Cauldron

by Jack McDevitt

  “The simple answer to your question is that we do not have, for example, imaging transmission because we forgot how to do it.”

  “You forgot.”

  “Yes. We forgot. And we choose not to remember.”

  “Why? How is imaging transmission dangerous?”

  “It has led to social decay. In some eras, it became a tool for enslavement. For controlling the masses. You didn’t watch it. It watched you.”

  “What sort of government have you?”

  Phyl spoke again: “He does not understand the question.”

  Rudy gave it another try: “Who builds the roads?”

  “We have people who specialize in highway construction.”

  “Who provides leadership? Who makes decisions of general consequence?”

  “We have leaders.”

  “How do you decide who leads? Do you hold elections?”

  Mr. Smith responded. Phyl said, “He does not understand the question.”

  “Try it this way: ‘How does one become a leader?’”

  “We do not replace leaders.”

  On their private channel, Antonio commented that it sounded like a dictatorship.

  “What happens when they die?”

  He needed a moment to reply. “The security is very good.”

  Rudy was showing signs of frustration. “What happens when they die of old age?”

  “Explain, please.”

  “When their bodies wear out and they cease to function.”

  “You’re talking about animals.”

  “No. I’m talking about your leaders.”

  “They do not die. Not of natural causes. Why would you think that?”

  That brought confused glances. “Mr. Smith, if I may ask, do you die?”

  “If there is an accident, of course. Or if I choose to end my life.”

  “You’re telling us,” said Antonio, not believing what he’d just heard, “that you live forever?”

  “Not forever. Nothing can live forever. But we have indefinite spans. Is that not true of you also?”

  “No,” said Rudy. “We age. Like other animals.”

  The thing snorted again. “I’m sorry to hear it. I believe I would rather have my life than your starship.” He seemed sympathetic. “Tell me, what can I do for you while you’re here? Would you like to meet with some of our more prominent citizens?”

  “Perhaps another time,” said Rudy.

  Mr. Smith folded his arms. It wasn’t exactly a fold, Matt saw. The arms were more flexible than their human counterparts. They more or less entwined. “As you wish,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like me to arrange a sightseeing tour?”

  “No,” said Matt. “I think not. But thank you.”

  Rudy was still trying to digest everything. “Is it possible we could obtain a history book?” he said. “Something that would allow us to learn of your culture.”

  “Regrettably, I don’t have one available.”

  Hutch’s voice: “You have company. Looks like about six of them, Matt. They were hiding in the boathouse.”

  “If you’d care to come back in a day or so, I’m sure I could come up with something that would satisfy you.”

  “Thank you,” said Rudy, showing no sign that he had heard Hutch’s warning. “We’ll pick it up next time.”

  “Two of them are moving toward the lander. The others are splitting up. Two at the front door. Two in back.”

  “You’re leaving, then?”

  “Phyl,” Matt told her. “Get out of there. Get some altitude.”

  “Leaving now, Matt.”

  “Yes,” said Rudy. “I think we’ve accomplished all we can for the evening.”

  “They’re armed,” said Hutch. “I can’t determine the nature of the weapons.”

  Matt removed his laser and showed it to Mr. Smith. “Who’s outside?”

  “The ones outside?” If Mr. Smith was surprised, he did not show it.

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. How did you know?”

  Matt leveled the weapon at him. “We’ll be leaving now. You lead the way. And warn your associates if there’s a surprise of any kind, you’ll be the first one to go down.”

  “Matt,” he said, “they will not allow you to leave. If that means I must die here, then that will be the outcome.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re priceless. You and your friends are the most exciting thing to happen here in a thousand years. Moreover, you have a vehicle that is not subject to gravity. And you have a starship that travels multiples of light speed. How could you possibly think we would allow all that to walk away from us?”

  “You just got finished arguing that advanced technology is dangerous.”

  “Ah, yes. If you had lived as long as I, you would not look for consistency. Now please lower your weapon. It can do no good, and might only needlessly get us both killed.”

  “I’m not prepared to do that.”

  “You have no choice.”

  “Of course we do.”

  “Matt,” said Phyl, “I believe I am safely out of range.”

  Matt exchanged glances with Jon and Antonio, then signaled the alien to start out the door.

  “I don’t wish to comply,” he said.

  Matt hesitated.

  They were all on their feet now. “Shoot if you must.”

  “Do it like General Lee,” said Antonio.

  Of course.

  “Phyl.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do Battle Cry.”

  “Okay, Matt.”

  Matt lowered the laser and looked down at Mr. Smith. “Have it your way.”

  Somewhere, a bugle sounded. Outside the windows a terrible cry exploded out of the darkness. It was the shriek of angry banshees, filled with rage and bloodlust. Then the night was gone, dissolved into bright light. Gray-clad troops poured out of the woods and charged the lodge. Heavy gunfire erupted on all sides. There was a brief crackle of electrical weapons.

  “They’re clearing out,” said Hutch.

  An artillery team arrived just outside the window. They dragged a cannon, which they quickly turned, loaded, and pointed at the living room.

  A wave of cavalry rolled out of the forest and headed along the lakefront, whooping and yelling.

  Mr. Smith shrieked and ran from the building.

  Matt, Antonio, Jon, and Rudy strolled out behind him. He was the only alien in sight.

  ANTONIO’S NOTES

  It was hard to believe, looking down on those earthbound cities, that these were the same creatures that had sent starships across vast sections of the Orion Arm, that had shown us Babylon and its Hanging Gardens, that had demonstrated a relentless interest in the rise and fall of civilizations in distant places. And had done it all without FTL. I couldn’t imagine what had driven them to such accomplishments. And I wondered where it had all gone wrong. Maybe when they stopped dying?

  —Monday, December 24

  chapter 27

  THE SECOND MISSION objective was to investigate Sigma 2711, probable source of the radio transmissions received near the end of the last century at the Drake Center in Cherry Hill. They needed three weeks and three days to get there, and it would be an understatement to say that Matt was happy, finally, to arrive back in normal space. The ship’s calendar indicated that, back home, it was Thursday, January 17.

  The atmosphere on the McAdams was less congenial than on the Preston. For one thing, there were only two people; for another, both were males. Jon was friendly enough. But the problem was that he could content himself for hours on end with the ship’s library. It might have been less annoying had he been reading books on particle physics, or some such thing. He did do that. But he also read biographies of political and military leaders, commentaries by Roman philosophers, contemporary novels, and pretty much anything else that caught his eye. The result was that, even though Jon offered to watch VRs with him, Matt understood it
was an imposition. “No,” he invariably said, “stay with your book. I’ve got stuff to keep me busy.”

  Matt had never been much of a reader. He tried, but the silence in the ship, which was usually broken only when Jon wandered over to get something to eat, or headed for the workout room, was stifling. He didn’t enjoy watching shows alone, so mostly he sat and entertained himself doing puzzles, playing through fantasy football seasons, or simply drifting through the library, hoping something would catch his attention. (Nothing ever did.) Consequently, the stars, when they finally showed up, looked pretty good.

  Jon was on the bridge with him when they made the jump. And he, too, was obviously happy to be back.

  The globular cluster NCG6440 was a misty swirl in the rear. M28 was too far ahead to look like anything more than simply a dim star. “Jim,” he said, addressing the AI, “any sign of the Preston?”

  “Negative, Matt.”

  “Ship status?”

  “Normal. All systems operating within parameters.”

  But where was Sigma? “How about the target? Have we located it yet?”

  “Working,” said Jim.

  It had been seventy years since the celebrated signal had been picked up. The researchers had tracked it, with a high degree of probability, to Sigma 2711. That meant the transmission had been sent fifteen thousand years ago.

  This is our first attempt to communicate beyond our realm.

  It must have been a tantalizing time. Who had sent the message? Had they already heard something? Surely it had been directed at relatively nearby targets. But it had traveled on for fifteen thousand years until finally it arrived at Cherry Hill.

  He wondered whether anyone else across the broad sweep of the cosmos had picked up the transmission. Whether the senders had ever received a reply.

  Respond if you are able. Or blink your lights.

  Something very human there. It was a pity they’d been so far.

  “I have it,” the AI said. The on-screen starfield approached and expanded as Jim increased magnification. A group of yellow stars appeared, and a cursor marked the target.

  “How far, Jim?”

  “Forty-four light-years.”

  Jon tried to look humble.

  “Just down the street,” said Matt. “Let’s go take a look.”

  SIGMA 2711 IS located in relatively open space, 3,500 light-years on the far side of NCG6440. It’s a class-F yellow star, almost half again as hot as Sol.

  “Jim,” said Matt, “see what you can find in the biozone.”

  The AI acknowledged.

  “Any electronic activity out there?” asked Jon.

  “Not this time. No, there is nothing.”

  Matt nodded. “Nobody here.”

  Jon shook his head. “They might have advanced beyond radio transmissions. Who knows?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a chance,” Matt said, “the transmission didn’t originate here. Just came through. Or from nearby. At this range, it would have been difficult to be certain. Especially when you consider the technology they had to work with.”

  “It’s a pity.”

  “Jon, you didn’t seem to care all that much about Makai. Why are you concerned here? What’s the difference?”

  “Oh, I cared, Matt.” Jon stared off into the distance. “I expected more than we found at Makai.”

  “Yeah, that was something of a disappointment.”

  “I’d love to sit down with somebody a million years ahead of us, and have the conversation we thought we were going to have at Makai.”

  “Hutch thinks it might be that civilizations reach their maximum potential pretty early, then go downhill.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Matt let his head drift back until he was looking up at the overhead.

  “The thing about it,” said Jon, “is that this might be our last chance. If there’s no one here, we go back to playing bingo.” He looked at Matt. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was thinking if we find the kind of place you’re talking about, they would have to have something better than the Locarno. You do all that work, come out here, and suddenly your new drive would be worthless.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. That’s a point. I hadn’t thought about that possibility.”

  Jon went silent. “You still awake?” Matt asked after a few minutes had passed.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “The printing press.”

  “Say again?”

  “Matt, I think Hutch is right. Technological civilizations don’t last long. You’re all right until you get a printing press. Then a race starts between technology and common sense. And maybe technology always wins.” He took a deep breath. “Think about it. Start printing books and you start the clock running. Eventually we may discover that nobody lasts past a thousand years once they start making books and newspapers.”

  “I don’t know how you can say that. Look how old Smitty’s civilization is. It’s been up and down, but it’s still there.”

  “I mean functioning. Smitty’s civilization is dead.” He took a deep breath. “Technology makes civilizations more vulnerable. You can’t easily flatten a world made up of Stone Age villages. But something as small as a computer glitch might take down a high-tech culture. Food stops rolling into Chicago, and chaos follows. You get advanced weapons. Or you develop long-term life and you get what Smitty has.”

  “What does Smitty have?”

  “The bosses never retire. Never die. Think about that. Keep in mind that, no matter what we’re able to do for the body, the mind becomes less flexible. You wind up with a world full of cranks.”

  “No indication of planets yet,” said Jim. “But I do have the Preston. We have a hypercomm transmission from them.”

  “Good,” said Matt. “Put her through.”

  Priscilla appeared on the main display. “Hello, Matt,” she said. “Good to see you guys made it all right.”

  “Hi, Priscilla. We’ve been here a couple of hours. Where are you?”

  The visual reaction lagged a second or two behind. “Six hundred million klicks. We have a green world.”

  Jon brightened. “Okay.”

  “We came in right next to it. I’ve fed the numbers to Jim.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “It’s quiet.”

  “That was what we’ve been getting, too.”

  So much for encountering a hypersociety. Someone who might provide a fresh perspective on the big questions. Was there a God? Why was there something and not nothing? Does the universe have a purpose, or is it all just an oversized mechanical crapshoot?

  “Chances are,” said Jon, “they wouldn’t have a clue either.”

  Hutch nodded. “Probably not.”

  Matt wondered whether it wouldn’t take a lot of the pleasure out of existence if they knew the final answers. No more speculation. No more dark places. “I’m not sure it’s where I’d want to live,” he said.

  THEY ALL GATHERED for dinner on the McAdams several hours later, greeting Hutch and her passengers like long-lost friends. They had by then gone into orbit around the newly discovered world.

  It looked wild and, in the manner of living worlds everywhere, beautiful. It was covered with blue seas and broad forests. An enormous river tumbled down from a mountain range, culminating in a waterfall that would have dwarfed Niagara. Elsewhere, a volcano was belching smoke, while vast herds of land animals wandered unconcerned across its lower slopes. Other creatures looked more dangerous. They ran or shambled on two legs and four, armed with fangs and claws that looked like scythes. There were wolflike animals that hunted in packs, and things that might have been aerial jellyfish. On the whole, the place didn’t look friendly.

  A hurricane drifted above one of the oceans, and snow was falling at both ice caps. No cities, though. No lights.

  They
were passing above a continent that reminded Matt of a turkey, head near the equator, tail and three legs intruding into the south polar region. They were over the northern extremity, riding along the coastline. Something was moving offshore. Jim focused on it, and they saw tentacles.

  A large, hazy moon fell behind them as they passed into night. (A big moon had been found orbiting every world that had ever produced a civilization.)

  The planet itself was moderately larger than Earth, with almost the same gravity. It turned on its axis in approximately twenty-seven hours, and it had a seventeen-degree axial tilt. “A bit colder than Earth, on average,” Jim reported, “but comfortable enough in the temperate zones.”

  Worlds orbiting named stars automatically retained the name, and received a number to designate their position in the system. But Sigma 2711 was a catalog designator rather than a formal name. “Nobody there,” said Rudy. “Damn.”

  No one else said anything. It wasn’t a surprise, of course. Had there been a high-tech civilization, they’d have known before now. But actually seeing an empty world was painful nonetheless.

  “I guess,” said Hutch, “we should give it a name.”

  “Port Hutchins,” said Antonio. He grinned and looked at her. “After your father.”

  “That’s too close to home,” she said. “I vote we name it for the guy who started SETI. Call it Drake’s World.”

  “Better,” said Matt, “would be to name it for the guy who made it possible for us to come this far. How about Far Silvestri?”

  That prompted a couple of comments about Far Out Silvestri and Long Gone Silvestri, but everybody approved, Jon beamed, and Matt logged it in.

  “‘Long gone’ might be the right descriptive,” said Rudy. “The place does look empty.”

  Jim showed them images of ruins. Everything was buried, sometimes by forest growth, often simply by the earth. Some were quite deep.

  “The place is a long time dead,” Jon said. “We might as well move on.”

  “Can we tell how old the ruins are?” asked Antonio.

  “We’d need specialists,” said Rudy. “Anybody here with a background in carbon dating?”