The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Third Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “Right.” The deputy douses the top light, restarts the ‘corder.

  “We are now proceeding north on the trail left by Boney and Ko,” says Coati’s voice. “We’ve come about five kiloms. The trail is very plain because the vegetation, or whatever this is, is very delicate and frail. I don’t think it’s built to have animals walk over it or graze. But the trail isn’t all that fresh, because there’re little tips of new growth. We haven’t seen any animals or birds, only plantlike things and an occasional insect going by fast, like a bullet. It’s a pretty cold, quiet, weird place. The ground is almost level, but I think we’re headed roughly for one of those lakes we saw from above.

  “Syllobene is so shook up by what happened to the men that she won’t talk much. I keep trying to tell her it’s not her fault. One thing she said shows you—she said the grown-up Eea must have assumed that we could make ourselves immune to the seeds, just as they can, since we’re so complete. They can’t get used to the idea of whole, single animals born that way. And the ship … we had so many wild, powerful things. It never occurred to them that the men would be as vulnerable as the Dron.… Syl, do you hear what I’m telling my people? Nobody’s going to think for a minim that you’re at fault. Please brace up, honey, it’s awfully lonesome here on this primordial tundra or whatever it is.”

  “… After you saved my life,” murmurs the Syllobene voice sadly.

  “Oh-h-h! Listen, hey—Syl, you saved my life, too, for the lords’ sake. Don’t you realize?”

  “I? How?”

  “By being on that message pipe, dopus. It was full of seeds, remember? If you hadn’t been there, at the risk of your life, if you hadn’t been there to keep them off me, I’d have gone just like Boney and Ko. They’d have eaten my brains out. Now will you cheer up? You’ve personally saved my life, too. Hey, Syl, how about that? Hello!”

  “Hello … oh, dear Coati Cass—”

  “That’s my Syl. Listen, I’ve about had the hiking for today; these boots aren’t the greatest. I see a little hummock ahead; maybe it’s drier. I’ll tramp down a flat place and lay out my bag and screen—I don’t want one of those bullet-bugs to hit me. I don’t think this sun is going to set, either: it must be summer up here, with a big axial tilt.” She chuckles. “I’ve heard of the lands of the midnight sun! Now I’ve seen one. This is Coati Cass, en route to I don’t know where, signing off.”

  “Your daughter is a remarkable young woman, Myr Cass,” Exec says thoughtfully. Cass grunts. Looking more carefully at him, Exec sees that Cass’s eyes are wet.

  The record continues with a few words by Coati on awakening. Apparently she—they—have slept undisturbed.

  “Green, on we go. Now, Syl, I hope you feel better. Think of me, having to lug a Weeping Willie—that means a sad lump of a person—all over the face of this godlost planet. Hey, don’t you know any songs? I’d really like that!”

  “Songs?”

  “Oh, for the gods’ sake. Well, explaining and demonstrating will give me something to do. But I don’t think our audience needs it.”

  Click.

  In an instant her voice is back again, sounding tired.

  “We’ve been walking eighteen hours total,” she says. “My pedometer says we’re sixty-one kiloms from the ships. The trail is still clearly visible. We’re nearing an arm of one of the glaciers that extend south from the ice cap. I can see a line of low clouds—yes, with rainbows in them!—like a miniature weather front. The men seem to have been making straight toward it. Syl says the seeds have a primitive tropism to cold. That they can live a very, very long time if it’s cold enough. I don’t think anybody should come near this planet for a very, very long time. All right, onward.”

  Click—off. Click—on.

  “The glacier edge and a snowbank are right ahead. I think I see them—I mean, their bodies.… There’s a cold wind from under the glacier; it smells bad.”

  Click … click.

  “We found them. It’s pretty bad.” The voice sounds drained. “I did what I could. They’re like frozen. They crawled under the edge of the ice; it stands off the ground and makes a cave there, with deep green light-cracks. Nothing had been at them that I could tell, but they both have big, nasty-looking holes above their noses, where the sinuses are.

  “I don’t know their last names, so I just scratched ‘Boney and Ko, brave Spacers for the Federation, Fed Base 900’ on a slaty piece.

  “Oh—they left a message, on the same sort of rock. It says: ‘Danger. WE are Infekted. Fatel.’ All misspelled, like a kid. I guess the … things … kept eating their brains out.

  “And there are seeds all over around here, like gold dust on the snow. They rise up in a cloud when a shadow falls on them. Syllobene says these are new seeds and spores that the young Eea formed; they mated when the men did, and the seeds grew while the men walked here. Anyway, those holes in their faces are where the new seeds sprouted out in a big clump or stream.

  “I got out my glass and looked at a group of seeds. That gold color is their coat or sheath. Syl says it is just about impermeable from outside. There’s a big difference in the seeds, too—some are much, much larger and solid-looking; others are more like empty husks. Syl says the big ones beat out the others when competing for a host, and the earliest big one takes all.” … A sigh.

  “Let’s see, have I said everything? Oh, maybe I should add that I don’t think those holes were bad enough to cause the men’s deaths. It must have been what went on inside. I didn’t see any other wounds, except scratches and bruises from falling down, I think. They … they were holding each other by the hand. I fixed them up, but I didn’t change that.

  “Now I guess that’s all. I don’t want to sleep here; I’m going to get as far back toward the ships as I can tonight. It may not be night; I told you the sun doesn’t set, but it makes some pretty reddish glow colors. Syl is so sad she’ll hardly talk at all … Signing off now, unless something drastic happens.”

  The deputy clicked the ‘corder off.

  “Is that all?” someone asked.

  “Oh, no. I merely wanted to know if everyone is satisfied that they’re hearing clearly so far. Did everyone get enough on the men’s conditions, or would Doc like me to run back over that?”

  “Not at present, thanks,” says Medical. “I would assume that the action of forming a large number of embryos requires extra energy, and consequently, during the men’s last walk, their parasites were consuming nutrients—brain tissue and blood—at an ever-increasing rate. As to the exact cause of death, it could be a combination of trauma, hypothermia, malnutrition, and loss of blood; or perhaps the parasites attacked brain structures essential to life. We won’t know until we can—I guess we won’t know, period.”

  “Anyone else?” says the deputy in his “briefing session” manner.

  Coati’s father makes an ambiguous throat-clearing noise but says nothing. No one else speaks, despite the sense of large, unuttered questions growing in the room.

  “Oh, get on with it, Fred,” Exec says.

  “Right.”

  “We’re back at the ship, resting up,” says Coati’s voice. “Syl, you’ve been very quiet for a long time. Are you all right? Are you still shook from seeing what the young ones did?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Well, push it aside, honey. If I can, you can. Try.”

  “Yes.…”

  “You don’t sound like you’re trying. Listen, I can’t carry a melancholy, dismal person in my head all the way back to FedBase. I’ll go nutters, even in cold-sleep. Don’t you think you could cheer up a little? Wasn’t it fun when we tried singing? After all, the men all happened a long time back; it’s all over. There’s nothing you can do.”

  In the room at FedBase, Coati’s father recognizes a piece of his own advise to his daughter in long-ago days, and blinks back a tear.

  “And we’ve done something useful—actually invaluable, because only you and I are safe on this planet. Right?
So maybe we’ve saved the lives of whoever might have come to look.”

  “Um’m.…”

  “She’s right,” says Exec.

  “Of course, it’s only Human lives, but it was the Human men made you sad, wasn’t it, Syl. So really, it’s all even. And those two had a really nice time on your planet first. Hey, think how good you’ll feel when you get home. Would it make you feel better if I showed you the scenes from Nolian when we get going?”

  “Yes … oh, I don’t know.”

  “Syl, you’re hopeless. Or is something else bothering you? I’m getting hunches.… Anyway, we’ve done everything we can here, I’m taking CC-One up. I collected Boney and Ko’s last charting cassettes; I’ll put them in a pipe with this, and with the little cassette from the bow camera. I don’t think they have left anything else of value. I closed the door and wrote a sign on the port to stay out. If you at the Fed want to salvage that ship, you’re going to have to go in with flamers. Or get an Eea to go in with you. Personally I think it isn’t worth the danger: some seeds could be on the outside, and get left wherever you went with the ship. Hey, something I’ve been thinking—I wonder if possibly this could be the plague that wiped out the Lost Colony. Seeds drifting in from space. This whole great group of suns could be dangerous. Oh, lords. What a blow.… Hey, that’s something that Syl and I could check someday! Syl, after you get home and have a nice rest-up, how would you like to come with me on another trip? If they’d let me—I’m sure they would, because we’d be their only seedproof scouts! Only, my poor folks. That reminds me: my father may have messaged FarBase; it’d be great if somebody could message him and mother, collect, that all’s well and I’m coming back. Thanks a million. My address is Cayman’s Port, and all is on record there. Syl, there’s another thing we could do—how’d you like to meet my folks? You could learn all about families, and go back and be a big mentor on Nolian. They’d love to meet you, I know … I guess. Green. I’m taking the ship up now.”

  Click. Click.

  “We’re up, and I’m setting in course for the first leg back to FarBase. Whew, those yellow suns are really beautiful. But Syl is still in a funk. It can’t be because of what we saw on the planet. I keep feeling sure there’s something you aren’t telling me, Syl. What is it?”

  “Oh, no, I—”

  “Syl! Listen, you’re thinking with my brain, and I can sense something! Like every time I suggested something we could do, I got drenched in some kind of sadness. And there’s a feeling like a big thing tickling when you won’t talk. You’ve got to tell me, Syl. What is it?”

  “I … oh, I am so ashamed!”

  “See, there is something you’re hiding! Ashamed of what? Go on, Syl, tell me or I’ll––I’ll bash us both. Tell me!”

  “Ashamed,” repeats the small voice. “I’m afraid, I’m afraid. My training.… Maybe I’m not so completely developed as I thought. I don’t know how to stop—Ohhh,” Coati’s voice wails, “I wish my mentor were here!”

  “Huh?”

  “I have this feeling. Oh, dear Coati Cass, it is increasing; I can’t suppress it!”

  “What?… Don’t tell me you’re about to have some kind of primitive fit? Did that mating business—?”

  “No. Well, maybe, yes. Oh, I can’t—”

  “Syl, you must.”

  “No. All will be well. I will recollect all my training and recover myself.”

  “Syl, this sounds terrible.… But, face it, you’re all alone—we’re all alone. You can’t mate, if that’s what’s coming over you.”

  “I know. But—”

  “Then that’s it. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll be at FedBase and you can start home. I was going to take a nice nap first, but if you’ve got troubles, maybe I better just go right into the chest. Couldn’t you try to sleep, too? You might wake up feeling better.”

  “Oh, no! Oh, no! Not the cold! It stimulates us.”

  “Yes, I forgot. But look, I can’t live through all those light-years awake!”

  “No—not the cold-sleep!”

  “Syl. Myr Syllobene. Maybe you better confess the whole thing right now. Just what are you afraid of?”

  “But I’m not sure—”

  “You’re sure enough to be glooming for days. Now you tell Coati exactly what you’re afraid of. Take a deep breath—here, I’ll do it for you—and start. Now!”

  “Perhaps I must,” the alien voice says, small but newly resolute. “I don’t remember if I told you: If the mating cycle overtakes us when an Eea is alone, we can still … reproduce. By—I know your word—spores. Just like seeds, only they are all identical with the parent. And the Eea grows them and gives birth like seeds, as you saw. Then the Eea comes back to itself.” Syl’s words are coming in a rush now, as from relief at speaking out. “It’s very rare, because of course we are taught to stop it when the feeling begins. I—I never had it before. I’m supposed to seek out my mentor at once, to be instructed how to stop it, or the mentor will visit the young one and make it stop. But my mentor is far away! I keep hoping this is not really the feeling that begins all that, but it won’t go away; it’s getting stronger. Oh, Coati, my friend, I am so afraid—so fearful—” The voice trails off in great sobs.

  The Coati voice says, slowly, “Oh, whew. You mean, you’re afraid you’re going to be grabbed by this mating thing and make spores in my head? And they’ll bore a hole?”

  “Y-yes.” The alien is in obvious misery.

  “Wait a minute. Will it make you go crazy and stop being you, like a Human who gets intoxicated? Oh, you couldn’t know about that. But you’ll act like those untrained young ones? I mean, what will you do?”

  “I may—eat blindly. Oh-h-h … don’t leave me alone in your cold-sleep!”

  “Well. Well. I have to think.”

  Click—the deputy has halted the machine.

  “I thought we should take a minim to appreciate this young woman’s dilemma, and the dilemma of the alien.”

  The xenobiologist sighs. “This urge, or cycle is evidently not so very rare, since instructions are given to the young to combat it. Instructions that unfortunately depend on the mentor being available. But it doesn’t appear to be a normal part or stage of maturing—more like an accidental episode. I suggest that here it was precipitated by the experience with the two Humans infected by untrained young. That awakened what the Eea seem to regard as part of their primitive system.”

  “How fast can they get back to that Eea planet, ah, Nolian?” someone asks.

  “Not fast enough, I gather,” Exec says. “Even if she took the heroic measure of traveling without cold-sleep.”

  “She’s got to get rid of that thing!” Coati’s father bursts out. “Cut into her own head and pull it out if she has to! Can’t somebody get to her and operate?”

  He is met by the silence of negation. The moments they are hearing passed, for good or ill, long back.

  “The alien said it could leave,” the deputy observes. “We will see if that solution occurs to them.” He clicks on.

  As if echoing him, Coati’s voice comes in. “I asked Syl if she could pull out and park somewhere comfortable until the fit passed. But she says—tell them, Syl.”

  “I have been trying to withdraw for some time. Early on, I could have done so easily. But now the strands of my physical being have been penetrating so very deeply into Coati’s brain, into the molecular and—is atomic the word?—atomic structure. So I have attempted to cut loose from portions of myself, but whenever I succeed in freeing one part, I find that the part I freed before has rejoined. I-I have not had much instruction in this technique, not since I was much smaller. I seem to have grown greatly while with Coati. Nothing I try works. Oh, oh, if only another Eea were here to help! I would do anything, I’d cut myself in half—”

  “It’s a god-cursed cancer,” Coati’s father growls. He perceives no empathetic young alien, but only the threat to his child.

  “But dear Coati Cass, I c
annot. And there is no mistake now: the primitive part of myself that contains this dreadful urge is growing, growing, although I am fighting it as well as I can. I fear it will soon overwhelm me. Is there not something you can do?”

  “Not for you, Syl. How could I? But tell me—after it’s all passed, and you’ve, well, eaten my brains out, will you come back to yourself and be all right?”

  “Oh—I could never be all right, knowing I had murdered you! Killed my friend! My life would be a horrible thing. Even if my people accepted me, I could not. I mean this, Coati Cass.”

  “H’mm. Well. Let me think.” The recorder clicks off—on. Coati’s voice comes back. “Well, the position is: If we carry out our plan to go back to FedBase, I’ll be a zombie, or dead when I get there, and you’ll be miserable. And the ship’ll be full of spores. I wouldn’t be able to land it, but somebody’d probably manage to intercept us. And the people who opened it would get infected with your spores, and by the time things got cleared up, a lot of Humans would have died, and maybe nobody would feel like taking you back to your planet. Ugh.”

  The alien voice echoes her.

  “On the other hand, if we cut straight for Nolian, even at the best, you’d have made spores and they’d have chewed up my brains and it’d be impossible for me to bring the ship down and let you out. So you’d be locked up with a dead Human and a lot of spores, flying on to gods know where, forever. Unless somebody intercepted us, in which case the other scenario would take over.… Syl, I don’t see any out. What I do see is that this ship will soon be a flying time bomb, just waiting for some non-Eea life to get near it.”

  “Yes. That is well put, Coati-my-friend,” the small voice says sadly. “Oh!”

  “What?”

  “I felt a strong urge to—to hurt you. I barely stopped it. Oh, Coati! Help! I don’t want to become a wild beast!”

  “Syl, honey … it’s not your fault. I wonder, shouldn’t we sort of say our good-byes while we can?”