Best Science Fiction of the Year 14

by Terry Carr (ed)

  Was there any chance of finding alkali down there on that watery little planet?

  Conserve. Conserve. Breathe slowly, slowly. Khor, you luckless zoologist. Whatever possessed Queva to give you her sleep key? Not very smart of her.

  Well, now, Planet III, just what sort of world are you? Is there intelligent life down there, waiting to hand me emergency tape, a barrel of oil (meeting hydraulic spec K-109, of course), and a basket of alkali? And (who knows) maybe they'll hand me a featherless biped as I leave.

  How silly can I get?

  He watched the 3-D shaper carve out a fist-sized copy of the planet sphere: blue for oceans, brown for continents, white for polar ice. He pulled the ball out of the lathe and studied it. Very, very interesting. How big? No way to tell. All he got was shape and surface. No matter. Maybe he was going to live after all. There had to be something down there. He put the ball in a fold of his space-jacket.

  Back now to the screen.

  Looking visually. Night-side. But no city lights? No civilization? Take her around again. Another orbit. Try north-south. Nothing? Not yet. Night side again. Maybe I'm too high. Lower… lower still. Watch out! Water! Slow down. I'm over some kind of sea. Hey—a light! A big one! It's a light house! Better switch on my running lights… what's the convention? Alternating red… green… white… blue. Plus a forward search beam. By Zaff, I see buildings. Spread out… a city. Saved!

  Where to put down?

  8. Arrival

  Eratosthenes wrapped his woolen cloak tighter about him as he stared out to sea. It was the last hour of evening and the first of night. Dark sea was indistinguishable from dark sky. The constant north wind pushed back the dubious perfumes of the delta and the royal harbor, to his rear. He inhaled deeply the crisp salt air blowing in from the reefs.

  He stood on the balcony of the great light house, on the Isle of Pharos, that long spit of limestone protecting Alexandria from the encroaching Great Green. He was so high, and the air so pure, that he didn't even have to use mosquito ointment.

  Ah, Pharos—isle of strange and diverse fortunes! Menelaus, bound homeward from the Trojan War, blown ashore and becalmed by angry Zeus, nearly starved here, with disdainful Helen. So Homer sang. How long ago? Eight centuries, perhaps nine. But then eighty-two years ago the great Alexander came. "A fine island," he said. "It will shelter a new city, over there on the delta." He paced it out, where to put everything. Everything but the final essential building: his tomb. The first Ptolemy had built that and then had brought the body back.

  "Eratosthenes." he said to himself, "you're dodging the issue. You're thinking about everything except the problem." Ah, yes. So he had confirmed (in his own mind at least) that the Earth was a sphere, with a circumference of 250,000 stadia. But it was too much. A globe that size! Incredible. Or was it? There was, of course, a rough check, available to anyone. You didn't have to go to Syene. You didn't have to look down a well at high noon, on the day of the solstice. There was another way. Just an approximation, of course.

  He walked a slow circuit of the balcony, pondering vaguely the beauty of the night sea and the twinkling lamps of the city. It was lonely here, and he could think. No one to bother him. The lighthouse keepers knew him as the curator of the great Library, and let him come and go as he pleased. Far below in the courtyard Ne-tiy waited patiently with the chariot.

  To the north nothing was visible except the stars and the light shaft thrusting out horizontally from the great concave mirror at the top of the tower. He had come here to think about that light beam. It was supposed to be visible out to sea for 160 stadia. To him, that was one more proof that the Earth was spherical. The light was visible out to sea to the point where the Earth's curvature shut it off. He reviewed the problem in his mind. He saw the diagram again. Circles. Tangents. The height of the Pharos tower, taken with the seaward visibility. That would give an angle—call it alpha— with the horizon. That angle alpha would be identical to the angle—call it beta—at the center of the Earth subtending the 160-stadia chord of the light shaft. The lighthouse was two-thirds of a stadion high. The sine of the angle alpha was therefore two-thirds divided by 160, or 417 hundred thou-sandths. Next, the angle whose sine was 417 hundred thousandths was about 14'/3 minutes, or about 1/1500 part of a circle, and finally, 1500 times 160 gave you 240,000 stadia. Close enough to the Syene measurement of 250,000. So he couldn't be too far wrong. He had done the numerical work already. He knew the result before he came out here tonight. But he still found it hard to believe. The Earth couldn't possibly be that big. Or could it? Had he made an error somewhere? Maybe several errors? Actually, the measurements using the lighthouse were not easy to make. Sighting the Pharos light had to be done at sea from a pitching, bobbing boat. Subtractions had to be made for the height of the perch at the mast top.

  He clenched his jaw. He had to believe his numbers. He had to believe his rough check. And he had to believe the only conceivable conclusion that his calculations offered. The Earth was indeed a huge sphere, in circumference 240,000 to 250,000 stadia, more or less.

  The question now was, should he so report to Ptolemy, and possibly get himself discharged from his post at the Library. Or worse?

  He was due at the palace by midnight. He would have to decide within hours.

  He had just turned back, to descend the outer stairway, when something in the dark northern skies caught his eye. Lights, moving, flashing. And different colors. Red… green… white… blue… flashing, on and off. And then that terrific shaft of white light… brighter even than Pharos… coining straight at him!

  He threw his arm up over his eyes. There was a roar overhead. The tower shook. And then the thing was gone… no, not entirely. There it was, over the Library quarter… hovering now, stabbing its blinding light beam down. He raced around to the side of the light tower.

  What in the name of Zeus!

  Was it now over his house, the great manse entrusted to him by Ptolemy Philadelphus? He stared in horrified amazement.

  By the wine bags of Dionysus, the thing was… descending into his fenced park.

  For a moment he was paralyzed. And then he recovered and started down the stairs. Outside, he awoke the dozing charioteer. "Ne-tiy! Home! Home!"

  9. Encounter

  Khor read the preliminary data in the analyzer. Oxygen, nitrogen, air density, viscosity, temperature… Nothing obviously toxic. Gravity a little low. No matter. Everything within acceptable limits. He turned off the lights and got out. Fortunately for the ship (not to mention his unwitting host), he had come down in a clearing. There were trees and hedges on all sides. Tiny little things, but they would provide shelter. He had landed within some sort of private estate, and very likely he could complete his repairs without the bother of curious and/or hostile crowds. And what did they look like? If they built cities, they must have hands, and legs to get about, and certainly they were able to communicate with each other. Probably very handy little fellows.

  He walked on the cropped turf back to the rear of the ship. Yes, there was the hole. He played the light on it and around it. The outer plate had laminated over nicely. Only the interior would need attention. Well, get with it. Start knocking on doors. "Could I borrow a few hundred xil of adhesive tape? And a load of high-spec hydraulic fluid (you supply the container). Plus a var of sodium carbonate. Just enough to get me to a star some nine light cycles away."

  And that raised another problem. What language did these creatures speak? Better get the telepathic head-band. He crawled back up the hatchway and returned with it. Suppose they're unfriendly? Should I bring a weapon? No, I've got to look absolutely peaceful.

  His ear tympani vibrated faintly. Noises. Wheels churning in loose gravel. Cries, addressed, he thought, to a draft animal of some sort. Two different voices? They had seen his ship come down, and they had driven here to confront the trespasser.

  Fair enough. He unfolded the long veil, starting at his head, over the teleband, and quickly draped his ent
ire body from head down to talons. (No use alarming them right at the outset!) Then he propped up his portable beam between rocks in the clearing so that it would shine on him.

  He listened to the cautious steps on the fine pebbles, closer, closer.

  And there they were, two of them, standing just outside the light circle.

  By the pinions of Pinar! Featherless bipeds!

  One seemed calm, the other fearful and fidgety. The calm one stepped out into the light.

  Excellent! thought the visitor. It has stereoscopic eyes, nostrils, mouth, ears. Not the most attractive alien he had ever encountered; yet not the ugliest, either. Somewhere in between.

  Khor held up both hands to show they were empty, then bowed slowly.

  The calm one repeated the gesture with great dignity.

  Khor spoke through the tele-band into the mind of his host. "My name is Khor."

  The Greek showed his surprise. "You understand Greek? And you are able to speak into my mind? How is this? Whence came you?"

  Khor pointed to the band around his head, visible in outline under his body veil.

  "Ah," said Eratosthenes. "A mental language device. Fantastic. But where—" He jerked. Strange thoughts… strange sounds… sights… smells… were forming in his head. He gasped. "You are from a distant world? A star?"

  Khor nodded.

  The geometer gulped. "Are you a god? The messenger Hermes perhaps?" (How could he be asking this? He didn't believe in gods!)

  "No. I am a mortal, like yourself. My people are a little more scientifically advanced than yours, that's all."

  "Why are you here?"

  "I was on a collection expedition. I work for a museum, the same as you. I was searching for certain plants… animals… I was loaded up, and on my way home, when a meteorite hit my ship. I had to land for repairs."

  "I see. I think I see. Can I help you?"

  "I don't know. I will need certain things. Certain… tapes. Certain oils. Some… alkali. And then perhaps some geodetic information."

  "Such as?"

  "The circumference of your world, Terra, considered as a sphere."

  The Greek eyed his visitor sharply.

  Khor hesitated. "Have I asked a forbidden question? Is something, how do you say it, taboo? Or perhaps you were not aware that Terra is a sphere?"

  '''That I had indeed surmised. No, I was simply struck by the coincidence. I have been working on the problem for the past several weeks, and very recently, actually within the last few hours, I have obtained some sort of answer. But why do you need to know?"

  "I can use Terra's rotational velocity to help fling the ship into escape orbit, when the time comes to leave. To determine that velocity, I need to know Terra's circumference."

  "I think I can provide a fair estimate."

  "Excellent."

  Eratosthenes had to stop and think a moment. Khor needed the velocity of the rotating Earth? Well, of course. The Earth rotated. That's why the sun appeared to move around the Earth. But that wasn't all. The Earth must revolve around the sun, from a very great distance, once a year. And that's why the sun appeared to move through the zodiac once a year. Actually, it was the Earth that was moving. The sun stood still. The heliocentric hypothesis wasn't a hypothesis. It was a fact. And if the Earth moved around the sun, so did all the five other planets: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn. And so the sun was a star, much like millions of other stars. Did all those other stars out there have planets, with strange life forms, thinking, working, loving? His heart beat faster as he thought about it. Whom could he tell? Nobody. "A visitor from another star told me." Next stop, the madhouse. It made him smile just to think about it.

  But back to reality, and the present. "So then, Khor, can I offer you the hospitality of my house? Not a Ptolemaic palace— but yet not a hovel, either. Food of all sorts, wines brought in from all parts of the world. Baths, hot and cold. Servants to assist you. You could relax while we dine, and you could describe your needs to me."

  "Your offer is most attractive. Truly, I have a great need. But I do not wish to cause problems for you. I read in your mind certain names: Ptolemy… Hor-ent-yotf… even the female at your side, Ne-tiy. Who are these people? How can they harm you?"

  "Harm me? Perhaps the words are too strong. Ptolemy rules—owns—this land, called Egypt. He is a Greek, a foreigner, and he tries to rule softly, and to give no great offense to the people, aside from taking their money. But Hor-ent-yotf, a high priest of the hawk-god Horus, likewise rules, in that he reigns over the minds and souls of the people. Ne-tiy is a slave, put in my house by Hor-ent-yotf. She is his property, even as his clothing and his cosmetic box are his property. Do you read my thoughts in this matter, honored stranger?"

  "I do, and I reply with thoughts. You propose to do a thing offensive to Ptolemy, and horrifying to Hor-ent-yotf, and because of this thing the priest may kill you. Or perhaps make the female kill you. Is this the situation?"

  "It is so."

  "I find this quite alarming. Obviously, I do not understand your ways. Please explain."

  "It is a very complex matter, O visitor from great distances. Perhaps we can continue over cakes and wine?"

  "Fourteen percent CH3CH2OH?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Just thinking out loud. A pleasure, Eratosthenes. Just let me close up the bucket."

  10. Repairs

  "To each his own custom," thought Eratosthenes. "We Greeks eat while reclining on an eating couch. The Egyptians sit in chairs. But you stand."

  "At all times," replied the thoughts of his visitor. "We stand to eat, drink, study, work, even to sleep. Our skeletal structure requires it." His gloved hand clasped the wine cup and brought it to his lips through a slit in his body veil.

  The Greek heard a "clack" as the metal goblet struck something hard. "Well then, let us look to your needs. First, strips of adhesive cloth. Tapes, you call them. That we have in abundance. It is the custom of the country to use them as bandages to wrap the bodies of the dead, in preparation for burial." He held up a piece of white cloth. "This is a rather fine linen, woven from the flax plant. Every Egyptian family saves scraps of cloth against the inevitable burials. The pieces are ripped into strips: narrow bandages for the fingers, wider ones for the limbs and torso." He tore off a strip and handed it to Khor, who examined it closely.

  "What makes it stick?" asked his visitor.

  "They dip it in liquid balsam. It sets up hard in a couple of hours."

  "It ought to work," said Khor. "Now, about the oil."

  "We have several kinds: olive oil, from the fruits of the olive tree. It's used in cooking and in our lamps. Castor oil… several grades. This is from the castor bean. It has medicinal uses, and is also a fine lubricant. The army uses it in the oil packing for its chariot wheels. And linseed oil… which we boil and then use in paints and varnishes."

  "Back up. This castor oil… is there a refined grade?"

  "Indeed yes. Settled over charcoal and filtered through fine linen."

  "I'd like to try that. And now one more thing. A bit of alkali."

  "Alkali… ?" The geometer frowned.

  "Sodium carbonate would do nicely. Hm. That's making it worse, isn't it? How to describe it… let me think. It would be bitter to the taste, very soluble in water, turns red wine blue. Fizzes in vinegar. Can be boiled with fats and oils to make soap…"

  "Oh! Of course! Natron! We use it in embalming. It helps desiccate the corpse. But how would you use natron in your ship?"

  "Simple. During wake-periods on my ship, my lungs give off a waste gas, which we call carbon dioxide. It can become toxic if allowed to reach high concentrations. The alkali absorbs it."

  "Well then, I think the next step is to gather up these things and take them out to your ship. I'll call the servants. No—I can't. They're all down in the city, celebrating the New Year. You and I and Ne-tiy will have to do it."

  "It's just as well. Less risk to the ship."


  To the extent that any of the geometer's aplomb had left him, very nearly all of it had by now returned. He said, "As you may have read in my mind, it is the practice for one of our Library clerks to go through every incoming ship to look for new books to copy. I wonder…"

  "Ah, my friend. I have dozens of books, none in any Earth-language. The Maintenance of Ion Drives… Collecting on Airless Worlds… Operation of the Sleep Casket. Some with holos, for which you'd need a laser reader. But I

  tell you what. You like maps. Before I finally leave, I'll give you a sort of map."

  "Fair enough."

  An hour later Khor, Eratosthenes, and Ne-tiy had wound the last of the linen strips around the hydraulic tubes, refilled the depleted oil surge tank, and secured the amphora of natron in the storage locker.

  "The balsam resin will require a couple of hours to cure and harden," said Eratosthenes. "And I am due at Ptolemy's palace very soon. May I suggest that you join me?"

  "Won't I excite comment?"

  "Hm. You're a bit taller than average. However, just keep covered with your body cape. I'll tell Ptolemy you're a foreign visitor and your religion requires the covering."

  "Is it an offense to you, my host, that I conceal my body from you in this way?"

  The Cyrenian smiled. "Since you are my guest, it pleases me that you do as you see fit." He bowed. "This way to the chariot."

  11. Ptolemy on His Balcony

  On this night of the summer solstice, the beginning of the three weeks of madness celebrating the rising of the river. Ptolemy the Second, called Philadelphus, stood on his balcony and looked out over the royal harbor. Shading his eyes, he could barely make out the tiny light swinging in slow arcs in the blackness. At his request, the captain had fixed the lantern at the top of the mast of the royal barge. Why? No reason given. He had simply said, do it, and it was done. Actually, it was a token of a promise to himself: tomorrow he would be on that ship, headed south on the Nile, with all concerns of state receding sternward.