Analog SFF, May 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Mariposa blinked back tears. She didn't know what to say to a man about to die. She had tried to save him, but there was nothing she could do for him now.

  "Mariposa?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gift she had given him. “I want to thank you for this little piece of Earth."

  "You're welcome."

  "And thanks for showing me around your station and that big laser. If I had been a threat, would you have used that laser to destroy me and my ship?"

  "But you're not..."

  "Imagine I was. Please."

  Something in his eyes told her he was pleading with her to help him. And suddenly she knew what he wanted.

  She nodded.

  He smiled his thanks.

  Through her implant, she accessed the controls for the station's laser. Under her control, the targeting mirrors swiveled. The laser began drawing power from the station's superconducting capacitors.

  *What are you doing that for?* asked Verdun.

  An invisible pulse of light reached out to Cooper's ship. One hundred meters in diameter, the beam effortlessly breached the particle shielding and hit its target with thirty-seven terajoules of energy. The titanium alloy hull of the freighter did not melt—it simply vaporized. In a fraction of a second, the ship and all its contents, including Cooper, were atomized.

  Mariposa shut down the laser without firing a second pulse.

  *Why did you do that? PlanDef had things under control.*

  She shook her head. *My responsibility. I swore if there was any danger, I would not let it through.*

  *I'm relieving you until this matter is investigated.*

  *Fine.*

  She sat in the cubicle and watched as the glowing cloud of particles that had been a ship dissipated into the darkness just before midnight.

  Remembering some phrases used at the funeral of one of her great-grandfathers, she whispered, “Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes."

  * * * *

  August 22, 3002 C.E.

  Verdun had granted Mariposa's request for extended leave from the Customs Service. It took twenty-six months and three different ships to make her way to Jeroboam. Cooper's father, the First Elder, had been surprised by her request for a meeting, but he had agreed.

  "My son mentioned you,” he said as he showed her into his office. “We didn't get his letters until after he was already dead, of course. He said you were very helpful, so I thank you.” He motioned her toward a chair and then sat behind a large desk made of what looked like real wood.

  "So you know he is dead,” Mariposa said. She was glad not to have to break that news.

  "Yes. The UW diplomatic corps let us know.” He smiled. “They've been trying to get us to sign a peace treaty. I guess that will be my son's legacy, even if he failed at his true mission."

  Mariposa shook her head. “But he didn't fail. That's why I came. To explain."

  The First Elder's brow furrowed. “But they told me his ship was destroyed before he could land on Earth."

  Mariposa pulled her pad out of her purse and set it to replay her final conversation with Cooper.

  When it was finished, the First Elder leaned back in his chair. “And then his ship was destroyed."

  "Yes. By me, using the laser.” Mariposa held her breath, hoping that the First Elder would interpret Cooper's message the same way she had.

  He jerked his head forward and stared at her. She met his eyes.

  "So the laser destroyed his ship beffore it was ejected from Earth's atmosphere?” he asked.

  "Yes."

  After a long moment, the First Elder sighed. “That's what Shear-jashub wanted from you. Thank you."

  She wasn't sure what to say to a man who had just thanked her for killing his son. So she just looked down at the floor. At least she had her answer.

  "I will let the people know that Shear-jashub fulfilled the measure of his creation. However, I will not mention your role in the matter—some people might not be as understanding as I."

  "That's fine,” she said.

  "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

  She shook her head. “But I did bring you something.” She reached into her purse.

  * * * *

  In the center of the city of Jeroboam can be found the Holy Cemetery, where only the most righteous are buried. In the very center of the cemetery is a mausoleum that used to contain the ashes of the founders of the colony.

  Even though the original occupants have been returned to the planet of their birth, the mausoleum is not empty. In the very center, the place of highest honor, stands a marble pedestal. The stone is engraved: Shear-jashub Cooper—Born April 3, 2961—Died December 31, 2999.

  Atop the pedestal, sealed in diamondglass to await the next resurrection of those born on Jeroboam, is a vial of blood.

  * * * *

  And how can man die better

  Than facing fearful odds,

  For the ashes of his fathers

  And the temples of his gods....

  —from “Horatius” by Thomas Babington Macaulay

  Copyright (c) 2008 Eric James Stone

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Short Story: STILL-HUNTING by Sarah K. Castle

  * * * *

  Illustration by Broeck Steadman

  * * * *

  Faced with big changes, anyone who can must do whatever it takes to adapt...

  * * * *

  Somewhere north of Noatak, Rariil caught a whiff of a woman. The smell, dilute in the breeze off the Chukchi Sea, was familiar. He licked the air, tasting for details. It was Graashah. She'd been here recently, and without cubs. Rariil grinned. As tradition demanded, she'd come home from Dheznaya to find a mate. She couldn't have walked. The ice across the Bering Strait had thawed early. She must have taken a ship. They now allowed bears on ships, polars and Kodiaks alike, with a special class of ticket. His lips curled back over his canines. He wondered what the terms of those tickets were.

  Graashah had been Rariil's first mate, back when the ice pack lasted through the mating season. He'd been a smaller bear then, but well fed and determined enough to impress her. Rariil was now the biggest polar bear around. He'd secretly perfected a method for still-hunting seals in open water, so he was fat on seal blubber despite the warm winter. Graashah would surely choose him, if he could get to her first. A fishing boat was moored a couple of hundred yards offshore. If Graashah could take a boat, so could he. A polar bear could set his own terms on a boat that size.

  He swam out and climbed on board. The boatmen weren't too happy about it. Those on deck ran to the bow and fired first a flare gun and then a shotgun. They shot up in the air and into the sea, anywhere except toward Rariil. They all knew shooting a polar bear was prohibited by law.

  "Wevok.” Rariil growled the name of his communal meeting ground. “Wevok, now!"

  The men lowered their guns and looked at each other.

  "Aw, shit,” one said.

  "No! Point Hope! We're going to Point Hope,” another man yelled at Rariil.

  "Wevok,” Rariil said and sat down heavily. The whole boat rocked. Rariil would talk to men when it was necessary, but there was rarely a reason to listen to them.

  Finally, they motored up the coast with Rariil grooming himself calmly on the rear deck. His thoughts returned to Graashah and whom he'd have to fight to win her love. He believed he could beat any polar bear who'd spent the season trying to hunt on ice, but the damn Kodiaks could be a problem. Every year they came farther north. Dirty polar sows, who didn't mind fishy breath, would mate with them. The brown buggers could fight and match a polar bear off the ice. Rariil chuffed. Graashah wasn't that kind of bear. She wouldn't come all the way back here to take up with a Kodiak. Rariil licked the rough, translucent fur on his forearms until its brilliant white compared favorably to the clean paint on the boat.

  When he dove off at Wevok the boat bobbed like a cork, throwing a man into the water with him. The man should have known th
e law against bears eating men, but he looked pretty panicked anyway when Rariil helped him back on board. The boat turned a tight arc, its motor grumbling, and then it sped back towards Point Hope. The best thing about men was that they'd always leave, eventually.

  He smelled Graashah strongly now. Her musk mingled with the rotten sweetness of aged carrion. For more than an hour, he stalked her along the gravelly beach. He found her near a beluga carcass at the water's edge. The faint diesel smell told Rariil a boat had pushed it to shore. It was a handout, probably from the Food For Bears program. Men had started the program a couple years after the permanent ice receded so far from shore most polar bears couldn't swim to it in the summer. He'd seen them bringing dead seals in once. Seals! A polar bear who couldn't catch their own seals traditionally went to wait for death on the ice. To make it worse, the seals stank of human pride, tinged with guilt. Rariil wouldn't eat that blubber, not even after dark.

  Ten feasting bears had crushed through the ice on the ground around the whale. They were all covered in mud and blood. Rariil was disgusted with the filthy beggars. They probably hadn't even done the Successful Scavenger prayer, and why would they? The bears hadn't found the thing. It had been brought to them.

  Rariil stood on his hind legs and roared to announce himself. Graashah raised her head from the beluga and barked a greeting. The sight of her made his heart beat deeper. He sized up the competition. He was ready to fight and win her. The one Kodiak in the crowd recognized him and grudgingly moved off a short distance. Rariil growled; it was moving upwind. The young polars around the carcass smelled Rariil's indignation. They turned to watch the Kodiak's progress toward the dominant position.

  It kept its head high and submissive. Maybe the damn thing didn't know it was being rude. Rariil roared and galloped a short distance toward it. The Kodiak watched him over its shoulder. Either wisely or through lucky chance, it moved inland and away from the upwind position. From where he stood, Rariil saw a strange shape on its head. At its crown, a smooth surface shaped like a half moon covered its ears. The Kodiak's eyes flashed from the shadow cast by the bent disc on its head, very handy for a bear not used to sunlight glaring on snow.

  Rariil had never seen a Kodiak like this. He walked closer, until he could see what the thing was. It was a red plastic saucer, the kind human children slid down hills on. A cord hooked on each handle bent the saucer down over the Kodiak's ears and pulled tight under his chin. The Kodiak had not only come this far north, he'd brought human garbage with him. Rariil charged in silent fury.

  The Kodiak ran, but slid and stumbled in the soft snow. Rariil caught it when it was down. It rolled to its back immediately. Rariil went for the saucer. He yanked the rim with his teeth. It didn't come right off, so he yanked again.

  "My hat!” the Kodiak squealed.

  The elastic cord whipped loose and smacked Rariil in the eye. He jumped aside to rub the stinging eye in the snow. The Kodiak rolled up and ran off. His eye soothed, Rariil tore the saucer to shreds with teeth and claws. Kodiaks in hats ... what would be next? He scattered the pieces to dilute the combined garbage and Kodiak stench, growling furiously as he did it. The worst thing about Kodiaks was that they always came back.

  Back at the beluga, two nanulaks nibbled at the whale's gut. Their yellow fur was evidence that Kodiaks had found mates here before. Rariil growled as he passed them. Nanulaks would not fight for a female and had no interest in mating. When Rariil dreamed about his death, he often found the spirit world crowded with nanulak ghosts. They wandered the ice with their black-ringed eyes looking huge on their malformed faces. They gaped with desire to return to the living world and howled with the knowledge that they never could. They were sterile, all of them. Nanulaks gave Rariil a bad feeling, but it wasn't one he could fight. They ate but didn't mate. It just seemed wrong. He went to the shore and washed his paws in the ice-clotted water.

  Graashah approached him and dropped a large piece of blubber at his feet. It quivered in the low surf.

  "Greetings, Rariil, father of three cubs by my womb,” she said, in the language spoken only by polar bears.

  "Greetings, Graashah,” he replied. Her direct approach embarrassed him, but the blubber smell took it off his mind. Rariil drooled thickly but kept his head low to broadcast dominance. He watched the male polar bears at the carcass behind her. Three of them stared back.

  Graashah slowly wagged her head in a playful gesture. “Eat the blubber, Rariil. You don't need to fight. I chose you the moment I saw you. There isn't a polar male as fat as you on either side of the Bering Strait. You'll sire my cubs this season."

  "Why do you insult me? I'll fight for my mate as we've done since ice has floated on the sea."

  Keeping her head low, she said, “Eat my offering, Rariil."

  She pushed the blubber closer to his forepaw. It was a choice piece, and he was hungry. The largest polar male stepped forward. Its challenge suffused the air.

  "A sea bear doesn't relax before mating, we fight. I don't like the way those youngsters are looking at me. It's traditional, and I'll be damned if I don't like to rough up a couple boys this time of year.” Rariil began a lumbering charge toward the bears gathered around the carcass. The young polars stood their ground, bracing themselves against his charge. They smelled hopeful, which raised Rariil's rage to a fighting level.

  Graashah ran to block him and then charged with her head low. Rariil stumbled to a stop. A female bear didn't behave this way unless she had cubs.

  "I don't have time for this! I need to mate before the moon passes through another quarter."

  She'd spoken the word time in English. There was no such term in the language native to polar bears.

  "Time?” Rariil repeated, straining to recall its meaning.

  Graashah smelled his confusion and explained. “The men have made a den for me in Anchorage. If you want to fight, you can fight my man, but I need to mate soon."

  "Your man?” Rariil was baffled.

  "Over there.” She pointed with her snout.

  Far off in the distance, Rariil could barely make out the shape of a human. Behind him sat a big spinney stick bug, the kind men fly around in. Sniffing at the air, Rariil picked out the acrid ash smell of burnt jet fuel from the other smells of rot. The bug must have been there for a while; the smell was faint.

  He barked a laugh, “A man?"

  Graashah's head stilled and she hissed, “Yes, a man. He was a watcher in Siberia. He would bring plump seals just for me. I taught him to speak polar bear. He made a stone that speaks properly, scents and all. We talk for hours. He wants me to come live with him in Anchorage. His name is Grrary."

  Rariil smelled Graashah's affection for the man as she spoke. “A polar bear can't live in Anchorage except as a captive,” he reminded her.

  "He says he can make snow for me all year long, and I'll live in a large den where the floors are always ice."

  "You would live in a zoo."

  "We won't be in a zoo. Every fall, we'll travel back to Dheznaya. The cubs and I will roam free on the ice while Grrary works. In the summer, we'll stay in Anchorage. I'll work with the men to set up a preserve for polar bears, no Kodiaks allowed. Every breeding polar female will get a free ride to the preserve, in season.

  "Grrary says I'll be an ambassador, the first ambassador to humans from land mammals. Sperm whales, dolphins, and now polar bears: the bears of the sea. It's perfect that we're next. I talked to an orca about it and she was envious. Diplomatic recognition is a great honor."

  "Did you offer the orca your hind leg while you were at it?” Rariil remembered Graashah had always been a jokester.

  "She wasn't hungry,” she said without apparent irony.

  Rariil scratched behind his ear with a rear paw. She had to be joking. He picked up the blubber and chewed it thoughtfully. It was delicious, just far enough past fresh to be savory.

  "Let's go see this man of yours, then.” Rariil raised himself up on all fours and stret
ched. He laughed to clear the doubts from his mind. When Graashah smelled the sweet spice of his credulity, they began to walk toward the man.

  "Why do you trust this Grrary?"

  "He's learned our language and customs, shown respect. Besides, he's fragile as a newborn cub, no fur, no blubber. Those puffy clothes he wears make him smell like a goose. He's harmless."

  Rariil remembered the naked humans he'd seen and smelled at seaside sweat lodges. “I think they smell like piss."

  "Grrary smells very nice. Too nice, sometimes he makes me hungry. But all I have to do then is open my eyes. There isn't enough fat on him to make a meal."

  The depth and detail of Graashah's fantasy disturbed him. He decided to change the subject.

  "So, how are the bear-class accommodations on a ship?"

  "I've heard it's miserable. They put you below deck, and you don't get any fresh air from the time you board to the time you disembark. Wait for the ice and walk across the Strait. That's what I'd do. Why do you ask?"

  "Well, you recently came across yourself didn't you?"

  "No! Grrary flew me here in his spinney stick bug yesterday. Not many men have a bug like that, you know."

  Rariil sniffed hard at Graashah's fur and smelled burnt fuel there, faintly. He looked toward the spinney stick bug, now maybe twenty paces away. A man stood at its door. Rariil's hackles rose at this strangeness. Traditionally, men crawled back in their metal bugs as soon as they saw you take even a few steps in their direction. Law or no law, bears will be bears, and a human looks tasty when you're hungry.

  The man slowly dropped to his hands and knees in the shallow snow as they approached. This seemed so wrong, Rariil reared up on his hind legs and roared. The man and Graashah both cringed, lowering their heads and bodies toward the ground.

  Rariil roared in polar bear, “Whatever in Ursus’ name is going on here better come to an end!” Then, in English, he shouted, “Stop this. Now!"

  The man trembled in his blue, puffy bodysuit. He wagged his whole body from the hips as he crawled forward two, then three steps before collapsing to the ground. His rear end lowered onto his heels. His forehead lowered to the snow. He stretched his arms towards Rariil. The man turned his right hand over, and then opened it to expose a small angular stone. He rubbed the stone with his thumb in a vigorous circular motion.