. Then it walked over to me, octopus hand drawn in against the front of its body, so that it almost disappeared.
When it stood in front of me, looking up, it lifted its chelae and started moving them, clicking, metallic scraping like scissors being opened and closed...
A little black box strapped to its back said, “Well, Mr. du Cheyne, the control systems aboard your starship seemed quite concerned about your safety. I’m glad I was able to get here in time, though Gunbreaker and her sisters were... disappointed.”
I croaked something, only sounds, unable to form words.
The Kapellmeister said, “You’re welcome, Mr. du Cheyne. And I’m so glad to find you here! I’ve been wanting to thank you for saving my life, back in Orikhalkos.”
Ten: I think I stood there
I thin
k I stood there for a full minute, looking down at the improbable, pulpy shape of the Kapellmeister, while something sizzled and popped in the background. Finally, it reached out and poked me in the knee with one of its chrome-bright claws, made a harsh chitter-snap commentary, and the box on its back said, “Are you all right, Mr. du Cheyne?”
“Uh! Yes.”
It said, “Then I think you’d better attend to your dinner. I’m sure I smell the beginnings of the carcinogen-formation process.”
I looked around, almost wildly, at dark shadows among the trees, my camper, cheery yellow light still glowing through its windows, at the Kapellmeister’s quietly grazing horse, light from the two moons shining off the surface of the pond, other shadows, cast by my firelight, leaping around on the ground.
Stars in the sky, apparently unmoved.
I knelt and picked up my spatula, broke the hamburger loose from the bottom of the pan and flipped it over. “Hmh. Not too bad.”
The Kapellmeister said, “You probably shouldn’t eat the black part, Mr. du Cheyne.”
I sat on the ground by the fire, hugging my knees, shivering, on... well. On eye level with the thing. Pretty eyes. Such a lovely shade of... Earthly sky-blue, in this light. Looking at me, I suppose, no way to tell. The Kapellmeister stepped closer to the fire, stretching two of its seven eyestalks out so it could look down into my pan.
I said, “Doesn’t that hurt?” One of the other eyes seemed to lean in my direction. “I mean, some of your eyes are in the combustion byproduct plume...”
It said, “No. I have pretty tough eyes.”
“Oh.”
The Kapellmeister said, “I think if your wits were in proper working order, you’d want to know how I came to be here.”
Sure. I was wondering. Starting to calm down now, occupied by the mundane task of assembling my dinner, getting out the bun, putting on the mustard and ketchup, opening a jar of pickled onion slices I’d found in the refrigerator.
It said, “Those white things smell pretty bad. As of bacterial action.”
“Yeast.”
“Linnaean classification makes that distinction, I understand.”
I fished the burger out, putting the pan aside on the mossy ground... found myself looking at the moss and wondering what it really was, made up my sandwich and lifted it to take a bite. Suddenly put it down and let my hands shake all they wanted.
The Kapellmeister said, “I was visiting with Gunbreaker’s clan, Mr. du Cheyne. When the news came that you were here, alone, apparently unprotected, a human too stupid to look after himself properly... I wasn’t interested in watching, so I decided to ride on, be about my business.”
Decided to ride on and let the wolfen come kill me? Jesus. I said, “I’m glad you changed your mind, Mr...”
Silence. Then it said, “If you’re waiting for me to say a name, I’m sorry. We don’t use them, Mr. du Cheyne.”
“Gaetan. I’m still glad you changed your mind.”
Silence, then: “Well, I didn’t change my mind, Gaetan. The artificial personality complex at your starship somehow activated a remote feed to the hardware in my translator. It told me who you were, after which I decided...”
I sat looking at this thing, which really didn’t look that much like a living being, remembering a night in a dark alley. I’d enjoyed shooting that man with my little dartgun... realized with a start it was in my pocket even now. What if I’d remembered and fired it at the wolfen?
The library AI whispered, Solar and Cetian biological systems are fairly different. The paralytic agent would have had no effect, beyond inducing pain.
So different they’re immune to our poisons, but not so different we can’t eat each other? My mouth watered, remembering those fine, sweet womfrog steaks.
The library said, The wolfen would have become quite ill from consuming your flesh. Unlike humans, they are not protected by vigilant artificial immune systems.
Right. I muttered, “You’d think they might take that into account.”
The Kapellmeister seemed to be peering at me intently. “Whom?”
“The wolfen. Getting sick from eating me.”
“Ah. It seems they feel enduring such illness to be a point of honor.” Long moment of nothing, then it said, “Your meat is getting cold.”
I picked up the sandwich again, hands much calmer now, and wondered if the Kapellmeister was thinking of what the cow might have had to go through on its way to becoming ground beef. I took a bite and found that even though I hadn’t bothered to scrape off the burnt bits, it tasted just fine. I licked the juice off my lips, grease maybe, a little bit of blood, and said, “What were you doing with them, Mr... ah. Why don’t you have a name?”
It scraped softly to itself, something the translator box didn’t relay, then said, “I know who I am. Others know who I am. Those who don’t know who I am have no use for a label.”
“Not even a childhood nickname?”
“I’ve been out of the egg for a long time. As for childhood...” It spread its chelae-wielding arms wide in something that looked just a little like a shrug. “It’s an interesting notion, but we are... fully sentient as hatchlings.”
“Oh.” Sudden realization of just how fucking little I really knew about Salieri and the Kapellmeisters, about... pretty much everything. All those years watching netvid bullshit. A childhood spent fantasizing. Even my belovèd Green Heaven. Sure, I’d known about womfrog hunting. That’s what the daydreams were about: kill a womfrog, get a blowjob. I’d even known a little bit about the wolfen, presented as intelligent, dangerous, rather nasty predators. But where the hell were the dollies? I guess that would have made a nice fucking show for a pubescent boy to watch.
The Kapellmeister said, “And for the rest of it, I’m here with a group of Arousian students, traveling under the protection of Mace Electrodynamics and the systemic government of Sigma Draconis. They are here to study the wolfen’s behavioral culture for the xenosociology department of—” his translator box went greekeegreekeeclackgreekee “—University.”
Hmh. Weird. “Why would the Arousians...”
It said, “They are quite interested in learning about other sentient species, Gaetan. Other than humans, of course, with whom they are quite... familiar.”
Sentient. I tried to remember those old shows, remember what they’d said about the various wolfen species of Green Heaven. Not much. What sticks in my mind is a scene from a twenty-fifth century flexscript-generated multishow, a drama set on Green Heaven in which it was possible to get yourself trapped by a hungry band of yellow wolfen from the borderlands of the Adrianis Desert.
Not much detail there, beyond a whole lot of scary growling and drooling, before Aurens mac Inglaterra would appear above the line of white gypsum dunes, with his blue-burnoused band of Hinterling warriors. After that, as I recall, viewers of various genders and sexual orientations got to have a fine assortment of rape fantasies.
The Kapellmeister said, “I’m supposed to be a chaperone for them, in the employ of Mace Electrodynamics, diplomatic credentials from Sigma Draconis and all that.” It turned, stiff legs moving mechanically, seeming unreal in the firelight, seeming to glance over at its horse, or maybe into the shadows beyond.
I found I was still afraid to look at those shadows too hard.
It said, “Though the living sages counsel absolute patience, I’ve never been one to sit still, of course, and be a mere observer. So I’ve been riding around to the various wolfen subclans in the hill country, arranging for them to visit our encampment. That’s where Gunbreaker and her people ought to be going, in fact.”
Gunbreaker. Quick memory suppressed. I’ll think about it tomorrow, when I’ve had time to reabsorb my feelings. “Are you a spy?”
“For whom?”
“The government of Salieri.”
Silence. Then it said, “Not in the sense you may mean, though... a wise citizen looks out for the interests of its... chosen polity.”
&nbs
p; That idea was probably surfacing from memory of some old movie as well, something featuring a Salieran spy, skulking through the sewers of some human habitat, on Luna or Mars perhaps, where the sewers are old and full of ambience as well as shit. I can’t quite pull it up. Something about a Kapellmeister crawling through the dark sewer, coming upon a rat’s nest, gleefully grabbing the baby rats in its terrible chelae, snipping off their heads, sucking their blood...
It said, “Would you like to visit my friends, Gaetan?”
“Well. Sure.”
“It’s quite a ways off. About three days travel.”
I glanced at the camper, wondering if I should explain about the rewiring I’d done.
The Kapellmeister said, “I’m traveling by horse, Gaetan.” The animal, which had been standing quite still in the shadows, looked up, as if it understood the word.
“I wasn’t going anywhere in particular.”
“Excellent. I’ll make camp here for tonight. We can move on in the morning.”
From faraway, came the faint afterecho of a long, complexly modulated howl. Wolfen. “Christ!” Shivering.
The Kapellmeister said, “Oh, dear. Gunbreaker and some of her warriors seem to have killed one of Mr. Takkor’s prize brahma bulls. He’ll be very angry.”
I stood up, feeling slightly short of breath.
“You can sleep outside if you wish, Gaetan. The wolfen won’t come again. It’s a very nice night.”
Both of the moons had set now, my fire died down, and but for the glow from inside the camper it had gotten quite dark. So dark, in fact, that the sky seemed to blaze with ghostly silver light. “I think I’ll go in for the night. Thanks anyway.”
I lay in bed for a long time, lay in the darkness, staring out through my little window at the starry sky, watching the Milky Way’s band slowly rise, trying to sleep, failing, trying to think, failing at that as well. Mainly, I lay there listening to all those scary nighttime noises, remembering what it’d been like to lie awake as a child, buried deep under the Moon, listening to the regolith groan.
Acts of Conscience Page 19