The Leagacy of Heorot

by Larry Niven

  "We can't be sure how much such an animal would weigh. Certainly enough to destroy any credibility the tracks by the chicken cages might have had." He peered out into the audience. "I'm afraid that that incident was a particularly unfunny prank."

  Gregory Clifton handed a drowsy April to his wife, Alicia, and stood. "Zack, let's cut the crap. I worked on the computer map. Half the Colony saw the information as it was coming in. There isn't an adult here who can't interpret the technical data for himself. How about opening up the floor?"

  The applause shook the room.

  Zack shrugged, spreading his hands. "All right, Gregory—what's your idea?"

  "We know about the pterodons. None of them get too large. But maybe there's another species of flying carnivore. Something the size of—oh, crap, let's say a California condor..."

  There was a quick spate of derisive laughter. Jon Van Don yelled, "What the hell, why not a roc, Greg?"

  Barney Carr-brayed with laughter. "Watch out for flying elephants!"

  "Wing span-to-weight ratio, Greg," Stu called. "It would have to be huge to lift a calf. Much larger than a ground carnivore capable of bringing down the same size prey. And how would it evade the Skeeters?"

  Greg held up his hand. "Hear me out. It wouldn't need to fly away with the calf. It could fly in, and then drag a heavy victim to a safe place.

  And maybe it nests up in Mucking Great Mountain—"

  There was a shout from the back of the auditorium, and Andy Washington, the big black man from the engineering crew, stood. He was fighting a losing battle with an evil grin. "I say our mistake is thinking it had to be big. Maybe it's not an it. Maybe it's a them, like a herd of Marabunta army mice—"

  "Something like a glassfish," Jean Patterson added. "A super-chameleon—"

  "It has to be coldblooded, to evade the infrared—"

  "The hell it does! There're hot springs everywhere you look!" The opinions were flying too thick to stop now, and Zack sat back, pleased and relieved by the healthly creative energy being released.

  La Donna Stewart stood, tiny fists poised lightly on her hips. "Has anybody considered a borer?"

  "I think we're listening to one—Ow!" There was the sound of an affectionately brisk slap as she whacked her fiance, Elliot, and the room quieted for a moment.

  "I mean like a mole, or like ants or termites. This entire area could be riddled with tunnels and we'd never know it. It could operate like a trapdoor spider. Engineering should put together a seismic detector, Zack..."

  Andy whipped out a pad of paper and started making notes to himself.

  Zack Moscowitz took the opportunity to grasp control again. "A good suggestion. La Donna. All good suggestions..." He glared at the engineer. "Except maybe the Marabunta mice, Andy."

  He touched a switch, and the grotesque skull disappeared from the wall. He chuckled darkly. "I know that some of you don't even believe in this thing. There is... one possibility that Rachel suggested to me. As camp psychologist she felt it was time we discussed it openly."

  He took another sip from the thermos, then plunged ahead, dead serious now. "We all know about Hibernation Instability. It's no joke to any of us. Personally, I've noticed that I don't parse as well as I once did. That I need a calculator for operations that I used to do in my head. And I wonder: is that just age? Or could it be those little ice crystals that weren't supposed to form?

  "We've had major memory losses, impairment of motor skills, mood swings and clinical personality disorders—all of which we've been able to handle by juggling work duty and schedules. A few cases have required chemical stabilization."

  The muttering in the room had quieted. They were ahead of him, and heads nodded in anticipatory agreement.

  "Maybe things have been too placid here. The crops are thriving, we've had no deaths—hell, no real injuries—"

  Cadmann looked around him in the dark. A little white lie there, Zack.

  Ernst walked right of the cliff and broke his ankle his first week down.

  "Just maybe there are those among us who feel that it's been too easy, and perhaps for our own good want to—" His fingers fluttered as he fought for the right words—"want to keep our guard up, our spines stiff, by creating a bogeyman. A harmless joke, perhaps, except that the loss of the dog, the chickens and now the calves suggests a rather disturbing trend.

  "I won't suggest that this is what has happened. But I would be remiss to exclude the possibility from this discussion. So... if anyone has anything to talk about, please..."

  He looked out over the audience, which was dead silent. Zack gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles pale. He moistened his lips nervously. Alicia's baby started to cry, and she blithely offered it a nipple.

  Zack cleared his throat uncomfortably. "No one has anything to say? Carlos?"

  Their carpenter/historian shook his head. He peered at his fingernails, inspecting them in the dark. "Not me, amigo. I uh... I heard that the tracks by the chicken cage might have been a prank. We all heard Cadmann say that, and I guess that's possible."

  There was silence for another long moment, then Cadmann stood. His big hands were splayed out on the table in front of him, and his face was grim—not a shred of regret or admission or apology there. "I know what I think. I think that we're wasting our time here, talking about Hibernation Instability. That's bullshit. I have a good idea of what we're up against here: something that is fast and strong and smarter than a wolf. Smart enough to use the rivers and streams to foil other predators, maybe. At any rate, that's how it dumps the heat, and why we don't pick it up on the scans."

  There was a murmur of approval, and Cadmann continued. "This thing is checking out our territory one bite at a time. I'm not trying to alarm anyone, but it's pretty obvious that our present defensive plans are insufficient."

  Terry stood up, brows furrowed petulantly. "We're using standard procedures, Weyland. In fact, our patrols are heavier than the situation really warrants. We're taking people away from other projects."

  "I agree, Terry. So let's not take them away for an indefinite period. I say an aggressive defense could handle this situation in a week."

  "Aggressive defense?" Terry asked, arched eyebrow and tightly pressed lips punctuating the words with sarcasm.

  "We don't wait around for this thing to find a hole in our defenses. We set traps. We hunt it down. This is our world. We're masters of this island, damn it, and I for one don't have much stomach for just hiding behind a fence."

  "And we can guess who'd like to play Great White Hunter." Terry turned to look at Zack, but he was still talking to Cadmann. His voice was calm and measured, as if speaking to a child. "There's no call to jump the gun. We need to evaluate the situation carefully. See how it responds to standard procedures. Then, if necessary, we can make a coordinated sweep of the island. There's no need to turn this into a safari. Especially since, as Rachel has suggested—there may not be an exterior threat to this colony."

  He turned back to Cadmann. "Before you get your back up, no. I'm not accusing you or your friends." He flickered an eye at Ernst. "But it wouldn't shock me if you wish I had. There are some people who need a fight to feel alive. Who feel old and useless without one."

  He sat down, leaving Cadmann the only man standing in the room. There was a disgusted ripple of whispers, and Carlos's barely audible voice stage-whispering, "What a crock."

  Cadmann closed his eyes and told his bunched stomach muscles to relax.

  "Listen to us. The only thing we can agree on is that something is happening here. I say that until proven otherwise, we make the simplest assumption—that there is an unknown life form, and that we have invaded its territory. Now if you put me in charge of a small group of hunters, I can—"

  Zack shook his head. "This has all happened too quickly, Cadmann. Until we evaluate the information further, we simply can't judge the relative merits of our defensive options."

  "Spoken like an accountant," Carolyn McAndrews sai
d stridently.

  Cadmann glared at her. "This is between me and Zack, lady. Button it."

  Zack blew air. "This is uncalled for. Both of you, cool down. For the time being, I think we should sit tight, on our home ground. After all—" Zack smiled—"this camp is our territory. Let's make it come to us, all right?"

  "Damn it!" Cadmann was yelling now, and frustrated with himself for doing it. "I demand the establishment of a militia, and I'm going to organize it. I'm better suited than anyone else here for that position—"

  "Cadmann, I think we should wait—"

  "Wait? All right. You hurry up and wait. None of you understand—" Cadmann bit his lip, sealing off the torrent of words. He turned and stalked out of the hall.

  Behind him, Ernst stood. Silent, impassive as a golem carved from ice. He studied their faces as if memorizing, judging, weighing options somewhere in the crannies of his damaged mind. Then he said, "You shouldn't treat Cadmann like that. He knows. He's smart. You should listen to Cadmann." He followed Cadmann out.

  When the doors had swung shut behind them. Terry said softly, "I think maybe someone should keep an eye on him. On both of them."

  Mary Ann stood, shaking the hair out of her face. Her face was filled with anger, but her voice was little-girl vulnerable. "He just wants to help. " Her voice broke on the last word and she averted her eyes, then ran from the room.

  Cadmann wasn't answering his door.

  She was no stranger here. She had actually left some toiletries on his dresser, and a few items of clothing in his closet. Still she waited for permission before intruding.

  "Cadmann?" She hugged her arms to her sides. "It's cold out here.

  Can't I come in?"

  His words were leaden with disgust. "Mary Ann, what do you want?"

  That was probably as much of an invitation as she was going to get.

  She opened the door.

  The only light was a pale halo surrounding a holographic Earth globe, a half-meter sphere of sparkling blue ocean and drifting clouds that revolved above Cadmann's bed. He was lying on his side, fingers playing with the video control box, bringing silvery dawn or cloaking darkness to the continents. Cadmann stared at the globe moodily. A flicker of his thumb and the western coast of Europe was alight. Another and the globe misted, cleared on a satellite panorama of the United Kingdom. The island swelled to fill the video field. A hooked nugget of land near the foot of the island flashed green, and again the globe misted, and the mountains of Wales floated in the air. As if he had done it a thousand times, Cadmann guided the camera in on a southeastern corner, to a valley rampant with golden-green trees and rolling hills, a vast quilt of farmland stretching away into the distance.

  He laughed flatly, self-consciously. "A sovereign remedy for homesickness, they say."

  She sat next to him and reached for his hand. He lay back, kicking his feet up onto the blankets, not bothering to take off his shoes. His shirt was open halfway down the great corded barrel of his chest; wisps of silver hair reflected the spreading light. Her urge was to bury herself against him.

  There was a movement in the corner of the room, and she saw Ernst's enormous bulk perched on an incongruously tiny stool. He watched her expressionlessly, and seemed to her like an engine idling in neutral, waiting for Cadmann to throw him into gear. A less flattering metaphor, one having to do with tame dogs, came to mind. She repressed it and smiled at him, still unnerved by his lack of response.

  "My grandfather came from Wye Valley," Cadmann said quietly. "It doesn't look like this anymore." There was resignation in his voice, and he hit a button on his control. Once again the Earth globe spun slowly above his bed, segueing from day to night to day in steady rhythm.

  "Well," Cadmann said finally. "Nobody can say I didn't try it their way."

  Mary Ann reached out to touch him again, gratified when he took her hand. His fingers were cool and stiff, and she had the distinct impression that the contact was more for her benefit than his.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  The barest trace of a smile flickered on Cadmann's lips and then died.

  "Just... what I said. That's all. Really."

  "Cadmann—we've scanned the island from one side to the other."

  A line of shadow fell on Cadmann's face as the holo globe revolved, and night fell on the Americas.

  "Cadmann?" There was no answer.

  She rose from the bed unsteadily and crossed to Ernst. He looked at her incuriously. The angle of his head only changed as she knelt beside him and took one of his huge callused hands in hers.

  "Ernst," she whispered to him. "Please—leave us alone for a while?"

  "Oh..." He grinned childishly. "You want make rub with Cadmann?

  That fun." His ice-blue eyes clouded for a moment as if searching lost memories. "You make rub with Ernst once. I remember! On ship. Maybe sometime—"

  He blinked, as if something sad had suddenly occurred to him, some flash of understanding that was intensely, profoundly depressing, and the great craggy expanse of his face went slack. "No. I forget sometime. Good-night, Cadmann." He resurrected a smile for Mary Ann. "Goodnight, May-ree."

  Mary Ann followed him to the door, and latched it behind him. She turned quietly, watching Cadmann's motionless figure on the waterbed. She sat on the bed and took off his shoes.

  Dawn broke over a miniature Asia: the Himalayas glittered, flamed white. The China Sea was a riot of warm blue diamonds.

  She was riding his hips. She saw the sudden delighted surprise in his face, and he said, "Earth mother."

  She didn't know what he meant, or care. Only afterward did she guess how she must have looked, her face and shoulders glowing within the globe of the Earth.

  Like all of the times and all of the ways that she had made love to Cadmann, this time was utterly precious to her. If there was a barrier between them, it wasn't the disdain that she felt from Marty, who laughed to his friends as he knocked on her door. Or Joe Sikes. Good old available Joe, who knew her weaknesses so well. Who rapped on her window when his pregnant wife was asleep.

  It was different because she knew there would come a moment when he would smile as she kissed him, and then they would laugh together. The barrier would crumble for a while, a fragile crystalline moment, and Cadmann would really be with her, caring for her and letting her fill his needs. And when that time came she turned her face away, unwilling for him to see the dampness on her cheeks.

  Later, long enough later for any tears to have dried and any tremors to have ceased, he held her softly, as if afraid that she might shatter. Gazing at her, he ran his thick blunt fingers over and around the curves and shadows, touching, soothing. Finally he sighed, laid his head gently between her breasts and fell into a deep, soundless sleep.

  Chapter 6

  AT THE WIRE

  What the hammer? What the chains?

  In what furnace was thy brain?

  Where the anvil? What dread grasp

  Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

  WILLIAM BLAKE, "The Tyger"

  It didn't matter a damn that the stars above Carlos's head, twinkling in Avalon's eternal mist, were not those of Earth. It didn't matter that the wind carried the ticklish scent of alien blossoms, or that the plants beneath his feet were mingled Terran and Avalonian grasses. Beneath the smiling face of a con man, the quick and nimble fingers of a carpenter and the mind of a superb historian, there lurked the soul of a farmer. Like it or not, Carlos felt absurdly at peace.

  He ran his gloved fingers above the electrified wire-without touching. The wire was connected to power leads and pressure sensors. Any attempt to climb over, push under or break through it would trigger a shock: the more pressure exerted, the greater the voltage would grow, terminating in enough electricity to barbecue anything on the short side of a rhino. Huckleberry, the year old gray-brown German shepherd on the end of Carlos's leash, had learned to be quietly respectful of the wire. He could stand within two feet of it without flin
ching but would venture no closer.

  The wire extended around three sides of the camp, starting north of the living quarters, running west near the main road, curving south past the animal hospital, the machine shop and the air pad. There it met the cliff again, stopping shy of the fields.

  There were more calf pens across the main road, these fenced separately, each enclosed in another "graduated" electric fence.

  Huckleberry sniffed the cages as they turned west towards the cliff edge, the fifty-meter drop behind the camp that led to the sluggish waters of the Miskatonic.

  "Hey!" He threw an arm over his face as a wandering searchlight temporarily blinded him. "Cual es su problema, eh?"

  With an apologetic hobble, the searchlight glided on its way. Lamps and video cameras had been mounted on the communal dining hall, the roof of the machine shop and a corner of the animal pens. There was barely a centimeter of the camp that their glaring ovals did not flare into momentary day. Saucers of light skimmed along the road, circling, dipping, interweaving.

  Carlos watched those circles and pulled his jacket tighter. Suddenly he felt a chill, and the heat-reflective windbreaker didn't help at all. This cold blossomed within him.

  Silhouettes dimmed the window of the yellow Quonset hut next to the air pad. He watched enviously. In the communications shack there would be coffee and companionship and hot crullers, things he couldn't expect for another forty minutes.

  Huck whined as footsteps approached, and Carlos's attack of hunger died instantly. He squared his shoulders and put a little more pep in his step. At least I can look like a sentry!

  "Terry." He smiled. The dark softened a malicious grin. Terry looked fatigued and disgusted. His face, never plump, was drawn even thinner, and he looked as if he thought Cadmann was boffing Sylvia while he walked patrol.

  Terry fished a pack of cigarettes out of his vest and offered one to Carlos. "Just the thing, amigo." They stood for a time, savoring Earth-grown tobacco.