by Kir Bulychev
“We’re from the planet Earth.” Gromozeka said, by way of greeting. “As well as from other planets of the Galactic Federation, which I suspect you will shortly be entering. We would like to apologize for having been on your planet without permission, but such things do happen.
“What I can’t understand is how you managed to set down right next to a major city and no one even noticed you?”
“Not only did we land,” Gromozeka said, “We even managed to spend half a year working on your planet.”
“Doing what?”
“We are archaeologists. We managed to determine just what it was that exterminated all life on your planet.”
“But nothing has exterminated all life on our planet.” The dispatcher said. “Are you joking?”
“Not in the least.” Gromozeka said. “Tell me, does this girl look at all familiar to you, from anywhere…” He pointed to Alice.
“No. Not at all.” The dispatcher answered.
“Now that is odd.” Alice said.
“She spent some time on your planet, only a long time ago.”
“When?”
“About a hundred years back.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.” The dispatcher said. “And if this is a joke, its very strange.”
“A hundred years ago,” Gromozeka continued, “your first space ship returned to the planet, didn’t it?”
“Certainly.” The dispatcher said. “We celebrated the centenary of the event just this last year.”
“But weren’t there any odd events or happenings right at the moment when the ship returned to Coleida?”
“No.” The dispatcher said. “Everything proceeded uneventfully. Since then the day has been celebrated as a holiday.”
“And yet I insist that right on that day at precisely that moment this little girl, whose name happens to be Alice by the way, was at the space port and even saved your planet from total annihilation.”
“And they even put me in jail.” Alice interjected.
The dispatcher sighed heavily, as thought he were tired of listening to the ravings of his insane visitors.
“He doesn’t believe us.” Gromozeka said. “They will not believe either of us, Alice. But tell me, do you have a library on board?”
“Why?”
“There might be a history book in it.”
“Oh well…” The dispatcher shrugged his shoulders. “Wait a moment.”
He pressed a button on the control panel, a wall panel slide aside and revealed shelves with books. The dispatcher took down one of the books.
“Is there a description in here of the return from space of the first astronauts?” Gromozeka asked.
“Just a minute.” The dispatcher said. He was leafing through the book.
“Read it.” Gromozeka said. In expectation of pleasure he even swept his tentacles over the traffic satellite’s smooth floor.
“‘And then the ship appeared.’“ The dispatcher read.
“Continue, further.” Gromozeka pressed him on, looking over the little man’s shoulder. “There.” He tapped a line of print with the tip of a claw.
“‘The holiday was capped by the curious actions of one of the girls,’“ the dispatcher read, “‘who ran forward and doused the returning astronauts with perfume. Her name has remained unknown.’“
“Is that all?” Alice asked.
“That’s all.”
“That was me. Only there weren’t any perfumes involved. It was a vaccine.”
At this point Gromozeka came to realize that the dispatcher’s patience had completely run out. He said:
“It’s a joke on history. We shall have to have a long and serious discussion. I am therefore informing you officially that my ship requests the permission of Coleida’s authorities to land at a space port convenient to you. I will speak no further riddles to you, and I will provide a complete explanation to representatives of your government.
“If you’ll wait a while, I’ll find out which space ports have landing pads free.” The dispatcher said with relief.
But then Alice and Gromozeka were walking back toward their ship, Gromozeka tapped Alice lightly on the shoulder with one of his claws, and said:
“Don’t be disappointed. Maybe they’ll still erect a statue to you on this planet.”
“I don’t need a statue.” Alice said. “What matters is that they remained alive and healthy.”
Alice grew silent for a moment. Then she added:
“It is a shame the history books say I doused them with perfume.”
“History only records what was thought to be most important at the time it was recorded,” Gromozeka said. “but what really matters may take a long time to surface in people’s memories.”
End
The Rusty Field-Marshal
Chapter One: News of Future Days
In the morning the alarm clock stood on tiptoe and looked out the window. It could easily enough remember the weather predictions, but it would certainly do not harm to check for itself. If you failed to study the weather you might err in awakening your human.
The alarm clock saw: beyond the window the wind was blowing, rustling the leaves on the birches; quick grey clouds ran across the sky. But there was no ran ordered for today. So the computer logged on to the household computer and requested the following data: which lessons did Alice have today at school it was important to learn if they were subjects Alice loved or just the ones she endured. Next, what was the houserobot making for breakfast this morning? Had Alice argued with one of her friends yesterday?
These were not empty questions. The alarm clock had to know: just how should he awaken his mistress today?
In the end the information was gathered. It turned out that Alice could endure gloomy weather. There were no lessons planned for today, as the Summer vacations had started, the house robot was preparing Hercules, the breakfast of Heroes, which Alice really couldn’t stand, but with cherry milk, which Alice loved. Yesterday Alice had not quarreled with anyone, unless you counted the purely scientific dispute with Arkasha Sapozhkov and the disturbance with Pashka Geraskin, who immediately after school had rushed off to Equador because he had euchred a secret treasure map from a neighboring class, the key to a hoard gathered in 1560 by the Conquistador Juan de la Monta¤a, but he returned home covered with scrapes and mosquito bites only at eleven o’clock at night and, naturally, without any treasure hoard.
Having considered and weighed all the information, the alarm clock returned its attention to Alice and played on the flute the opening strains of Vaughan Williams’ “The Lark Ascending”
“He rises and begins to round
he drops the silver chain of sound
Of many links without break
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake….”
As precisely that melody which it deemed most appropriate for awakening Alice.
As the notes died away Alice opened her eyes, stretched her arms and thought: “Why do I feel so good now?” The alarm clock registered her mood and laughed internally, as it was not designed to laugh externally.
Alice got out of bed and opened the window, did her morning exercises and headed for the bathroom. The alarm clock, satisfied and smug, went to sleep until the next morning.
The Martian Mantis, who for as long as anyone could remember had lived in a box beneath Alice’s bed, on hearing that she had gotten up, started to crack its joints, rose, and headed off for the kitchen where a plate with dried peas was already awaiting him. The house robot slammed the large album with its stamp collection shut and turned on the stove. As a result, when Alice, washed and dressed, returned to her own room, her breakfast was already on her table.
Alice’s first duty was to feed the blue titmouse who had landed on her window ledge, then she went to the TV wall and told it she wanted the news.
At the end of the Twenty-First Century a television was not at all the same as it had been at the end of the Twentieth. On the outside it resembl
ed an enormous screen that covered the wall. If you ordered the screen to turn on, it began to move across the wall in such a manner to position itself precisely in front of the eyes of the viewer. Then the TV began to show exactly what you wanted. If you wanted to see the news, the news would begin, but if you were in the mood to hear the latest pop song “My Grandmother Flew to Venus,” then the TV would show you a concert of hit songs. In the twenty-first century man was no longer a slave to TV that only showed what it wanted to be shown; TV was a servant of mankind, displaying whatever the viewer wished.
Alice wanted to know what was new, what had happened in the world while she was sleeping. The TV wall dropped away, as though a door to another room had opened in front of Alice’s eyes. Alice’s personal news-reader Nina came through the door and sat at the table opposite Alice and said, “Good Morning.” The screen behind her back became a giant window. Sometimes, so as not to obscure Alice’s view, Nina vanished.
“Summer is coming.” The news reader began. “Buds have appeared on the city’s trees and the first snowdrops have blossomed in the fields. Snow remains only in the old spruce forests; it has already vanished from the birch forests and open fields.”
Alice looked at a scene of trees bending beneath the wind, and thought: Why in the world would anyone want to go to school when you could go looking for snowdrops in the forest? If I hadn’t had that final exam in Geography I’d be in a flyer now headed for the forest!
“Eat, Alice.” The house robot who stood behind her said. “Many great people have begun their mornings with Hercules flakes.”
“Name one.” Alice asked.
Hearing that Alice was speaking with the robot, the hologram of Nina grew silent and waited until Alice finished.
“Who?” The robot thought a moment, then declared: “Alexander the Great, certainly. Ilya Murometz and Sir Lancelot, of course; neither ate anything else.”
“And Julius Caesar?” Alice asked. “I don’t think he would have sat still for Hercules flakes for a moment!”
“I shall prove it to you.” The robot answered carefully. “By suppertime all of the necessary documentation will have been downloaded to your In-Box.”
“Continue, Nina.” Alice asked.
“A construction team has established a new world record.” Nina said. Behind her back appeared an enormous building. “Yesterday they erected a twenty story building of some three hundred apartments in two hours thirty-one minutes, winning a place in the Guinness Book of Records. At the news of this record,” Nina turned toward the wall; it changed to show a cheerful, black eyed man with a broad face and high, prominent cheek bones in an orange construction helmet. “On hearing of this record the Beijing construction engineer Wei Tsin-Xin swore he would construct a larger building in half an hour. The new building will be larger by twelve apartments. We will have more news this evening.
“It’s all very fly-by night.” The house robot said. “A building should not be hurried; two or three days is fast enough. They are so entranced by speed they give no thought to beauty.”
“I’d say it’s an attractive building.” Alice said.
At the end of the twenty-first century buildings were erected very differently from the way they were put up in the twentieth. The builders erected a plasteel skeleton of the first floor. Then they poured the foundations of the future walls as dry spores of special, quick growing corrals. All that had to be done then was to pour water on the coral spores and watch them grow to envelop the plasteel rods. Several minutes later the first floor was ready. At that point the finishers went to work, and the construction crew had already raised the plasteel skeleton for the next floor….
“Yesterday archaeologists finished their dig at the store house for military robots under the ruins of the castle on Cape Bonnifaccio.” The news reader said. “The robots were all recycled.”
“War robots! Such madness!” The house robot declared. “It’s like talking about a round cube or an honest politician.”
“The Sergeyev-Shumsky expedition has returned from the planet Struq in the 46-B system.” Nina said, ignoring the mere robot. “While flying through a mirror cloud some three parsecs from Earth the expedition’s ship was subjected to an unknown form of radiation as a result of which all members of the crew were duplicated; as a result for every one member of the crew who set out, two have returned to Earth. This has led to a certain degree of unpleasantness for all concerned.” The newsreader signed. The wall behind her showed the landed space ship, from which the gloomy space men emerged as sets of twins as their relatives rushed forward to greet them: their wives, their children, their parents… who stopped and stared in confusion.
“The duplicated space men,” Nina continued, “Do not know who is real and who is the double. We hope their wives and mothers will be able to resolve the problem. In any case, our correspondent informs us the head of Space Research plans to send the relatives on a flight to the mirror cloud so they too will be duplicated.”
“Idiocy.” The house robot said. “Why torment themselves? If before you had only one son, now you have two. Where before you had one father, now you have two. Let one take the risks in space while the second remains at home raising the family.”
“No.” Alice spoke up. “It would never work. It will work with the mothers, it will work with the children. But it would never suit the wives.”
“And why not?”
“Because when one of the spacemen wants to kiss his wife the second will say: “What right to you have to kiss my wife?”
“I still cannot understand human beings.” The robot sighed.
“And this in from Port Darwin, Northern Australia.” The reader continued. “A dolphin is reported to have saved the life of a young girl who had gone swimming in the area of the Great Barrier Reef, and almost drowned. The dolphin brought her back to shore. When the girl’s overjoyed parents started to thank the dolphin, it answered them in English: ‘Don’t mention it, mate.’ This is the first trustworthy report in history of a dolphin speaking English, if only the languages’s Australian dialect.”
“Typical TV joke.” Alice said. “Unfortunately, dolphins don’t talk, although Bertha thinks otherwise.”
The grinning face of a dolphin filed the entire screen. The dolphin was silent.
“I beg your pardon.” Nina interrupted. “Late breaking news. A dragon brought back to earth three years ago by the First Pegasus Expedition under the direction of Professor Seleznev has escaped from the Kishenev Zoo.”
“Oh.” Alice gasped. “Coos ran away.”
“The question should rather be, where has he run to?” The robot said. “If he came here you would have to decide what to feed him. I have absolutely no idea what to feed a dragon. Perhaps…” The robot looked a the Martian Mantis, and under his cold stare the terrified Mantis cluttered to hide himself beneath the table. The Mantis had no idea what dragons ate either, but could not exclude Martian Mantises from their diet.
“The description of the escaped dragon is as follows. Length is forty-five meters. Color, red, with shadings to green. It answers to the nickname Coos.”
A picture of the dragon appeared on the screen. The dragon was doing his best to look terrifying.
“Should you learn his whereabouts,” Nina said. “You are asked to notify the Animal Rescue League and the Fire Department.”
“Why the fire department?” The robot asked.
“Because he breathes fire.” Alice answered, pushing away the bowl of Hercules flakes and pouring herself some tea.
“Our next report is about fishing in the modern age on the river Syr-Darya.” The screen was filled with a deep, wide flowing river. The river’s banks were lined with date palms. Seated beneath the date palms were fishermen with long poles. One group of fishermen began to fuss and ran toward a fat child who was hauling something very large and heavy out of the water. It took the strength of several adults to drag a two meter long sturgeon up the bank and out of the water.
“There is nothing newsworthy here.” The robot.
“Shows how much you know.” Alice said. “A hundred years ago that river almost dried up. All its water was used for irrigation. But now, there’s a river again, and fish in it. Not bad.”
The newsreader continued:
“Construction has been finished of the restoration of the Tower of Babel in the city of Babylon.” She said. “For several years restorers from forty countries have been rebuilding the ancient edifice from bricks. Despite the fact they spoke different languages they were able to find one in common, the language of science and art.”
The robot did not like the rebuilt Tower of Babel at all. In general, he was quite put off by the human veneration for ancient architectural masterpieces. He was convinced the only good things were new things; the old just wasn’t needed any more. This point of view was universal only in robots. When the Sukharevsky Tower, the Church of Christ The Savior, and the wall of the Chinese City were re-erected in Moscow he wrote an agitated protest to a newspaper and signed it “Wellwisher,” but it was never printed because the paper had a policy against printing anonymous letters.
“A heated debate has arisen within the biological community,” Nina continued. “As was reported previously, Caravaev Farms have introduced a heard of cows which produce cream instead of milk. Now, the geneengineer Remeslin has decided to go one step further; his prize winning cow, Sunrise, now produces three kilograms of sour cream daily. Many scientists have condemned Remeslin’s actions; Sunrise now subsists entirely on sauerkraut and pickled cucumbers. This is what Professor Redkin had to say to our correspondent:”
An tall, skinny man with wild hair waved his hands about and shouted:
“Stop, Remeslin! Sauerkraut is meant to be eaten as sauerkraut, not turned into sour cream! Pickled cucumbers are for people, not for cows!” The professor stopped a moment, the gills in his neck pulsing red. “What are you going to do tomorrow, invent a cow that produces cranberry soda instead of milk? Will you deprive mankind of cranberries? You are a reckless fool, Remeslin!”