The Winds of Altair

by Ben Bova

Crown was already at the crest of the ridge line overlooking the beach, even though Altair had barely nudged its limb over the sea horizon.

  Like he knew we're going to need him today.

  Or he remembered the thoughts that Jeff had in his mind from yesterday.

  Do you think maybe Jeff's right, and they really are intelligent?

  I don't know. It's not my field.

  Crown sniffed at the sea breeze. It was heavy with the now-familiar scent of the rusting machines. But the wolfcat knew that something else was going to happen today. Something strange and alien. He growled his displeasure.

  How did you sleep last night?

  Off and on. I had a nightmare . . .

  I'm sorry.

  It wasn't your fault.

  I'm still sorry.

  You went out like a light. You didn't move a muscle.

  I didn't have any nightmares, either.

  I'll bet.

  It was a morning like any other morning, yet Crown knew that this one would be different. He padded along the crest of the ridge line, watching the sea and the sky, waiting.

  And finally it appeared. Far, far up in the clouded sky he saw a tiny speck racing across the heavens, leaving a thin trail of vapor behind it, like a dark line drawn against the gray clouds. The speck began to grow and take shape: triangular wings, a sleek shining body that ended in a raked-back tail surface.

  A sonic boom split the air, making Crown jump back toward the safety of the trees. But still he watched the rocketplane as it banked and turned gracefully overhead, came down low, skimmed the waves, and finally landed on the hard-packed sand of the beach, rolling almost up to the abandoned equipment on four sets of oversized wheels.

  The rocketplane had made practically no noise after the sonic boom. Crown hunkered down on his belly, still shaded by the trees and screened by the underbrush, and watched the alien craft for long, silent minutes. Its scent was powerful, but much like the odor of the other machines: dead, metallic, harsh.

  At last a hatch opened in the rocketplane's side. A strange creature stood uncertainly just inside the hatchway. It stood on two legs. It was gleaming white, almost like the metal of the shuttle craft. It's head was a bulbous gleaming bowl. To Crown it looked somewhat like one of the apes, up on its hind legs. But it was ridiculously small, puny.

  A ladder slid out from the side of the ship and planted itself on the sand of the beach. The alien creature slowly walked down the ladder, using its forelegs to hold onto the railing on either side of the steps. It stopped at the bottom, turned around slowly as if surveying the beach, then looked back up toward the hatch and waved a foreleg. Another alien appeared and started down the ladder. Then another, and still another. Crown counted six in all.

  He growled, a deep menacing rumble from inside his chest. But he knew that he must go down to the beach and come closer to these strange creatures. Slowly, reluctantly, Crown got up onto all sixes and started down the slope of the hill, head low, ears flattened, lips pulled back in a barely-repressed snarl.

  Harvey Peterson stood at the bottom of the ladder, his heart pounding with anxiety. It was like stepping into the darkest night he could imagine, wading into a bowl of ink. Even with the infrared lamp built into his helmet, he could barely see twenty meters ahead. The microwave radar scanner showed that the beach was flat and level, sloping slightly up from the ammonia-frothing sea toward a line of wooded hills that rose steeply, some hundred meters in from the shore.

  He turned back toward the ship, where the other volunteers stood clustered around the hatch, waiting.

  "All right," he said into his helmet microphone, "come on down." He almost said that the coast was clear, but such a pun would seem too frivolous in this murky, danger-laden world.

  The radar display was superimposed on his visor, so that he saw what the microwaves revealed as a glowing, ghostly image superimposed over the dim murky images that his natural vision could make out.

  "The equipment is up this way." He pointed, and started plodding up the beach. The other five men followed him.

  Soon enough they came upon the abandoned tractors and broken packing cases of equipment.

  "Rusted through," said their engineer.

  "Cripes, look at this pump. The plastic's been eaten away and the metal's etched—like somebody's been pouring high-grade acid over it."

  "Looks like the statues on the Acropolis," said one of the scientists. "Eaten through by sulfur dioxide fumes."

  "Just make certain you don't tear your suits," Peterson warned. "This atmosphere is laced with enough methane and . . ."

  "Omygod, what's that?"

  Peterson turned to see a mountainous gray shape gliding slowly toward them. He blinked twice, then realized what he was looking at.

  "Stand perfectly still!" he commanded. "Don't panic. It's the wolfcat that Carbo's people have under control."

  "You sure it's under control?"

  The beast stood taller than any of them at the shoulder. Its six legs ended in paws bigger than a man's head. Peterson saw that its claws were retracted, but he could imagine the size of them. Its head was enormous, with two huge plates of bony-looking material where the eyes would be on an Earth animal. Its mouth was open a slit, and Peterson could see the tips of dagger-sharp teeth.

  "It's growling."

  "It might be a purr."

  Someone laughed, halfway between embarrassment and hysteria. "Jesus Christ, I just shit my pants."

  "Just stay where you are, everybody," Peterson said, fighting to keep his voice calm, "until it gets accustomed to us."

  "What then?"

  "Then it has us for brunch."

  The wolfcat's huge head moved slowly from side to side, as if inspecting each of the six humans. It took one step toward Peterson, then slowly lay down on the sand and rested its chin on its forepaws.

  "Peterson to base," the anthropologist spoke into his radio microphone. "We have made contact with the wolfcat. Instruct Carbo and Holman to have the animal lead us toward the apes. We want to find and tranquilize at least one family of the apes."

  Crown lay on the sand and watched the aliens. They stood frozen, like a deer caught out in the open trying to confuse a wolfcat by standing stock-still. These creatures were too small to consider killing for food, unless the wolfcat was starving. But something in Crown's brain told him that even then, they would be no good to eat. They were poisonous, like some of the smaller animals of Windsong; to eat them would mean death.

  The apes. These alien creatures wanted to find a family of apes. Crown snorted at the idea. The apes came along this beach, but he had no idea of where their lairs might be. Still, he rose ponderously and turned northward. He took a few steps, then swung his head back to see if the aliens were following.

  "It's heading north!"

  Peterson nodded inside his cumbersome helmet. "Higgins," he said to the engineer, "you and Scott stay here and do a complete checkout on the machinery . . ."

  "I can tell you right now, it's useless junk."

  "Dr. Polchek, Lyle and I will follow the wolfcat. It should be leading us to the apes."

  "Don't get out of radio contact," Higgins said.

  "We won't."

  It was like groping through a nightmare. Even with their radar displays, the humans were lost inside a dark, threatening pit of blackness. It was bad enough to be locked into the heavy, clumsy pressure suits. But the eternal night outside, the knowledge that the very air was eating away at the seals and joints of your protective armor, trying to get inside and burn out your lungs—even Peterson began to feel the pangs of claustrophobia.

  The wolfcat padded on ahead, imperturbable as a force of nature. Every few minutes it would turn its massive head to make certain that the humans were following. Peterson began to think of old Norse tales of the netherworld, and the giant beasts that guard the approach to hell. Surely nothing the old Vikings could imagine was worse than this.

  Dr. Polchek, the zoologist, broke thei
r long silence. "I haven't seen another animal of any kind along this beach, Harvey. Have you?"

  "No. Nothing."

  "What d'you expect?" Lyle said. He was the medic in the team, the man who would have to insert the neuro probes into the apes' brains if and when they found and tranquilized some apes.

  "Well, I know we can't see very well in this atmosphere," Dr. Polchek replied, "but I'm surprised we haven't stumbled across anything at all."

  "The other animals are keeping their distance from us," Peterson suggested. "The wolfcat probably helps to scare them away."

  "Ah, yes, of course. And the wolfcat is under intelligent control, from back on the ship."

  Peterson nodded, but he found himself wondering just how much of the intelligence was native to the wolfcat itself.

  They plodded along the long curving beach for more than an hour, the ocean always at their right, the line of hills gradually but perceptibly edging closer to the water from their left. Finally the wolfcat stopped.

  "What's the matter?" Polchek asked. "Can you see anything up ahead?"

  "Nothing but black soup," Peterson said. "The hills seem steeper here . . ." He reached for the control knobs on his wrist and increased the range of the microwave radar. The image on his visor blurred and shimmied.

  "I don't see any apes," Lyle said.

  "The hills come right up to the water up ahead," Peterson said. Glancing at the range indication number at the bottom of his visor, "Looks like a dead end, half a kilometer ahead of us."

  "You mean we came this way for nothing?"

  Peterson wanted to shrug, but the suit was too heavy for it.

  "Hey . . . look at the wolfcat!" Lyle called out.

  Crown could smell the apes up ahead, but it seemed obvious that the aliens could not. He stopped. They stopped behind him. For a moment or two Crown did not know what to do. He had no way of making these aliens realize what lay ahead. But he knew that he had to communicate with them somehow.

  He turned back toward them, and they edged away nervously. One of them stumbled in the sand and nearly fell. Crown paced back and forth, took a few steps away from the aliens, then a few steps back toward them. They milled around, gesturing to each other.

  Finally Crown simply bounded away, scampering up the steep hillside toward the trees at the top of the ridge line. He glanced once back over his shoulder. The aliens stood transfixed on the beach. Good.

  Crown raced through the trees, heading for the point where the hills steepened into cliffs that dropped straight down into the frothing sea. The apes lived in caves there, he could tell from their powerful scent. He hoped to catch a few out on the beach itself and get between them and their caves.

  He was in luck. A half dozen of the apes were out on the beach, clawing at the sand to find shellfish. To Crown they seemed to be two adult males, three females, and one cub. Good enough. He stayed hidden in the trees atop the ridge line until he was between the apes and the caves in the cliffs. Only then did he scamper down the steep hillside, roaring as he leaped from rock to rock.

  The apes panicked. Screaming wildly, they lurched up onto their hind legs and ran blindly down the beach, away from their caves, toward the humans.

  "What the hell was that?" Lyle shouted.

  Peterson winced at the sound of the medic's frightened voice in his helmet earphones.

  "Sounded like a cross between a thunderclap and an earthquake," Polchek said. "It must have been the wolfcat."

  "But what . . ."

  "Listen!" Peterson snapped.

  They could hear the wailing screams of the fleeing apes.

  "Whatever the hell it is, it's coming this way," Lyle yelled.

  Polchek fumbled with the holster on his belt. "Gentlemen, I suggest we check our weapons."

  Peterson yanked the gun from his holster. It fired tranquilizer darts, each with a carefully-calculated dose of chemicals. He had thought the darts were loaded with enough tranquilizer to stop a herd of elephants. But after seeing the wolfcat, and now with the hideous screams of the apes bearing down on them, Peterson wondered if they had enough to do the job.

  "Look out!" Lyle yelled.

  Peterson saw half a dozen huge gray-white shapes streaking out of the enveloping darkness, heading straight for him. He fired at point-blank range, never hearing the guns go off, his vision, his mind, his being completely engulfed with the sight of these immensely powerful beasts crashing down on him.

  Something slammed him to the ground. His head spun and he tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't catch his breath and for a wild frightened instant he was afraid his suit had ripped open.

  Then he felt hands on his shoulders.

  "Are you all right?" Lyle's voice.

  "Harvey, are you injured?" Polchek asked.

  "I'm okay," Peterson said, gasping for air. "Just . . . just the wind knocked out of me."

  He let them pull him up to a kneeling position. He saw six furry gray-white bodies sprawled along the sand.

  "That one there bowled into you before it collapsed," Polchek explained.

  Peterson took a deep breath, then climbed to his feet. He saw the wolfcat standing a few meters away, its nostrils twitching.

  "All right," he said. "Let's get those implants in before they wake up."

  Crown watched the aliens at work. They were not eating the apes, they were doing strange things to them. Deep inside his mind, Crown had the vague memory that something like this had been done to him. He growled nervously, and one of the aliens straightened up and looked toward him.

  None of the other apes had ventured this far down the beach. When a wolfcat roars, the apes hide in their caves, Crown realized.

  His stomach rumbled with hunger, and he hoped that these strangers would finish whatever they were doing and go away soon, leaving this beach and Windsong forever.

  One of the apes, the larger of the two males, stirred slightly. The aliens, bent over the other male, did not notice. Crown padded over toward them, slowly. The aliens were too busy to pay him any attention.

  Crown gave a low, warning growl. The ape raised its head.

  Peterson heard the growl and looked up. The wolfcat loomed over him like a mountain rising out of the sea.

  He swallowed once, then muttered, "It seems that our pet cat is curious about us."

  Lyle and Polchek straightened up.

  "God Almighty, he is huge."

  "I hope it isn't lunchtime for him."

  The wolfcat made a low rumbling noise, like distant thunder, and turned toward the larger of the two male apes.

  "Hey, look, it's coming . . ."

  Lyle never finished the sentence. The ape leaped to its hindlegs and with a backhand swipe knocked Lyle completely off his feet. Peterson reached for the gun he had left on the sand at his feet as the ape lunged for him.

  But a gray blur blotted out his vision of the snarling ape. The wolfcat moved with the speed of lightning and smashed the ape back into the sand.

  Peterson's legs gave way under him and he plopped foolishly onto his backside. Polchek, still on his knees, froze immobile beside him.

  The wolfcat growled at the dead ape. Its head was crushed, face ripped away. Peterson fought down the acid bile that rose in his throat to half choke him.

  "It . . . it saved us," Polchek whispered.

  "Lyle," Peterson said. "Is he . . ."

  They scrambled to their feet as the wolfcat backed away slightly. Lyle's body lay crumpled a dozen meters away. His helmet was cracked open, his eyes glassy and staring.

  "Merciful God," Polchek whimpered. "He's dead."

  Peterson looked at the zoologist, although he could not see the man's face through the visor of his helmet. Merciful God, Peterson thought. What a joke. What a cruel, bitter joke.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jeff awoke slowly. The first thing he became aware of was the faint hum of the electrical equipment that pervaded every part of the Village, every moment of the day and night. How different from t
he sound of the breeze on Windsong, he thought.

  Then he remembered what had just happened. Crown helping the scientists, saving the lives of Peterson and Polchek, even though he had been too late to save Lyle.

  He tried to warn them, Jeff said to himself. I tried to show them that the ape was coming to. Why didn't they pay attention?

  Amanda entered the room and wordlessly lifted the helmet off his head.

  "Is he dead?" Jeff asked.

  "Yes. They're on their way back now. Frank's gone down to the shuttle dock to meet them."

  "Did they get the implants into the apes?"

  Amanda gave him a long stare. "Yes. All of them, except the one that Crown killed."

  He sat up slowly, swung his legs over the couch, then slid off it. His legs felt a little rubbery, but he was stronger than he had thought he would be.

  "I'm sorry about Dr. Lyle," Jeff said to Amanda. "I tried to help . . ."

  "We know. It's not your fault, Jeff." But Amanda's voice was flat, mechanical. She walked away from Jeff, into the control room.

  Following her through the open doorway, he said, "Amanda . . . about dinner tonight . . ."

  "I don't think I'll feel much like celebrating," Amanda said as she checked the instrument panels.

  He nodded. "I know. I don't either."

  "Maybe some other time."

  "Yeah. Sure."

  He left the lab before she could say anything else. It's so unfair! Jeff told himself. They're blaming everything on me. I didn't kill Dr. Lyle. If it hadn't been for me, they would all have been killed. They would never have found any of the apes if I hadn't helped them.

  Still, he felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders as he walked slowly back toward his own dome.

  As he neared the dormitory domes, the greenpaths along the tube-tunnels became more and more crowded with students. Happy, smiling, students, striding purposefully along, sure of themselves and their place in the world. Jeff wished that he could feel as confident as the did. But they had such simple lives, he knew. Do what the Church tells you. Work, study, pray. Eat to stay alive and serve Nirvan's Church. Obey the Elders. They didn't have to be a good Believer one instant and a bloodthirsty wolfcat the next. They didn't have to kill in order to eat, or try to serve alien invaders who were going to destroy their own home world.