Thousandstar (#4 of the Cluster series)

by Piers Anthony

  "That depends on the nature of the soil and of the treads. With laydown tracks like these, that approximate the sensible locomotion of HydrOs, the path may get better and safer each time—"

  'That's it!' she exclaimed. 'The caterpillar treads beat down the brush, press down the rocks, make a bumpy trail become a highway! So the later tractors will gain on the first ones, and save fuel.'

  "And guarantee pileups," Heem agreed. "Yet if we can only gain by being behind, we can't win—"

  'Yes we can! The key is the same as with the spaceships! It's not where you are, it's how much fuel you conserve. If you run economically, you'll pass the others in the end. Look at those fuel depots on the map. They're nearer the landing field than they are the Ancient site. How much you want to bet that every tractor will run out of fuel before the end, on that last stretch? So any who haven't caught on by then, and who continue to waste fuel by forging new trails or jamming into each other or simply speeding—'

  "This verges on genius, alien creature! That is the key! A trap for the stupid or unthinking. What use to lead the pack, if your tractor stalls out before the others and you have to roll on your own power while the others pass you by in their machines? The strategy is to use the most-used trail, proceeding slowly and efficiently, then go ahead at the end."

  'Unless we get hung up behind a two-day-long traffic jam,' she amended. 'Better to stay up near the front while the fuel depots are ahead, and—' She paused. 'Oops—I just thought, Heem. Is there enough fuel for all the tractors, no matter when they come?'

  Heem checked the coding on the map. "These deposits, in the aggregate, have enough fuel to refill only half the tractors."

  'So there is the other shoe.'

  "The other what?"

  'The other part of the trap. Go too fast, you run out of fuel early. Go too slow, you can't refuel. So you're out either way.'

  "This is the kind of maneuvering I understand! We must proceed rapidly to the depot, then economize on the remainder."

  'I wonder—could that also be a trap? Everyone racing to the nearest depot—'

  "It could be. Yet if we do not race—"

  'I'm still suspicious. There's something too pat about this. How is that fuel distributed? I mean, is there the same amount at each depot—maybe enough for five tractors? This vitally affects our strategy.'

  "It does indeed," Heem agreed. This alien was smart! "The map seems to indicate that all depots are even. The same amount of fuel at each station."

  'So the depots on the most popular route will run out first, and the latecomers won't be able to cross to some other depot, will they! Because they're too far apart. So we'll lose about half our tractors at the first round, including some of the leaders—and the smart contestants who arrive late will do best to go on the least popular trails, in the hope that a fuel refill remains that will put them back into the race. The last could very well be first.'

  "Possible. Except that a smart leader should still be able to stay ahead of a smart follower. Something more is required."

  'This bad route,' she said. 'It's so very bad, no one in his right mind would take it unless he were already so far behind he knew it was the only one with fuel. But look—there's a crossover strip here; you could start on the bad route, then cross to a better one after the fuel depot.'

  "Yes. We must do that. This delay for reflection may have gained us much more than we had hoped." Heem started up the tractor and directed it toward the bad route.

  'Still, I wonder,' she mused. 'Why should they design a route that bad, then put an escape trail? I'm getting paranoid again. Heem, is there any way to take extra fuel at the depot and store it for the end stretch?'

  "No. Doubtful. The depots deliver a set amount by closed connection. Otherwise the first tractors would steal it all."

  'So you can't store it up. You have only one tankful at the end, no matter which route you're on?'

  "True. Perhaps some fuel from the initial tank can be conserved, to stretch the second; that is all."

  'Heem, look at this bad route. It crosses several lava runnels, then climbs right over a mountain!'

  "Yes. Virtually all our fuel would be expended in that ascent."

  'But from then on, it is all downhill. We could coast almost to the site!'

  Heem studied the route, surprised. "That is a better route than it seems. It provides elevation at the expense of fuel, but it conserves that elevation until the end, when the ride down is free. Provided the tractor achieves the final height."

  'So let's stay on it, Heem! It's a gamble, but there's a lot to gain. No traffic, no fuel shortage, and we can take our tractor closer to the Ancient site than any other way. Because the tractors on the other trails, going on the level, will have to continue under power, while we can turn off the motor entirely between climbs.'

  "I agree. We will be among the first ten tractors, then, even if we must travel far and slow at the outset."

  'All because we paused to consider, instead of rushing blindly ahead.' She was pleased.

  Other tractors were moving, as the spaced-out ships landed. Here the trail was wide; Heem navigated past two vehicles going in the opposite direction. One was a sinister Squam, the other an Erb. If they were surprised to note the tractor going the wrong way, they did not show it. Probably they felt that every fool who lost his way was a net gain for the others.

  Heem located the bad trail. Sure enough, it was virtually unused; only one or two tractors had gone before. The path was rough, but far better than straight uncharted wilderness. He moved along it at the maximum speed he judged safe.

  Jessica filled in the imagery with growing detail, until Heem almost found himself thinking visually despite his knowledge that it wasn't real. The clumps of ferns had thickened into a dense jungle, their leaves interlocking so that no tractor could pass between the plants; there was no choice except to remain on the carved trail.

  'Yet no big trees,' Jessica remarked. 'These all look as though they just sprang up this season.'

  "They did. The eclipse-winter wipes out everything. The air freezes and settles to the planetary surface, and all organic structures shatter and are reduced to powder. In the spring there is only nutrient dust, with the seeds of the new life embedded."

  'All new, every year!' she said. 'But how can animals grow from seed?'

  "Your kind does not grow from seed?"

  'Not that way. We give live birth.'

  "I do not comprehend."

  'The offspring are born from the body of the mother. Some other Solarian species lay eggs, while—how do HydrOs do it?'

  "We seed."

  'You mean like vegetable seeds? In that case why couldn't your seeds survive the winter here, buried in frozen mulch the way the native seeds do. You could colonize the planet.'

  "Not like vegetable seeds. HydrOs are always animate, conscious, though we soon forget our earliest moments, even before metamorphosis. My illegal memories go back only until the time I was half grown, when the majority of my siblings had already perished. Freezing would kill us. We must have hydrogen to consume, and be warm enough to process it."

  'How do you draw energy from gas? I've never been clear on that.'

  "It is a natural process requiring no intellect. I suppose it is no more complex than the way you Solarians process physical food. Some heat is released, which we regulate to facilitate the process, and on occasion when we require hot weapon needlejets—"

  Another tractor was coming up on them from behind, gaining on them as they had conjectured would be the case.

  'We should let it pass,' Jessica said. 'Then we can follow, saving fuel. If the refueling is a set amount, there must be about twice that capacity in the tractor, so that units will neither run out early nor overflow. Anything we save now will contribute that much to our progress at the end.'

  "True. But if we simply draw aside and let the vehicle pass, that entity will be suspicious, and may decline to take the lead. We must yield the lead
only with seeming reluctance."

  'Say, yes! You really are smart, Heem!' Flattered, Heem did not respond. She was quite intelligent herself, once he allowed for the facts of her alienness and femaleness.

  The pursuing tractor came close. Now Heem tasted the environment of its occupant. "That's an Erb," he jetted. "Nothing to worry about."

  'An Erb could win this race, you know,' Jessica warned him. 'An Erb in a tractor could run you off the road just as easily as a Squam could.'

  "Never," Heem sprayed, unworried. "Erbs cannot compete with HydrOs. They're only plants."

  'Plants?' she demanded incredulously. 'That's not the way I remember it from our last discussion on the subject. You told me they were sapient, with movable leaf-umbrellas they used to fetch in light energy, and that they could defeat Squams in combat. That's quite a bit for a plant!'

  Now the other tractor was right behind them. Heem maneuvered to block its forward progress, as though afraid it would pass them. "They draw nutrients from the ground, like other plants. These tractors have mulch-beds bottoming the occupation compartments, so as to be serviceable for the Erb's roots. That is also why the compartments are open; the Erbs need access to light."

  'I'm still grasping, Heem. I understand all this intellectually, but I want to form an image for us to look at right now.'

  Heem concentrated, trying to convert his taste-impression to a visual one. When Jessica was doing the imagery it came easily, if inaccurately. For him it was much harder.

  'Here, I'll help you. Like this?' She made a picture of a giant green fernlike thing, its fronds waving gently in the breeze.

  "No, not at all like that," Heem sprayed. "Erbs are not green. They don't wave. They—" He focused on the taste. Actually, since he had never seen an Erb—no HydrO had!—he could not be sure of the color, but knew it did not match that of most vegetation.

  The picture fuzzed and changed as they adjusted it. Suddenly the real Erb drew alongside; Heem had not paid proper attention to his maneuvering. He tried to crowd, too late.

  'Let it by,' Jessica murmured. 'That's what we want, remember?'

  Heem had almost forgotten. He allowed his tractor to lose ground slowly, and the Erb wrestled the lead from him. As Heem fell behind, he picked up a clear medley of tastes carried back on the wind, and suddenly Jessica's picture firmed.

  It was of a golden column swelling into a splay of tendrils below and a cone opening out above, formed of overlapping metallic petals.

  'I see,' Jessica said. 'It gathers light by spreading its leaves into a full circle. But what about days when there is no direct sunlight? It can't store enough energy from the sun to maintain an active life-style, can it?'

  Heem struggled with the picture, adjusting it. The Erb's cone opened into a disk, the disk tilted to face the wind, and the petals angled separately to form vanes. The wind caught them, driving them in a circle about the axis; the force of the wind was being transmuted into torque that spun down into the body of the plant.

  'A windmill!' Jessica exclaimed. 'Now at last I see it! You tried to explain it before, but—'

  The Erb's tractor was now ahead, and proceeding slightly more slowly on the less-beaten track. Heem edged off, allowing his own tractor to fall slowly further behind, so that the Erb would not realize the truth. In the process, Heem increased his fuel economy significantly.

  'But how does the Erb defend itself from a horror like the Squam?' Jessica asked. 'You said Erbs could beat Squams, didn't you? Something about drilling?'

  "The leaves mass into a drill-cone," Heem sprayed, modifying the picture again. He was getting better at this. The secret was to formulate an extremely detailed conception, then project that detail. Any aspect that was vague in his mind, was vague in the image. This was good discipline. "Visualize a Squam attacking the Erb."

  Jessica obligingly conjured the image of a Squam. It looked somewhat alien, as she was to a certain extent drawing on her own experience of fanged reptiles, but it sufficed. The Squam slithered toward the Erb, its triple arms extended, each triple pincers open.

  The image-Erb rotated to aim its wedged leaves at the Squam. The mass spun on its axle-stalk as the windmill had, but now it was driven from inside. As the Squam came close, the cone angled to point at the Squam's torso and drove forward.

  The screw-thread configuration bit into the body, catching under the scales and jamming them apart. In a moment the body of the Squam was split open, its hard scales unable to resist the overpowering leverage of the spiraling wedge. The Squam was badly injured and would soon die.

  'Now at last I understand that too,' Jessica agreed, blanking out the vision. 'Torque wins the day! And I see how the drill would not work against the protean body of a HydrO. It really is scissors-paper-rock.'

  "It really is what?" Heem asked, confused by her flurry of concepts.

  She explained, carefully illustrating with pictures. 'Scissors are closing sharp edges that sheer through paper, defeating it. But paper wraps rock, smothering it. And rock smashes scissors. So each beats the other, in a vicious circle. That's what it is with Squams, HydrOs, and Erbs. Squams have scissors-pincers that cut through the soft paper-flesh of HydrOs, but the rock-hard drill of an Erb smashes the scissors. And the HydrOs—how do the HydrOs overcome Erbs? I know you told me before, but—'

  "We wrap them," Heem admitted. "We surround them and jet them with hot water. They can block the pincers of the Squams, but not our liquid."

  The tractor forged on, readily handling the curves and rises of the trail. 'You know, the more I learn of your way of life, the more I appreciate it,' Jessica observed. Then she corrected herself. 'No, I don't really like it; I much prefer my human mode. But yet your scheme of things has its appeal—let me isolate this—something attracts me—'

  "Your Solarian existence remains alien to me in most respects," Heem jetted. "But in your mode of raising offspring, and you yourself—I find myself wishing that you were a HydrO."

  'Well, I am a HydrO, for the nonce. I'm occupying your body, aren't I?'

  "A separate HydrO. One I could copulate with."

  'One you could—what a thing to say!' she exclaimed, a sort of pleased anger washing through her aspect of his mind. 'Every time I think we are making progress, you come up with—'

  "I regret," Heem jetted quickly. "I forgot that your kind regards copulation as indecent. I withdraw the thought."

  'Heem, you can't withdraw a thought! And my kind doesn't regard—well, I don't, anyway! I—you just caught me by surprise. We Solarians don't—I mean such things are not baldly stated, but I guess they are felt. In fact, my clone-brother, who's really me in male guise, a Y chromosome in place of an X—I—I guess what you're really saying is a natural urge—'

  "I regret offending you. I feel toward you somewhat as I felt toward Moon of Morningmist, and I now am more familiar with you than I was with her when she—"

  'You only knew her a few days before she died,' Jessica agreed. 'I have been with you a similar period, and we have solved a concepts-riddle and raced in space and bypassed a black hole already. How could anything you say cause me offense? I'm—I'm clarifying my own feelings to myself now, more than to you. I'm surprised, but—deeply pleased, Heem. I—I do want your respect. Because I have come to respect you. You really are quite a man in your fashion.'

  "I am a HydrO, not a man."

  'Yes, yes of course, Heem. I spoke figuratively. What I meant was, I—I—oh, God, my culture makes this hard for me, and I thought I was liberated! But I want to be honest I—I wish I were that lady HydrO. So I could—I know sex isn't serious with you, but often it isn't with us, either. Not reproduction-serious. Sometimes it's just a mutual recognition of feeling, and—'

  "But we are of differing species," Heem protested, intrigued. He had been appalled by the presence of a female mind in his; now he preferred it.

  'Are we really, Heem? Is that so important? Our physical bodies differ, but our minds agree on the fundamental things,
like not leaving babies alone to die. If I could occupy the body of a separate HydrO, a female, would it be wrong—what we might do?'

  "No!" he sprayed explosively. "It would not be wrong!"

  'After all, creatures in transfer do all sorts of things. That's the nature of transfer. It leads to understanding, reduces alienophobia, spreads information. When in Rome—'

  "When in what condition?"

  'Condition?'

  "I did not recognize the condition of Rome."

  'Oh. That's a city on ancient Earth, the Solarian home-world. My planet circling Capella is just a colony, as your Planet Impasse is. What I meant was that when one is in transfer, one does what the host does. Expresses oneself in the manner of the host, though it differs from—I mean, when I'm in HydrO host, it should be right to—'

  "But you are in a male body."

  'I wish I weren't. I want a female body. Truth is, I might as well have been in a male body back in System Capella, since I had to act male anyway. This isn't so much of a change after all. But I hate it. I wish I were female, so I could—could at least greet you in the HydrO manner. As Moon of Morningmist did. Before I went home.'

  Before she went home. Heem abruptly realized that his aversion to her intrusion into his private mental space had not merely dissipated; it had been replaced by positive feeling. He liked her very well, and no longer wanted her to go. Yes, she was alien, and female—but she alone did not condemn his shame of the valley of Morningmist. She had provided him with the useful new perception of sight, that would be lost when she went. Only a mind geared to vision could make it work. She wanted to go, but he wanted her to stay.

  'Why thank you, Heem.'

  Heem sprayed an explosive epithet. That damned un-privacy of thought—was also becoming more appealing. He was not alone.

  'Look, Heem, I feel the same. I was aware of your reactions when I kissed you, and I didn't want to tease you, so I shut up. But I do—wish I could stay. I can't stay; we both know that. We have to win this competition and get me transferred back. Otherwise you'll be in jail, and I will perish as my aura fades. So there is absolutely no sense in—in our getting involved with each other, because even if it were possible it would still be impossible.'