Divergence hu-1

by Charles Sheffield

  That cannot be true, for this reason: Upon my arrival on Opal, I met with a human male who identified himself as Commissioner Birdie Kelly. He informed me that of the names given to me as potential contacts, all but one were either presumed dead, or away exploring other parts of the Mandel system. The single exception is Councilor Julius Graves, and I will be meeting with him in a few hours’ time. That was good to know, and I said so.

  I had no trouble understanding every word of my conversation with Commissioner Kelly. Certainly there was no reason to assume that recent language changes on Opal might be causing miscommunication between us.

  However, after a meeting of a little less than twenty minutes, the commissioner told me that he had another appointment. I left. And once I was outside the room he spoke, presumably to himself. He must have believed me to be out of earshot, but I was grown from first-rate genetic stock and my hearing is more sensitive than that of most humans.

  “Well, Mister E. C. Tally,” he said. “ ‘May I speak,’ indeed. May I babble, more like. You’re a funny duck, and no mistake. I wonder why you flew in.”

  A duck is an animal indigenous to Earth, imported to Opal where it thrives. Clearly, a human being is not a duck, nor does a human closely resemble one. And since I resemble a human, I cannot therefore be mistaken for a duck. It is not easy to see how Commissioner Birdie Kelly could make such an error, unless the language banks themselves contain errors.

  These matters call for introspection.

  CHAPTER 5

  The universe is all extremes. Monstrous gravity fields, or next-to-nothing ones; extreme cold, or heat so intense that solids and liquids cannot exist; multimillion atmosphere pressures, or near-vacuum.

  Ice or fire. Niflheim or Muspelheim: the ancient alternatives, imagined by humans long before the Expansion.

  It’s planets that are the oddities, the strange neutral zone between suns and space, the thin interface where moderate temperatures and pressures and gravity fields can exist. And if planets are anomalies, then planets able to support life are rarer yet — a zero-measure subset in that set of strangeness.

  And within that alien totality, where do humans fit?

  “Willing to share your thoughts?” Hans Rebka’s voice interrupted Darya’s bleak musings.

  She smiled but did not speak. She had been gazing out of the port of the Summer Dreamboat, her head filled with the unsatisfying present and the far-off dreams of Sentinel Gate. She was 800 light-years from home. Instead of the Sentinel, Gargantua filled the sky, as big as at Summertide and far more dominant. The Eye was a smoky whirlpool of gases, wide enough to swallow a dozen human worlds.

  “You want me to help you?” she asked.

  “You couldn’t if you wanted to.” Hans Rebka jerked his head toward the control panel. “They won’t let me get near it. I think Kallik’s having fun.”

  It was nice to know that someone was. The arrival in orbit around Gargantua had depressed Darya enormously — to come so far, with such vague goals, and then find nothing toward which she could point and say, “There! That’s it. That’s just what I hoped we’d find here.”

  Instead they had found what she should have expected. A planet, big enough to be at the fusion threshold, unapproachable by humans because of its dense, poisonous atmosphere and giant gravity field. Dancing attendance on Gargantua were its four major satellites, with their own atmospheres and oceans; but the air was mostly nitrogen, plus an acrid photochemical smog of ethane and hydrogen cyanide, and the oceans were liquid ethane and methane. The surfaces, recently heated by close approach to Mandel and Amaranth, were dropping back to a couple of hundred degrees below freezing.

  If they were to find anything, the best bet was on one of the hundreds of smaller, airless satellites. Kallik and J’merlia were patiently identifying those, tagging each with its own set of orbital elements for future identification; the intertwining orbits were impossible to follow by eye, and a tough job even for the Dreamboat’s computer. Finally the team would examine “anything interesting,” which was the vague criterion that Darya had provided.

  “How many have they done?” Darya was not too sure she wanted to hear the answer. Because when they had worked their way through all the larger fragments she had no suggestion as to what they should do next, beyond the bitter option of an empty-hands return to Dobelle.

  Hans Rebka shrugged, but J’merlia had heard the question. The lemon eyes turned on their short eyestalks. “Forty-eight.”

  He went on to answer the unasked question. “At this time, we have found nothing. Not even a prospect of high-value mineral deposits.”

  Of course not. Don’t be so dumb, J’merlia. This is part of the Phemus Circle, remember? Metal-poor and mineral-poor and everything-poor. The whole Mandel system had been scoured for metals and minerals back when it was first colonized. If anything had been out here it would have been mined and picked clean centuries ago.

  Darya managed not to say all that. She realized that she was angry with everything. She began to feel guilty. The two aliens were doing all the work, while she sat back, watched, and complained. “How many still to go, J’merlia?”

  “Hundreds, at least. Every time we look more closely we find more small bodies. And each one is a time-consuming task. The problem is the orbital elements — we need many minutes of observation before we can assign them accurately. And we need accuracy, because the fragments move. We have to be sure we are not missing one, or doing some of them twice. The old catalogs help, but the recent perturbations make them unreliable.”

  “Them we’ll probably be sitting here for a long time — at least a few days. What do you think, Hans? Maybe it’s time to pick one of the planetoids, somewhere we can spread ourselves a bit until the search is over. We’ve got suits with us; at least we can stretch our legs and get out of each other’s hair for an hour or two.”

  “We already have a… ck-candidate for such a place.” Kallik had also been listening and watching. Her command of human speech was approaching perfection, but it could still betray her occasionally in moments of excitement. “We noted it when we first… ss-saw it. J’merlia?”

  The Lo’tfian nodded. “It was already in the old catalog. It carries an identification as Dreyfus-27, and at one time a survey expedition used it as a base of operations. There should be tunneling, perhaps an airtight chamber. It can be reached from our present orbit with a minimal energy expenditure. Would you like to see its stored description?”

  * * *

  Darya had accepted J’merlia’s suggestion with indecent haste. She knew that, but she didn’t regret it. Motion, bustle, activity, that was what she needed at the moment — even if it was only motion and bustle, something as useless as fixing up a barren lump of rock so that humans and aliens might call it home for a few days.

  Close approach to Dreyfus-27 had confirmed the data suggested by the Summer Dreamboat’s remote sensors. The planetoid was a dark, craterd body only ten kilometers in diameter, swinging in low orbit around Gargantua. A thousand years before, traces of nickel and iron in the outer layers of Dreyfus-27 had encouraged prospectors to drill the interior. The rubble and tailings that still formed a meters-deep coat to the planetoid’s rugged surface showed that no deposits worth refining had been found, but the automated drilling equipment of the miners had not given up easily. Dreyfus-27 had been tunneled and retunneled, carved and bored and fractured and drilled until dozens of crisscrossing shafts and corridors and chambers riddled the inside.

  Without air and appreciable gravity, those tunnels had not changed since the day they had been abandoned. The new arrivals could read the final frustration of the miners in the jumbled heaps of debris and half-completed living quarters. The prospectors had started out with high hopes, enough for them to plan a permanent base appropriate to extended mining operations. Those hopes had slowly evaporated. One day they had just downed tools and left. But although they had stopped halfway in making Dreyfus-27 fully habitable, their effort
s were more than enough for the short-term needs of the crew of the Dreamboat.

  “Seal it at the top, and this will do,” Darya said. She and J’merlia had found an almost empty cylindrical chamber with a narrow entrance, five meters below the surface, and had tested the walls to make sure that they could hold the pressure of an atmosphere. “The thermal insulation is as good as the day it was installed. Let’s go back up. Once we pump some air in here we can open our suits. That will be wonderful.”

  She looked around her. The chamber was clear of major rock fragments, but powdery grit covered the passivine wall lining and flew up at every contact and vibration.

  Wonderful? she thought. My God, I’m slipping down the ladder, rung by rung. A couple of months ago I’d have been appalled at the idea of spending ten minutes in a place like this. Now I can hardly wait to settle in.

  J’merlia was already at home. The Lo’tfians were a burrow race, and the land surface of their home planet formed one vast, interconnected warren. He had been scuttling excitedly from one chamber and corridor to the next. Now he nodded his head and led the way back up the weak gravity gradient.

  Darya, less nimble in free-fall, was left far behind. When she came close to the surface she was surprised to find the tunnel illuminated from outside. Dreyfus-27 was tumbling slowly around its long axis, with a period of a little more than one hour. When they had gone down into the interior of the planetoid, Gargantua had filled the sky above their entry tunnel; now the shaft was lit at its upper end by the fading and wintry sunlight of Mandel.

  The ship hovered where they had left it, moored a hundred meters above the surface. Darya took the connecting cable and pulled herself easily along it. J’merlia was still in the tiny airlock when she got there, and she had to wait outside until the lock cycle was completed. She looked down. From this height she could see most of one irregular hemisphere of Dreyfus-27. The wan light made the surface more than ever into a jumbled wasteland of broken rocks. Harsh contours of light and dark were hardly softened by the microscopic dust particles and ice crystals thrown up by the arrival of the Summer Dreamboat. There were hundreds of other sizable fragments in orbit around Gargantua, all of them presumably much like this one. Was she crazy, to imagine that the secrets of the vanished Builders might be hidden in such a desert?

  Hans Rebka was standing by the lock when she emerged from it. Darya switched her suit to full open and waited a couple of seconds for two-way transparency to be established.

  “J’merlia says you found something good,” Rebka began. “He’s really excited.”

  “I thought it was a mess — just a whole labyrinth of tunnels. But he loved it down there. I guess it’s like home for him. Look at them now.”

  J’merlia had moved across to the ship’s control panel, where Kallik was sitting in a sprawl of extended legs, exactly as she had been when Darya left. For the past two days the Hymenopt had been painstakingly locating, tracking, and monitoring the minor satellites of Gargantua, never moving from her position at the controls. Now the Lo’tfian and the Hymenopt were chattering excitedly together, in the clicks and whistles of the latter’s own language that neither Darya nor Hans had mastered. The whistling and chittering grew louder and more intense, until Darya said, “Hey, stop that, you’ll deafen us,” and added to Rebka, “I sure didn’t see anything all that exciting in the interior.”

  He nodded. “What’s with them? J’merlia! Kallik! Calm down.”

  J’merlia gave one final, earsplitting whistle before he turned to the humans. “Apologies, our sincere apologies. But Kallik has wonderful news. She picked up a signal, two minutes ago — from the Have-It-All!”

  “Louis Nenda’s ship? I don’t believe it.” Rebka moved across the cabin to stand by the control panel. “Darya said they were accelerated away from Quake at hundreds of gees. Any signal equipment inside that ship would have been crushed flat.”

  The Hymenopt’s smooth black head turned to face the humans. “Not ss-so. I found a definite ss-signal, although a very weak one.”

  “You mean the Have-It-All is there, but in trouble?”

  “Not necessarily in trouble. It is not a distress beacon, it is intended only to aid location.”

  “Then why didn’t we pick it up earlier, when you did a scan of the entire region?”

  “Because it becomes activated by an input ss-signal. Our first s-scan was passive, using reflected stellar radiation. But now I am using active microwave, to scan the surface of rock fragments for composition and detailed images.”

  The Hymenopt’s mandibles gaped with excitement and joy. “With apologies and respect, we cannot hide our pleasure. The sh-ship was not destroyed! It survives, it has power, it must be in good ck-ck-condition. Just as J’merlia and I hoped, our masters may not have died at Summertide. Louis Nenda and Atvar H’sial may be alive — and just a few hours’ flight away!”

  Entry 37: Lo’tfian

  Distribution: The center of Lo’tfian civilization, and the only habitat of the species’ females, remains the minor planet Lo’tfi. Since these females are exclusively burrow dwellers, the planetary surface reveals no sign of their presence; the subterranean regions of the planet, however, are believed to have been extensively modified as breeding and metamorphosis warrens. There is no direct proof of this, since no non-Lo’tfian has ever entered the burrows.

  Male Lo’tfians are to be found in large numbers roaming the surface of Lo’tfi, and in small numbers on every world of the Cecropia Federation and Fourth Alliance where Cecropians interact with other intelligences of the spiral arm.

  Physical Characteristics: The physical form of Lo’tfian females is not known by direct examination, though they are certainly blind and exceed the males in size and probably in intelligence. The general physiology is believed to resemble that of the Lo’tfian males.

  The males are thin-bodied, eight-legged arthropods, with excellent hearing and vision. They have an ability to communicate pheromonally, which makes them the preferred interpreters for Cecropians. Their two lidless compound eyes can be individually or jointly focused, enabling either stereo sight or simultaneous monocular viewing of two fields of vision. The eyes have spectral sensitivity from 0.29 to 0.91 micrometers, permitting them to see something of both ultraviolet and infrared radiation. (The Lo’tfian “rainbow” distinguishes eleven colors, compared with the conventional ROYGBIV seven of humans.)

  The blind Lo’tfian females are known to be highly intelligent. The intellectual level of the Lo’tfian males, however, is a much-debated subject. On the one hand, until the arrival of Cecropians on Lo’tfi, no Lo’tfian exhibited curiosity toward anything beyond the planet. This is understandable for the burrowing females, but not for the males who roamed the surface and saw stars and planets every night. In addition, Lo’tfian male interpreters for Cecropians function as pure translation devices, never commenting on or adding to the statements of their masters.

  On the other hand, Lo’tfian males are superb linguists, and when deprived of their Cecropian dominatrixes they are certainly capable of independent thought and action. Male Lo’tfians who are taken off-planet are illiterate, but they pick up reading and writing so easily and rapidly that these abilities are surely part of their genetic stock.

  The prevailing theory to resolve this paradox comes from limited studies of Lo’tfian physiology. The male brain, it is believed, is highly organized and possesses powerful intelligence. However, it contains an unknown physical inhibitor, chemical in nature, that forbids the employment of that intelligence when in the presence of a Lo’tfian female. Confronted by such a female, the reasoning ability of the male Lo’tfian simply switches off. (A much weaker form of this phenomenon has been attributed to other species. See Human entry of this catalog.) The same mechanism is believed to be at work to a lesser extent when the Lo’tfian male encounters Cecropians and other intelligences. If this theory is true, no one is ever exposed to full Lo’tfian intelligence in face-to-face meetings with them.
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  History: From other evidence on the planet Lo’tfi, the planet’s dominant organisms are members of an old race, existing in their present physical form and enjoying their present life patterns for at least ten million years. If there are written records, they are maintained in the burrows by the dominant females and are unavailable to outside inspection.

  Culture: Lo’tfian males living on the surface of their home planet or absent from it display no interest in mating. They are in a mature form they refer to as “Second Stage” or “Postlarval.” Since the adult form of the species possesses two well-defined sexes, and since it is highly unlikely that the burrow-dwelling larval stage prior to metamorphosis is capable to reproduction, mating presumably takes place when the males return to the burrows carrying food. At that time, male intelligence is inhibited and sex drives will dominate. Since Lo’tfian females are continuously intelligent, they define and control all Lo’tfian culture.

  It is interesting to speculate on the social organization that might be set up by a group of Lo’tfian males, far removed from their females or other intelligent beings. These speculations remain academic, since such circumstance have not so far arisen and are unlikely to do so. Male Lo’tfians become agitated and exhibit irrational behavior when access to intelligent companions, of their own or other species, is denied them.

  —From the Universal Species Catalog (Subclass: Sapients).

  CHAPTER 6

  A journey out to Gargantua sounded difficult and dangerous. Birdie Kelly had been dreading the prospect. As he got to know Julius and Steven Graves better he liked the idea even less; and when E. C. Tally’s presence on the trip was thrown in for good measure, Birdie’s level of apprehension was raised to new heights.