by Greg Bear
“Decided days ago that we we should speak before we our hosts in language we all us may understand. All we our ten on this ship now speak English enough to be understood, with Paola Birdsong giving help. Thus, we we now will use English exclusively when we are together.”
“We appreciate the gesture,” Martin said.
“It is some stifling,” Eye on Sky said, “but necessary.”
“We’re going to take some important precautions after our first contact with our hosts,” Martin said. “We don’t know what they can learn about us at a distance, but we can be pretty sure that once they’ve actually touched this ship, secrecy may be impossible. We’re going to have to be circumspect. We’re reasonably sure the noach chamber can’t be breached. If we have anything to say to each other that we don’t want our hosts to hear, we say it there.
“But if we allow anybody or anything into the Double Seed, we’ll have to assume no place is safe.”
“Micro-scale listeners,” George Dempsey said. “They could even be in our bodies.”
“Right. We’ll assume they can’t be detected. That means no written messages, no winks or nods, nothing suspicious…or out of character. “
Humans murmured and nodded, Brothers undulated slightly.
“The play’s the thing,” Martin said. “We’re actors from now on.”
Double Seed entered orbit ten thousand kilometers above Sleep, and the bishop vulture appeared again. There was no discernible delay in communications now. “We have asked you to orbit this fourth planet because it is the safest. Your ship would not be safe near any other planet in our gathering, for there is much activity—exchange of forces, coming and going of other ships. But the fourth planet is not especially comfortable for your kind. We ask that you give us samples of your atmosphere and tissues and nutritional requirements, that we may prepare vehicles and implements for your use.”
Martin had already drawn blood from himself and Ariel with the Double Seed’s medical kit. Silken Parts took tissue samples from one of his cords.
On the screen, the bishop vulture lifted its long nose, revealing breathing and speech orifices beneath. Its chest expanded and it hissed slightly while saying, “We are very interested in your aggregate species. We have no such intelligent beings in our gathering. You will be very valuable and respected among us, and you will teach us much.”
Erin glanced at the ceiling. Martin stared fixedly at the camera, face blank.
“A ship will attach to your ship in a few minutes,” the bishop vulture said. “The samples will be collected by a sterilized machine within your ship.”
“Maybe we should introduce ourselves and exchange names. We prefer to use names,” Martin said.
“We have no need for names, but names can be assumed for your convenience.”
“My name is Martin.”
“I can be called Amphibian, since I seem to most resemble, in my biology, that class of animals you call amphibians.”
“A better name might be Frog,” Martin suggested.
“Then I will be called Frog. You will meet other representatives, and assign them names and categories, as you wish.”
“Ship is approaching,” Sharp Seeing announced.
With a gentle scraping sound, the ship attached to Double Seed, a thick extrusion surrounding the mechanical airlock like lips. Martin took a deep breath. Here it was—intrusion, and all the dangers that might bring. He wondered, too late, if they should have resisted direct contact—decided that would have been impossible.
Eye on Sky opened the exterior door. A gray cylinder with rounded ends entered. Then he closed the exterior door and opened the interior. The cylinder propelled itself into the bridge area with quiet spurts of air drawn through small slits in its middle, and expelled in similar slits arranged around its length.
Paola opened a small refrigerator and passed the samples in their transparent plastic container to Silken Parts, who swung around to release the container in front of the cylinder.
An arm extruded from the cylinder and took the container. The cylinder propelled itself softly to the airlock, and the door closed behind.
On the screen, the bishop vulture—Frog, Martin corrected himself—turned away for a moment, head cocked, then turned back.
“We have several possibilities open to us. You may come to the surface of our fourth planet, to meet directly with our representatives, or you may remain within your ship. If you choose to visit the surface, you may use equipment we supply to make your stay comfortable; this is recommended, as testing of your samples tells us you would soon grow tired under this planet’s gravity.”
They’ve analyzed the samples already… Martin’s neck and shoulders tensed and he shivered.
“You may also choose your mode of conveyance. These decisions may be made at your leisure. I will remain available to you at any time.”
The screen blanked.
“Are we still sending?” Martin asked.
“I cut off when they did,” Hakim said.
“It’s a little abrupt,” Martin said, “but it seems clear. We’re going to spend some time getting used to them. If they’re as smart as they seem, maybe we should expect them to get used to us.” He made this speech in complete expectation of being overheard. He stumbled over the next few words, trying to say and do what they might be expected to say and do by the unimaginable minds that might be listening. “We’ve adapted to each other, but we were nearly equal when we fought our wars…How much harder to understand species much more advanced?”
He visualized tiny machines in the cylinder’s exhalation, hiding in the ship like dust motes, transmitting by noach. Nothing at all compared to what we’ve already seen.
“It took us centuries to grow together,” Silken Parts said, with no discernible unease. “We we hope for no atrocious deals here.”
High-school students emoting before master critics. How long could it last?
The most important moment arrived: the first meeting, face to face, between the crew of Double Seed and some of the beings who seemed to control the Leviathan system.
Donna Emerald Sea had devised fancy uniforms for the humans to wear, and decorative sashes and ribbons for the Brothers. She adjusted Martin’s particularly resplendent garb, winked at him briefly, stood before him with hands on hips, and said, “You look perfectly barbaric, Captain.”
“Thank you,” Martin said, and turned to Eye on Sky, who resembled a young girl’s braided pony tail done up with ribbons, brought to life perhaps by Godpapa Drosselmeyer for a joke. The Brothers and humans did look splendid—and naive; he hoped Frog and the others would find the display amusing, whatever passed for amusement among them—and convincing.
Donna went among the others, pinning, fidgeting. Martin remembered her adjusting the projected world-wedding gown on Theresa and became acutely aware once more of human limitations—and human beauties. He closed his eyes and swallowed.
Paola helped Donna with her uniform, black and red with gold sash, crew style.
Hakim wore his outfit stiffly. He reached up as Martin approached and stuck his finger between neck and high collar, Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin throat. “Many years since we have worn these,” he said. Hakim might be the least convincing of them.
The Brothers seemed natural actors. Not once had they broken character or showed the strain of their roles.
“We’re ready, Captain,” Donna said.
Six—three humans and three Brothers—would leave Double Seed and descend to Sleep’s surface: Silken Parts, Strong Cord, and Eye on Sky; Martin, Paola, and Ariel. Martin appointed Erin Eire to replace him. Sharp Seeing would replace Eye on Sky.
In the screen, they caught a glimpse of a white sphere, heard it scrape midships and seal itself around the airlock. The inner airlock door opened. Single file, they entered the smooth green interior of the transfer ship. Beyond a transparent panel, visible only as they turned a corner, stood another bishop vulture, not—Martin guesse
d—Frog itself.
“I am your helper now,” the new bishop vulture said. “I have taken your word Salamander as name.” It hissed faintly beneath its words. “If it does not offend or bring wrong meanings, you may so call me.”
Eye on Sky introduced his companions. Martin and Eye on Sky had decided it might be best for a Brother to serve as primary leader on this excursion. Paola seemed up to the task of interpreting between two non-native speakers—the Brothers and their hosts.
There was method to this inconvenience: it could masquerade as power sharing, and the inevitable misunderstandings could hide their own confusion.
They drifted weightless in the middle of a small cabin. Martin noted a sensation of motion as the vessel separated from Double Seed. Invisible constraints much like fields surrounded them; their hosts’ technology had advanced in parallel with the Benefactors at least to this degree. But then, fields were as logical and inevitable as fire had once been for humans.
Salamander hissed faintly again, said, “We descend now. There should be no discomfort. Would you like to examine conveyances for walking on the surface?”
“We we would like so now,” Eye on Sky said. A panel of curved wall became transparent, revealing Salamander against a dark backdrop.
Another panel to Salamander’s right cleared. Beyond, motionless white skeletal frames stood like robots made of elegant bones, one set for humans, another for the Brothers.
Martin was particularly impressed by the design for the Brothers’ suits. Like padded snake ribs tied to two backbones, they would allow braids to move much as they did naturally, in normal gravitation, with a sinuous caterpillar motion.
“We hope these are suitable,” Salamander said. “They are made to go unnoticed while worn.”
“We we are assured,” Eye on Sky said.
“There will be one for each member of your party.”
“As expected,” Eye on Sky said.
“And they will be fitted to each individual’s shape and size,” Salamander said.
“As expected.”
“Your schedule for surface excursion…” Sharp hissing intake of breath, raising of the miter’s nose, “winking” of the three amber eyes into the pale green flesh. “Upon landing and suiting up, there is orientation to teach you with more basics of how we behave and work. Then a meeting under shelter with representatives of the five primary races. Followed by proper induction ceremony for entry into the Cooperative of Fifteen Worlds. Exchange of information in a formal meeting with secretaries of the Living Council. I will accompany you and explain what is necessary, what you have questions for.”
Ariel looked at Martin with a brief expression of boredom. Martin lifted his eyebrows in concurrence. Whatever excitement this meeting might have had—under any other circumstances, should have had—was lost in the tincture of overwhelming ceremony, not to mention awareness of its almost certain insincerity.
Camouflage upon masquerade upon deception.
Do these beings believe they are real, and free? Martin wondered. Are they? Have the Killers faded into their decoys?
Salamander lowered its head and gripped the metal bar before it, freezing suddenly like a museum display. After a moment, as the skeletal white suits disappeared behind opacity, it lifted its head again. “We have refreshments, liquids and foods, which we hope are palatable. Landing will be in fifteen minutes. You will not need to inconvenience yourselves, and you will not experience any discomfort beyond mild sensations of motion. We have provided food. You may dine after landing.”
“Thank you,” Eye on Sky said. “Reasons of religious nature, we all we must eat our own food.”
They had taken enough risks already. There was no sense inviting microscopic spies into their bodies, or anything else they could avoid.
“Religious nature,” Salamander repeated with some savor. “Rules dictated by perceived higher beings?”
“Food for humans and Brothers must be specially prepared. We all we will send food from our ship when needed, with we our food handler.”
“That will be done,” Salamander said. “Is this religious requirement very strong?”
Eye on Sky glanced at Martin and wove a small figure eight with splayed head cords. It seemed to want his help.
“Very,” Martin said. Then, innocently, “Don’t you have religious food laws? We assumed all civilizations would…obey higher authority.”
Salamander did not answer for a time. It—or something listening through it—was obviously thinking over this question thoroughly. “We do not observe specific religious rules,” it answered. “Nor do most of us absorb nutrition by eating. There is one exception, a type living on the fourth planet.”
Martin’s expedient, and little test, had been neatly sidestepped. Martin said, “Are…most of you mechanical?”
“No,” Salamander said. “We are organic.”
“We we foresee such things as artificial bodies,” Eye on Sky said, back on track. “Are you naturally born, or artificial?”
“These questions can be answered later,” Salamander said. “They are not as simple as they might seem.”
Martin curled his legs and folded his arms, floating within his protective field. He could feel little of the ship’s motion; no obvious acceleration. But the always-sinking sensation of weightlessness changed in a way he couldn’t quite describe; as if his arms and legs might be getting heavier, yet not his torso.
The odd sensation faded, replaced by something they hadn’t experienced in years—the heaviness of being in a planet’s gravitation. Theory told them there was no difference between weight caused by acceleration and the heaviness brought on by gravity, but Martin had the eerie sensation of knowing the difference.
The protective fields did not diffuse through their bodies; they provided support for externals, but not for internal muscles and organs, and the heaviness immediately became oppressive, almost nauseating.
“Are you comfortable?” Salamander asked.
Eye on Sky made a squeaking sound. Martin looked to the Brother’s hind section and saw cords letting go. The Brother smelled like a pine forest—euphoria and fear, he guessed.
“I feel a little sick,” Martin said. Ariel said she was not comfortable.
The fields glowed and sparkled briefly, and the disparity faded. The Brothers did not completely disassemble; the cords grabbed hold again. Paola’s face took on color and Ariel let her fists relax.
“Better,” Martin said.
Where the skeletal support suits had been displayed, an equally convincing view of the planet’s surface appeared. They seemed to descend from an altitude of nine or ten kilometers. The horizon showed no curvature; the atmosphere, only a few kilometers thick, glimmered in a thin bright line between the dull red, black, and dark blue expanse of Sleep, and the starry blackness of space.
Martin saw orderly features below, triangles, circles, lines of gray against the dull red and black, circles of white lying on the blue expanse of sea. Mountains appeared against the horizon, white rock capped with orange and pink, deep in shadow now.
Dawn was breaking, and from three hundred million kilometers, Leviathan’s light poured over Sleep’s sea and land, setting ablaze streamers of cloud and smoke from crustal vents.
Martin heard a faint whining noise—perhaps their craft singing through Sleep’s atmosphere. Puffs of cloud shot past. He felt the planetary pull more intensely, but without much more discomfort.
He avoided thinking about how they were being manipulated. There was no practical way they could protect themselves against tampering. The Killers can change matter from a great distance. They could change parts of our own body to suit their purposes…kill us immediately, fill us with tiny spies, even control the way we think.
He looked at Ariel, trying not to let his misery and fear show. She held out her hand, and he took it without hesitation. Paola held out her hand, too, and then Silken Parts extended a cord, and Paola took hold of that, and Ariel graspe
d a cord offered by Eye on Sky. Strong Cord connected with Martin and the circle was complete.
He didn’t feel any less afraid, but he certainly felt less alone.
“Are you disturbed? Not comfortable?” Salamander asked.
Eye on Sky, who should have answered for the group, said nothing.
“We’re comfortable,” Martin said hoarsely, and cleared his throat.
“We are not familiar with that communication,” Salamander said, and repeated the sound of his throat clearing. “What does it mean?”
“An…organic sound,” Martin said. “No meaning.”
“Like my hissing and breathing,” Salamander offered.
“Right,” Martin said.
“Do my extraneous sounds bother you?”
“No,” Martin said. Under other circumstances—if this masquerade were real—he thought he could feel affection for Salamander, so solicitous was the bishop vulture, trying to make their journey easier.
The wonderful, withdrawing blink of the beautiful amber eyes, the flushing pink of patches of the pastel green skin; the creature was actually quite beautiful. I’m flipping back and forth. Emotional strain. Keep it even.
The exposed crust of Sleep was incredibly rugged, a chaos of broken black rock, some blocks hundreds of meters wide, lying over and across each other with glassy extrusions sharp as knives. Between the blocks lay drifts of orange and pink powder, from which winds blew streaming hazes that glittered in the sunlight.
The ship still flew a few kilometers from the surface. Into their view came a stretch of sea, mottled blue-green, kilometer-wide white poker-chips floating motionless amid low, oily waves.
As they watched, a distant section of crust collapsed like an edge of glacier calving on Earth. A thick plume of black smoke arose, splaying out into a low anvil in seconds. Red highlights glowed through the murk.
“We will land on a platform in the ocean in three minutes,” Salamander announced. “This must be very unfamiliar to you. Do you have any questions?”