Alien Earth

by Megan Lindholm

  John thought of all that could go wrong. Bad landing, poisoned atmosphere, equipment failure. The samplings could somehow get spilled inside Evangeline, and infect her with some plague or imbalance. The samples could prove horribly toxic, and John might die before he got back on board Evangeline. Or they might not show the effects until he got them all the way back to Delta, and then they might spread all through the colony, killing hundreds of people.

  So, John thought. So what?

  And what about Connie, then?

  He felt his first real twinge of uneasiness, almost of guilt. Of all the other people who might get hurt by his actions, she was the only one who seemed real to him right now. He refused to consider why that might be so. Instead he hastily promised himself that she would be kept clear of it. She’d remain on the Evangeline when he went out on his little repair errand that would end up with him on Terra. She’d know nothing of his sample taking, would not be involved in handling them, so could never be contaminated by them. And if everything went wrong, and somehow the Conservancy was able to hold him accountable, well, a single hypnosis session would prove Connie had been totally ignorant and innocent of the mission. Surely she wouldn’t be adjusted or punished for ignorance. It would be okay. Besides, at this point he had no choice.

  Well. That wasn’t strictly true. He could just go ahead with their on-paper mission, and … No. He’d do it all. Had he really been blackmailed into this mission? No. He’d used their threats to excuse himself for accepting this insane errand. But something inside himself was exhilarated. And while that excitement infected him, being at fault for the infection of Evangeline, or the total destruction of Delta Station, or even his own death, didn’t bother him.

  Why?

  He tried to balance the equations, and came up with a partial solution. He had outlived too many generations of his own kind for deaths to be of any real import to him. All death was inevitable. Slow death was what they had now, but not in any way Earth Affirmed would have understood. Death by lack of dreams, it was. So he would take on their mission. John would do it. Because for the first time in centuries of waking and sleeping, he felt that he was about to do something important.

  “A place for everything, and everything in its place. Who can tell me what that means?”

  Tension. In her neck and in her shoulders. No. Not this dream again, not this memory. A little part of her shouted angrily and struggled as Connie dropped down into the memory. Let me wake up, she pleaded; she knew these vivid dreams often came right at the end of a Waitsleep. They were too real, more memory than dream. And she had dreamed this one too often. It was one of the bad ones, one the Adjustment should have banished. Instead, all the hypno-psych had been able to do was to let her always be aware it was only a dream and a memory, not happening now. They hadn’t been able to stop it.

  Daniel looked around the ring of eager faces. It was Angelo’s turn to speak, but he looked confused. All the other children contained themselves with various degrees of patience as he mulled it over.

  “Cooperate,” he whispered softly at last.

  “Cooperative ecology,” Daniel completed the answer, making it right. “Cooperative ecology is founded on cooperative evolution. You’ve all grown up in a cooperatively evolved ecology. Did you ever wonder if there could be another kind? Now, this is a big new idea, so we’re going to take it in little pieces, to make sure we all understand. When Humans first came to Castor and Pollux, thousands of years ago, it was one of the first things they had to learn. And we couldn’t land on the planets until we had all learned it. Even today, people who can’t learn it can’t live on the planets. They have to live on the dirty-tech stations, for all their lives. The Protectorate of the Conservancy had to make that rule, to keep Castor and Pollux safe. What were they keeping them safe from? Teddy?”

  “Us.” Teddy looked bored, as always. Daniel didn’t push him.

  “Right. How come? Gabriel?”

  Gabriel tugged at his shirt before he answered. “Because otherwise we might wreck them, like we wrecked Terra.”

  “That’s right. Now that’s a sad thing to think about, isn’t it? That once Humans had a homeworld and then we wrecked it. And we wrecked it because we didn’t follow that one simple rule: ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ We got too big for our place in the Terran ecology, and so we wrecked the whole thing. Now. Here comes a big strange idea, so be ready. I’m going to ask you a question now, and I don’t expect you to know the answer, but I want you to think about it anyway. Okay? Here’s the question. Why didn’t Humans know that simple rule, if they had always lived on Terra?”

  Connie felt her stomach tighten. It was her turn to answer. Daniel had said he didn’t expect her to know the answer but it was still scary. Why did he have to do it right before her turn, asking a question that they didn’t know the answer to? Why did he have to make her be the one who wouldn’t know the answer in front of everyone? Daniel looked right at her, and for just an instant, she didn’t like him at all.

  “Connie,” he said. “Take a guess. Any ideas?”

  She shook her head mutely and looked down at her toes.

  “Now don’t feel bad. This is a big new idea for all of you, just like for the first people here. The reason the first Humans to come here didn’t know that rule was this: Terra itself didn’t know that rule.”

  Daniel’s voice had gone very grave. Everyone was staring at him, trying to understand. “On Terra,” he said, speaking slowly and looking at each of them in turn, “nothing was guaranteed a place. The animals and plants on Terra didn’t cooperate to make niches like on Castor and Pollux. No. They competed with each other. Who knows what competed means?”

  Marta’s turn. “I don’t know,” she said cheerily, picking her nose, not caring she didn’t know the answer. Connie hated her, too, for an instant.

  “Compete is like this. Things don’t make room for each other. They don’t share. They don’t take turns. Everything goes ‘me first!’ Not just Humans, but animals and plants and everything. Everything on Terra was ‘me first.’”

  The children exchanged glances. Connie could see she wasn’t the only one confused. Only tiny little babies were “me first.” Everyone knew that. “Me first” was really bad. It made you lie and cheat and steal and hurt other people’s feelings. How could a whole planet be “me first”? It didn’t make sense. Connie tried to imagine it and couldn’t.

  “Well. I can see you’re all puzzled. So, we’re going to try a play to see if we can understand things better. Let’s see. Let’s have Connie, and Marta, please.”

  Connie stood up uneasily and came to stand beside Daniel. He was the only teacher who did these acting-out things. They were scary. Marta stood beside Daniel, smiling serenely. Nothing ever bothered her.

  “Now, you two are little seeds. Okay? Little seeds that would like to grow. First of all, we’re going to do it like we do on Castor. Here are some good places for plants to grow.” He held up two woven mats for everyone to see. They weren’t very big. He set them down on the turf, about a span apart. “Okay, little seeds. You both want to grow. What do you do?”

  Marta didn’t hesitate. She stepped onto a mat. “Okay, I’m growing here.” She said it in such a funny voice that half the generation giggled. Connie stepped silently onto her mat.

  “And Connie is growing over there,” Daniel informed the class. “See how it is. We have two places and two seeds. A place for each seed, and each seed in its place. Now,” and he waved the two girls back off the mats, and picked up the one Connie had been standing on. “What would happen if we had only one place for a seed to grow?”

  “Only one seed gets to grow,” Marta announced and stepped quickly onto her mat again.

  “That’s right,” Daniel agreed. “On Castor and Pollux, if there is only one place, only one seed is produced. The plants here, for reasons we won’t go into now, don’t waste energy making a seed if there isn’t a place for it to grow. Som
etimes we call that an ‘energy conservative’ mechanism.” Daniel looked around at the children. “But let’s not bother about that now. Instead, let’s talk about how it was on Terra. It was very, very different from Castor and Pollux.” He spoke slowly, looking around his circle of students to see if they were grasping this. “Each plant made many, many seeds. It didn’t care if there was one place or two, or no place for the seed to grow. It still made lots of seeds and just dumped them out there. If a seed was lucky, it found a place to grow. If it didn’t, it didn’t get to grow. It just lay there until it turned back into dirt.”

  “It died,” someone whispered from the cluster of children.

  Daniel looked briefly troubled as he scanned the generation, trying to determine who had spoken. “No. Not really. Because a seed isn’t really alive until it grows, so it didn’t—”he paused—“uh, die. It just biodegraded, as all things should in time. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.” Connie saw that he was relieved to change the subject. “What we’re talking about is called competition. Let’s act it out, to let you really see it. Connie and Marta, get ready now. You’re both seeds that want to grow, right?”

  Marta nodded vigorously, Connie more dubiously. She couldn’t understand the note of excitement in Daniel’s voice, or was it warning?

  “Now, remember, there’s two of you, and there’s only going to be one growing spot. And … here it is!” He suddenly dropped the mat on the turf between them.

  Connie started to step toward it, but Marta jumped on it promptly, and even held out a hand to fend Connie off it. “I got it. I get to grow! Me first!”

  “Right. That’s just how competition is,” Daniel praised her as the rest of the generation tittered nervously at the strange game. “Marta was first, so she gets to grow, and Connie doesn’t.”

  Connie stood dully, feeling betrayed. Everyone knew “me first” was wrong, but Daniel had told them to do it. Marta had done the wrong thing, and Daniel had praised her and said she was right. Connie felt her face grow hot and red. It was almost like being angry, except that only babies got angry. Just like only babies did “me first.”

  Then, from the back of the room, the same voice that had whispered “It died” announced in a quavering voice, “But no matter which planet, Connie didn’t get to grow, both times. Connie died, both times.” And then Sherry burst into tears. Connie remembered how she had cried and cried. Connie had just stood there, like stone, while Sherry cried and Daniel tried to comfort her. Finally they had to call the doctor, and he came and took Sherry away. She never came back. And after that, Daniel never ever made them act things out again.

  “But it was too late,” Connie whimpered. She clenched her jaws. No place for Connie to grow. Not on Castor or Pollux. Not on Earth. There would be no place for her on Earth, and she would die, just as all those hundreds of extra seeds died. She shifted restlessly in her Waitsleep womb, and some part of her felt the comfortable give of the warm walls and was consoled by it. Only a dream. Only a dream, she thought to herself, just as her Adjustment counselor had hypno-suggested. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a memory, and she knew she cheated herself.

  “Evangeline.” Tug warned her as soon as their ganglia engaged. “Are you seeking punishment?”

  He felt her make the minute course correction, and knew he had not imagined her veering. Now he wondered uneasily if John had been right about a fluctuation in the fuge’s momentum. The nerves that controlled it were Evangeline’s, but centuries ago they had been diverted to her master’s use. Her motile tissues and nerves, biomelded into the gondola, monitored and maintained the life-support systems for the Humans, but Tug was the one who controlled them. Theoretically her training went so deep, she couldn’t activate any system connected to those nerves. Her memories of that part of her body should be suppressed, her control of it atrophied. If it hadn’t, if she was somehow attempting to usurp control of that part of herself again … Tug felt a deep uneasiness that he hastily concealed from her. Evangeline was a mature Beast, but not so old that her reliability should be failing. Usually it was only the very old Beasts that became intractable and had to be relieved of their Arthroplana. Tug was only her fourth owner. She should remain stable for at least another six encystations.

  It couldn’t be happening. Still. The regulations were clear, and he should take action. He thought of reporting it, of having her Reach to another Beast and send the coded message for him, the nonsense words that would let the other enBeasted Arthroplana know that she was becoming less obedient and that he might require aid. He thought of it, and dismissed it as useless. Although her Reach might travel at a speed surpassing light, no Beast could. By the time aid could reach them, they’d all be dead anyway.

  Besides, he was probably exaggerating it to himself. Dealing with John’s Wakeups always had that affect on him; John was so emotional and dramatic. Evangeline had always been a lively Beast. Wasn’t that why he had been so delighted to be assigned to Evangeline? He’d known she’d had these curious little quirks. Some said it was because she was from among the last feral Beasts ever harvested. Those raised domestically were much more tractable. But Tug had always thought it meant she was slightly smarter than the other Beasts. All he was seeing was Evangeline expressing a mild dissatisfaction with their current mission. That was all. He’d have to tell John that their next mission must be more to her liking, something that would give her a little pleasure. Perhaps her mating request had been more important to her than he’d realized. And best to talk to her about it now, so she’d have something to look forward to.

  He engaged her more fully, and put sympathy into it. He knew she’d been distressed lately, that things had not pleased her, but soon it would be time for something nicer.

  Well, but it wasn’t just Evangeline who didn’t like this. The female Human was restless. She was distressed, too. Would there be something nice for her, too?

  Tug could almost not conceal the quiver of dread that went through him. Evangeline should never interrupt, not to change the subject. Nor could he recall her ever taking an interest in the crew. Something was amiss. But showing his upset could not better it. He composed himself.

  Did she mean, Connie, the crew? Connie was in Waitsleep, so she couldn’t be upset.

  She moved a lot, and made small sounds.

  Why, she was probably only dreaming, a sort of amusement Humans did with their minds. Sometimes they might appear to be distressed by it, but it did them no harm. In fact, it was good for them. Not dreaming could cause a great deal more distress over a long period of time. Connie was fine.

  Connie feared. Connie was distressed.

  No. Only a dream, only a pretense. It couldn’t hurt her.

  What was a pretense?

  Wrong direction to go in, Tug decided. He evaded it.

  Did she rest calmly now? he asked Evangeline.

  Only because I calmed her. Tug, what is a pretense?

  No avoiding it now. This was bad, worse than he’d worried. A Beast should not insist, a Beast should not take action regarding Humans on her own. He composed himself again.

  Pretense is reacting to a not true thing as if it were true. Humans do it. We don’t. So Connie makes small movements and sounds in Waitsleep. But it does her no harm.

  A long time while Evangeline digested this. Tug finally ventured a query. Were they still on a true heading for Terra.

  Of course. Tug, what is a Wild Beast?

  He was a long time evaluating that. Where had she heard that? From him? From a previously encysted Arthroplana? It didn’t seem likely, but she had no other sources.

  There is no such thing as a Wild Beast, Evangeline.

  A Wild Beast is a pretense?

  Combining two separate ideas. It wasn’t supposed to be possible for her to do that. Tug’s recessive mandibles rattled against one another. Handle this.

  A Wild Beast is a pretense, Evangeline. There is no such thing. No Beasts are wild. They are all just
as you are, and happy and content.

  A Wild Beast could do just as it pleased, and be happy.

  He could think of no reply. He waited, feeling her become more and more uneasy with his silence. Finally, she ventured another comment.

  But it would be, of course, just a pretense.

  That’s right, Evangeline. Just a pretense. There are no such things as Wild Beasts. Only happy, partnered Beasts, just like you. Shall I show you a new entertainment?

  Not just now. I think you have made an error, Tug. I think we can do this pretense act also. I have a pretense to dream.

  She withdrew her ganglia, and Tug watched them go. He crouched, waiting, fearing, but it did not change. She did not veer from the heading. Physically, at least, she still followed the course he had set for her.

  10

  “SO,” TUG FINISHED, “our point-by-point comparison demonstrates that Nero Wolfe is the intellectual if not the biological descendant of Sherlock Holmes. And there is a very interesting theory about a possible biological link.”

  Connie pushed the spanners out of her way and miked her work. Right back to factory specs. She grinned smugly as she pushed the worn out cell-meld bearings down the trap into the solution that would start biodegrading them. “Tug, wait a moment. Aren’t they both just characters in fictional stories?”

  “Simplistically speaking.”

  “Then how could they be biologically related?”

  The shrug was in his tone. “There are many clues that such was the literary intention of Rex Stout, creator of Nero Wolfe. Cleverly hidden, of course. I would love to reveal them all to you, elegantly unfolding my proof, but engaged as you are in menial labor, you could not afford it the undivided attention it deserves. Have you considered mutiny?”