by Eric Flint
"So what else is worth taking from Earth?"
For answer George stopped and threw back his head and burst forth with the opening to Mozart's fifth violin concerto. The fidelity was fantastic. Even out in the open the volume was respectable.
"I've collected thousands of pieces. For your limited vocal range your people have an amazing ability at composition. Musical instruments are not unknown elsewhere, but when I saw the variety in one of your symphony orchestras, I couldn't believe it."
"Aren't there going to be copyright issues?"
"I'll tell you a deep dark secret. We know the history of hundreds of races who invented all sorts of recording technologies. Out among the galaxies, copyright and patents and guild rights for performing are dead. Your people might as well get over it now, because I can tell you your future does not include them. Can you imagine telling me I can't sing? Do that on my world and they will nail you to your home tree to die of exposure. Nope—doesn't work," he assured Jed, and started walking again.
" Galaxies, you say, not stars?"
"Yes, when you build the drive I'm leaving you, it will soon be apparent it's as easy to go a very long distance as a shorter one. Life is rare—intelligence more so. There are whole galaxies without a sentient race. But there are a lot of galaxies. You should find plenty of worlds that are usable in your own galaxy without bothering others. Be warned: some races like their privacy. If you nose around in other galaxies, make sure you're welcome before you start making colonies in what someone regards as their backyard. How would you feel if we got across this rise," he indicated it with a wave of his hand, "and somebody had put a cabin by your creek?"
"How'd you know there was a creek down there?"
"I have a drone overhead that gives me views in my spex, as well as my ship and your Internet all linked together, but from this close I can smell it."
Jed tilted his head back and his nostrils flared. "So can I, now that you mention it. But I knew it was there, so I wasn't thinking about it."
As they came near where the land dropped off, Jed gave another clump of bushes a kick. A big rabbit burst from the vegetation and ran in an arc back away from the slope. Jed drew and tracked it. George was starting to wonder if he was going to shoot, and then the rabbit made a little turn about thirty meters out and looked back like it was checking to see if they were pursuing. The pistol spoke and the rabbit rolled over a few times, headless now.
When they walked up, the ears were lying there seperately from the body. Jed pulled a knife out and trimmed what little of the head remained and lifted the rabbit by its rear legs. "I'll clean it back at the house. It won't be long enough for it to get tainted," he assured George. "Next one's yours."
George produced his tester and touched it to the raw flesh of the rabbit. No blue light or buzzer sounded, just a pale yellow with no sound, so it must be edible, Jed thought.
They descended into the arroyo, cautious on the treacherous footing. Both of them had flat rocks slide under their feet. At the edge of the stream, they stopped. It was a mere trickle in the middle of a wide gravel bed with occasional sand flats. There were tumbled brush and bits of branches and such all across and a meter up the slope on each side.
"Seasonal?"
"That and the ground doesn't drink up an occasional cloud burst. If you have a big storm clear over the horizon upstream, you can have a wall of water come through here an hour later tall as I am. If you hear a deep rumbling you can't figure out when you're in an arroyo like this, you want to run like hell for high ground."
"Thanks for the tip."
They worked along the stream, Jed's boots crunching in the gravel. George's feet were a lot quieter. Jed pointed overhead. There was a hawk turning lazy circles on the thermals coming off the hill where the stream disappeared around to their left. George kept glancing up at the hawk.
"Jed," George called to get his attention and pointed. Jed had already seen it on his own. The hawk made a sudden turn and made a tighter circle on a new center, then it made one small jink to line up and, folding its wings, dropped like a rock. George made a long deep trill of appreciation as it fell unchecked. It was completely out of sight in the sage before the fwoomp of its wings opening echoed down the draw.
"What does he do? Just drop on his pray like a hammer and strike them dead?"
"Sometimes they do hit other birds with their breast and knock them right out of the sky," Jed admitted. "But he likely opened his wings about this high," he demonstrated, hand horizontal at his waist. "That's the noise you heard when he caught air and decelerated. That's a treat for you. I've only seen a hawk drop on something a few times in my life." The hawk appeared, grabbing air to climb, and disappeared around the shoulder of the hill. There was the dark silhouette of a rat or ground squirrel in its claws.
"I've got to see that again," George marveled, stopping. The spex projection made a blue dot on his eyeballs. "Cameras," he explained at Jed's questioning look. "See the little dot on each corner?" He pointed to the outside edge of the spex. Jed had thought they were screws in the frames.
They reversed course and climbed the bank before they got back to where they'd entered the arroyo. George was messing with the bushes now too, but he'd grab the base in his talons and give a shake. They were almost back to the house before George was rewarded with a Jackrabbit running from under a bush he shook. Jed expected the small weapon to come out again, but to his astonishment George took off in a spray of gravel, digging dark divots in the loose soil so fast he pulled ahead of the rabbit on the left. The rabbit jinked right, and George crossed him behind and put on a burst of speed. When he jinked left, George passed over him. It happened so fast, Jed couldn't separate the strike from his running steps, but the rabbit tumbled end over end a couple times with a looseness that said it was already dead. George picked it up by the back legs like Jed, and he could see the taloned thumbs go around the neck from each side. He nipped off the head much as Jed had, the details hidden by the distance. "We birds are doing pretty good today," he bragged when he rejoined Jed.
Supper was rabbit stew. George loved the gravy, but they found out it gave him raging gas. That lead to a lot of stories about hunting camps and suppers of beer and beans or cabbage rolls, leading to a story of a cabin where an open spark would have been an invitation to disaster. Jed was off to bed early, worn out from the day.
* * *
That night Jed got up to go to the bathroom. The flickering light down the hall told him George was up. He walked down and found him using the computer, looking at pictures of galaxies with several pages of astronomy sites open. "Anything I can help you find?"
"No, I was trying to see what sort of a cataloging scheme you use. But I don't think it's compatible with ours at all. Everybody has been asking me to show them where I live, but I don't think it's even visible to your instruments from here."
"George, do you think anyone will come see us again after you tell them about us? Or are contacts like us a dime a dozen?"
"I'm not sure." For the first time he seemed evasive. "There're a lot of variables. Don't count on anyone coming soon. In fact, I might stop back this way before I head home. I've been ordering supplies and I think I'll be gone in a another week."
"Want some company?" Jed probed gently.
"It would take months to set a ship cabin up for a human. I really don't want to wait. But if I did, I'd chose you."
Jed took it as intended for a compliment. But he'd rather have heard "yes."
* * *
George laid in enough water and supplies that it took three trips with his shuttle to lift them all to his ship. The original three astronauts who met him came to see him go. All of them had resigned to private life in order to take advantage of the generous gifts he'd made them. President Rice was there to see him off with a good two dozen VIPs hanging back, instructed with more severity than they were used to hearing to not press in on George.. He took the time to shake hands and speak with each of them d
espite his obvious desire to depart; he really did know how to get along with others. When his shuttle floated off, there was a deep sense of sadness his visit was over. The only bright spot was they'd be joining him with their own ships soon enough. And they were getting that technology far cheaper than anyone could believe.
* * *
When the next starship came into Earth orbit just six months later, they were keeping a much better watch and saw it well beyond the moon. It was bigger; it ignored the ISS and parked in a geostationary orbit over the east coast of the U.S.
"Anybody down there speak my lingo?" warbled a slightly smaller and less colorful version of George.
Her communicator immediately displayed the video feed properly configured and a native spoke to her in their own language, but it was immediately followed by a passable machine translation in her tongue. "Welcome, we have met your race and are familiar with your language." The speaker trilled , " ~ ~ ~, who we know as 'George' was here one hundred and eighty-three rotations of our planet ago. You are welcome if you want to visit, and we have food we know is safe for your kind. If you'd like a dictionary and grammar of our language, English, we have it available."
"Well, I'll be damned. I just missed him. I'd like to meet the folks who already know George and provision up. I'm his sometimes mate and business partner."
* * *
She firmly rejected Georgette as a name, but she liked the sound of Maria. Especially how it sounded sung. Jed quickly saw a huge difference in personality. George had refused the researchers trying to get samples, but never got upset over it. The second day a scientist had called and insisted on speaking to Maria about an appointment to draw blood and take tissue samples. "And I can take some samples of my own in turn?" she asked, raising a smaller hand to the camera that seemed to have bigger talons than George's—especially when she crossed them in front of her palm and made a sharpening motion, so they sounded, snick snick, across each other.
"Certainly, though we'd have to discuss the sampling protocols," the fellow hedged, eyes following the shiny, black gut rippers.
"Well, then, perhaps a ton of indium, instead? We find that useful stuff. Seems like a fair trade."
The scientist paused to work his computer, undoubtedly checking the price of the metal. When he found it, his face paled worse than from the sight of her talons.
"I'm not even sure there's a ton of it on the world market," the man protested.
"You think about it, and see what you can offer tomorrow. I can use iridium and scandium or even tungsten or iodine, which I know you must have in quantity, but I'd want a shitload of the commoner stuff for a piece of my body." She exited the call visibly irritated.
"What they are asking is offensive in your culture, isn't it?"
"Yes. It lacks dignity to be treated like a specimen. I know they are not deliberately insulting, but I don't even like to be touched."
"George didn't want them with their grubby little hands on him either, yet he let a kid have one of his feathers when he turned the scientists down. He seems to have a soft spot for children," he observed.
"Yes, he's sweet as can be for kids. Whereas I think they're a royal pain in the butt as soon as they break the shell. Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep until it drives you bonkers," she mimicked shrilly. "Yet George would tell me it's the nesting instinct making me save every twig I can find. He's too laid-back about it, though generous to a fault. I'd have extracted a whole lot more from you for a star drive plan. He'd tell me all he really needs is a tree, thee, and me." She stopped astonished at the pretty rhyme. "Damn that male. He hid that in the translation program," she accused. "He knows I'm a sucker for romantic stuff, and he hides sweet little things like that for me to find. How can I stay mad at him?"
Just then the com lit back up with a call. It was Allen, all excited. "Hey, guess what?" he rushed on without giving them time to guess. "George is coming back. He'll be in orbit in a few hours."
* * *
George was happy to see Maria, but reading his body language, he seemed restrained. He went up and rubbed beaks, but he didn't seem his usual bubbly self.
"I need to go back," he told Jed that evening.
"That doesn't surprise us. We didn't think she tracked you down just to see if you were enjoying yourself."
"Yeah, I was a bit overdue, and she wants me back to work. Anyway, here. I decided to give you the directions to get to our home." He offered a memory module to Jed almost apologetically.
"I thought you couldn't see it from here?"
"No, but Maria is a wiz at that sort of thing. She suggested doing it in way-points, and you can do it in a couple jumps instead of one. In fact, she wrote this for you off her log. When you start using the drive, you'll find that's the safer way to travel. If you start doing jumps that are too big, you can get past where you can still identify the area you left."
"Thanks, George. I feel better about this. I was scared you found us too uncouth and didn't want us to know where to find you. We'll visit, buddy." Jed smiled, offering his hand.
* * *
After George's shuttle floated off, he walked over to where Maria's was still being loaded. There were skids of ingots and what appeared to be big bundles of rough-cut walnut and boxwood.
"George was lost, wasn't he?" he asked Maria bluntly.
"Well, of course. You think I have time to chase all over half the universe? He jumps about ten times as far as anybody in their right mind does in that old piece of junk he won't let go, and then it can't backtrack the emissions trail he leaves behind."
"So, why didn't he just tell us that and get some help instead of searching our sky catalogs and saying there was no problem?"
Maria turned her big eyes away from the loading and gave Jed a fresh examination that was unnerving. "Hey, all sapients have similarities. Especially bisexual ones. I know George talked to you about that. He has a soft spot for chicks, which helps the race survive. I have a feminine talent for—acquisition—call it shopping," she explained, nodding at the goods being loaded. "It varies—both our sexes happen to have a talent for language, as you saw. I see female humans use language a little better, and your males seem to have a talent at linear reasoning instead of grasping for the gestalt. But tell me the truth. If any of your males, you proud tracking hunters of the mated pair, get lost and can't read a map or find your trail—would any of your males stop and ask for directions?"
* * *
New Moon
Written by Mike Barretta
"Neil's dead."
Buzz Aldrin looked across the crisp lunar landscape. An uneven terrain of dust and boulders rolled away from the Lunar Module in gentle undulations. His fatigued eyes scanned the foreshortened horizon. The gunpowder smell of lunar dust, trapped in his suit when he had removed his helmet in the module, burned his nose. With a muttered curse, he bit down on his frustration and anger, bringing it under control. Silently, he damned the machine that had killed him. Buzz stifled the impulse to take a wild careless leap off of the LM.
He pivoted on the Eagle's porch and stepped down the ladder feeling a bit foolish to take such care in these circumstances. He paused after each step, checked his footing, and reaffirmed his grip on the ladder. The pressurized gloves splayed his fingers apart. It was tiring to grasp anything. He repeated the process until the final step into the gray dust. The heavy lunar overshoes lay on their sides at the base of the gold foiled foot pads of the LM. Despite the ferocious magnitude of the cold, he was too tired to retrieve them and it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Buzz looked down at the myriad overlapping footprints, each one sharp and perfect. Unless someone came and destroyed the ridges of gray and black shadow they would be there for a millennium.
"I said, Neil is dead."
"We know, Buzz. We're sorry," replied Ron Evans, Capsule Communicator. It took 2.6 seconds for a message to make a round trip. Words were precious. "Okay, Buzz. Ah . . . Do you want to talk to Joan again?"
"No . . . please, no. I've said good bye already. I don't want her to hear anymore. I think we said everything we needed to say." Any more words and he would ruin his final moments like an artist adding one brushstroke too many.
Buzz looked about the Tranquility site, turned away from the ungainly LM and felt disgust at its failure. It should have been the most amazing flying machine conceived. Instead, it would be a grotesque and frighteningly expensive grave marker.
He turned towards Neil's boulder and hop-stepped to it. The half-step, half-hop form of locomotion in one sixth gee felt perfectly natural. From this angle he could see only the dust covered legs of Neil's suit. With his air supply all but exhausted, Neil had sat on the bright side of a boulder and said, "We're screwed, Buzz." Buzz figured those words would become the most famous of the mission. A warm surge of adrenaline filled his chest and stomach. His air was becoming foul.
The Oxygen Purge System threatened to overbalance him. Normally, the OPS would mount on his back above the Portable Life Support System. Buzz wore the OPS strapped across his abdomen in an emergency configuration that he had trained for, though never really expected to perform. When fully charged the OPS carried thirty minutes worth of air. Ten minutes remained of the last air on the moon. He hop-stepped to Neil.