by Larry Niven
“We can’t be certain,” Toad said. “But it does seem to be coming from nearly the direction of Earth, so that . . yes, we have reason to believe it is human. Cassandra tells me that other colony attempts were planned. This one must have left Earth not long after our landing message would have reached there, another reason to believe it comes from Earth.”
“Has it responded to communications?”
“That’s more complicated than you think,” Marvin said.
“How’s that?” someone shouted.
“Cassandra had an exchange with them once. I got her to tell me the frequency they used. But after the first contact, she heard nothing. Or maybe she has, but she’s not telling us. Yesterday I managed to rig up a transmitter to beam a message down the path they’d have to take if they’re coming from Earth, using the frequency Cassandra sent hers on, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
“Did they get it?” Cadzie asked.
“Beats me. They should have been in the beam. Of course, they might not be listening. But anyway, not so far. And Cassandra reports nothing. She could be getting something and not telling us.”
There it was again: not telling us. Carlos suspected that many of them failed to grasp the implications of those three words.
“But then we’ve never heard anything from Earth, either.”
“True,” Carlos said. “So . . there may be some interference we don’t understand, something outside the rim of the solar system. Perhaps when they enter we’ll be able to communicate. Maybe not.”
The crowd clamored like a flock of geese, locked in argument with each other. “We’re getting company!”
“It’s a big planet,” another said. “Plenty of room!”
“New faces!”
And finally their lanky, straw-haired communications specialist Trevanian asked something that had to be on everyone’s mind. “They’re . . .” A nervous smile. “Friendly, right?”
Carlos put on his broadest smile. “Can you think of a reason that they wouldn’t be?”
“What’s happening on Earth?” Masie Bright called out. “How do we even know? Something horrible! And now that nastiness is reaching out for us! It could be a load of plague victims!”
Typical Masie pessimism. But Carlos had to agree . . at least in theory. “It could be anything . . or nothing at all.”
“Nothing?”
He paused. Here it was, the moment they’d been building to for two days. “Aaron,” he said. “Would you like to take the podium?”
Aaron limped up onto the stage, favoring his right leg, his hair bleached white by the sun, his skin blotched and leathery now, puckered by old bites from Avalonian bees. “I’ve been asked to speak to this. The kids at Surf’s Up asked me, Carlos asked me, and here I am.”
“Go on, please,” Carlos said.
“Fifteen years ago, our kids discovered something very important, and for their own reasons kept it to themselves.” Aaron’s voice seethed with anger. His right hand fisted, as if he wanted to hit someone.
“Exactly what?” Maisie asked.
“A life-form.”
There was a little chuckling at that. “There are probably a hundred million uncatalogued life-forms,” Big Shaka said.
“You know about this one. It’s these squid things we call cthulhus. You can learn all about them. Except you won’t learn the most important thing about them.”
There was a titter from the Earthborn, but not the Starborn.
“Cthulhus?” Big Shaka sounded puzzled. “Fabulous name, but we know all about them. They killed a surfer. You were there, Aaron! We looked at them good and hard. We concluded they were only dangerous if you looked like a grendel, or messed with their spawning ground. Dammit, Aaron, they damned near killed you, but you were the one who insisted they were safe if we didn’t provoke them. I remember that, because you stood up to Cadmann about it!”
“Yes. I did. I didn’t think they were worth worrying about, no more than sharks back on Earth, and we had other things to worry about. They weren’t coming after us, and if we left them alone they’d leave us alone. I won that argument, and never paid much attention to them after that. But we—well, some of us—learned a lot more. Joan?”
Aaron’s daughter pushed in beside him. “Thanks, Dad. Can we have the hologram?”
A pseudo-reptilian head and body popped floating into the air. “This, of course, is a grendel. We all know of them-fast, deadly, the most lethal thing on the planet.” She paused. “And also the most intelligent. At least wolf-level cognition, although that intelligence pretty much shuts down when they are under speed, the glandular secreted, hyper-oxygenator producing their lethal acceleration.”
Aaron’s apprentice Josie raised her voice. “But grendels are no longer Avalon’s smartest native inhabitant. This is—”
Another image. A squidlike creature. “Cthulhus,” Big Shaka said. “So?”
A bit of a titter at that, but nothing extreme. A polite query. “Aquatic.”
“Well, amphibious, at least in a limited capacity.”
“But you found these in the ocean. That’s where they live.”
“Not always. They spawn in brackish water,” Joan said. “In particular, on Blackship.”
That finally caught their attention. “What?” Evie asked. “When?”
“That’s where we first found them,” Aaron said. “Blackship. That’s why there are rules about when you can go there.”
“As to when, years ago. A group of Grendel Scouts encountered them.”
By Carlos’ reckoning, most of the original Grendel Scouts were in the audience. They looked uncomfortable, but not exactly surprised by this discussion. He wished he could have been a fly on the wall out at Surf’s Up. The recriminations must have been nasty.
Despite Cadzie’s promise to Joanie, he’d spoken privately to his Uncle Carlos. But for the others . . this was staggering news.
The anger was boiling over now, as more of them began to understand. “People died! Why didn’t you tell us!”
“We did tell you,” Aaron said.
“Not that they were intelligent,” Big Shaka said.
“Because we knew you’d respond like this!” Jennifer’s voice was cool, almost cold, in control.
“You had no right to conceal this!” Big Shaka said, literally shaking his cane at them, black face pomegranate purple with anger. “These amphibious ‘cthulhus’ definitely are intelligent?”
“Yes. We would estimate at least as smart as dolphins. Perhaps more so.”
“Do they have speed?” The clamor had grown nervous.
“Not that we have ever observed. They are, on the other hand, limited tool-users, and seem to have a small amount of symbolic logic and . . uh . . language.”
That created a ripple of genuine confusion and fear. “Time binders,” someone muttered. Others repeated the term. In semantics theory, time binding was unique to man.
Then Maisie asked the next question. “I don’t understand. How are these two events linked?”
A pause. Embarrassed this time. The confrontational quality had evaporated. “We . . .” She looked around, embarrassed and suddenly nervous. “We . . instructed Cassandra not to tell the Earthborn about nonhuman intelligence. Kept the information behind a logic wall.”
Murmuring again. “How is that even possible?” Zack’s voice wavered. It seemed Carlos’ old friend was shriveling, shrinking before his eyes. “Her programming is designed to share all core knowledge . . .”
“Yes, but we have individual diaries. Blogs. And those blogs have security. And there are ‘family’ groupings that allow private communications and knowledge stores. We simply put all the information about the cthulhus behind those walls and . . um . . changed Cassandra’s instructions.”
Zack shook his cane at them in a very you kids get off my lawn! gesture. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You set up a conflict she could not resolve. It is possible that what you did created a . . a .
. .” He paused, groping for a word.
“Wormhole?” his wife Rachel whispered.
He snatched at the offered term. “Yes! Wormhole in her logic programs, something that replicated until we had a problem.”
“What . . kind of problem?”
Rachel picked up the gauntlet. “Like a shadow object. A mirage. Something coming too close to our own flight path from Earth. The problem is that we have no idea how many other errors will make their way into the program.”
Joan looked perplexed. “How do we even know?” She seemed subdued, as if she was overwhelmed by the impact.
“We can wait until the object reaches us. If it communicates . . we can be pretty confident it’s real. But that still leaves the possibility of damage. If the object disappears, or is proven to be an illusion . . we know we have a problem.”
“We can’t wait three months for that,” Carlos said.
“What else can we do?”
“We can go up and check the logic circuitry ourselves.”
There was a long pause. Then Carlos said, “And bring Cassandra down to this island. I’ve been wanting to do this anyway. It’s about time.”
Another pause, then Zack nodded. He glared at Joanie. “And then some.”
♦ ChaptEr 8 ♦
the speaker
The warrior officer opened the door and ushered Trudy in. The cabin was small, but on a starship staterooms are small, even for the leaders. “Selected Colonist Hendrickson, Your Grace.” He bowed and left them.
The Speaker was old. Wrinkled and old. She had expected that, but still it was a shock: her body still remembered him as warm, and strong, and virile. When she had last seen him, they were the same age, he perhaps a few months older. They were both in final training, Advanced Candidates, and they were often a couple. For Trudy it was only two weeks ago that they had slept together. For the Speaker, she realized, it had been nearly a lifetime ago.
They had made love, but they hadn’t quite been in love. She wouldn’t let herself be in love, would not trigger the carefully woven love knot that would focus all her attention upon the positive aspects of a potential partner, trigger the endorphin rush which, combined with affection and experience would create the pair bond. It wouldn’t have been fair to him, and it would be worse for her. She wasn’t anywhere near ready for love, and even if she had been it would have to have been short. When she was younger, before her training was more complete, she had casual affairs like the other girls in her class, but now she wasn’t capable of being just a little in love. She enjoyed flings, but there was always the temptation of love; let a little in, and it could take over her emotions. And Gus was attractive, but would he be chosen? In a few weeks the names of the colonists would be announced, and she was sure that her name would be on the list. She wasn’t sure about Gus. He was competent, he had good grades and his athletic scores were high, but he was having difficulties with combat training.
His reflexes weren’t slow by ordinary standards, but other candidates were lightning.
Now this. “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?”
He grinned. It wasn’t the familiar expression she remembered, but it was definitely a happy place. “You can call me Gus as long as we’re alone.”
She was careful not to let her smile be too warm. “Wouldn’t that be bad for discipline, Gus?” She noted his expression. Pleased. Of course, he hadn’t seen her in—decades, while she remembered having dinner with him just before reporting to hospital to begin the week long process that would end in cold sleep. Dinner . . and a very intimate dessert. “I think it would be better if I addressed you as Your Grace.”
He sighed. “I expect it would. Have a seat. Tea? Or I have something stronger, of course. Chardonnay? We still have some.” He indicated a comfortable chair. “And on reflection, I think it might be best if we devise new titles. I doubt when we meet the first colonists they will appreciate our ways, and we should be careful not to offend them unless we have to.”
“You are sure there are colonists here already? There seemed to be some doubts in the wardroom.”
“I haven’t announced it yet, but yes, observations of the planet show there are a lot of structures on one big island, and a dam on the mainland coast opposite the island. Not a surprise, they’ve been there for around forty years.”
She digested that information. “Yes, sir.”
He gave a quizzical grin, older but still reminding her of the younger Gus. “I’m well accustomed to deference, Trudy, but not from you. Of course I haven’t seen you in over seventy years. You haven’t changed a bit, but I must look, well, odd. Don’t I?” He turned away to a cabinet and produced two bottles, a wine glass, and a snifter. “Be careful with these. We won’t be able to replace them until we’ve landed some people. You’ll be one of them, of course. No point in waking you if we didn’t need you.”
He half-filled the wine glass, then poured a hefty drink of brandy in the snifter. Handing her the wine, he lifted the snifter. “We did not light the torch.”
“And we will not see the bonfire,” she responded automatically.
“To Man’s destiny,” they said in unison, and drank.
His expression grew a bit more stern. “Dr. Mandell tells me you told him you are aware of why you were awakened. How do you know?”
She frowned. “Surmise, Your Grace. You awakened warriors. No one else. I am qualified to teach, to supervise a school, and to manage some other enterprises we can’t possibly have yet . . .”
The grin was back, but faded quickly as if he were hiding it. “I am well aware of your qualifications,” he said. “I also have your complete records.”
“Then you know that the only assignment I could have in the present circumstances would be as an executive’s companion. An officer’s lady. The conclusion is obvious. Have you chosen my husband? Surely it is not you.”
“Would you be terribly upset if it were me?” he asked wryly.
“No.”
“But not enthusiastic.”
“Of course I am enthusiastic, Gus.” She smiled, warmly. Eagerly.
“Stand down, Gertrude! I’m sorry, I had no right—I shouldn’t tease you. Trudy, I have been happily married for forty years.”
She sat back, struggling with her emotions. Relief, combined with the eagerness she had turned on the instant she believed it was needed. Annoyance at being teased, joy that she wasn’t destined for an old man even if it was Gus. Regret that it wasn’t true, that she would not be first lady with all that meant, but again relief, that she might still be useful. She took ten careful deep breaths, thankful that Gus—the Speaker—understood the need and demanded nothing from her. “Have you chosen my husband, Your Grace?”
“No, Trudy. No. Do not bond with anyone. Mask your—competence. Officially you are a member of the Construction Plans Committee, to ensure that the schools are adequate and to make other suggestions as you see fit. You will be chief education advisor until we awaken Miss Priscilla and she assumes her role as headmistress. That will be your open and published job.”
“And my real task?”
“To do that assignment well—as I have no doubt you will without further instructions. But you will report to me, in private, from time to time, or at any time you think there is something I should know. You will be eyes and ears for the Speaker, and only you will know that. You will tell no one that we knew each other in—in another life.”
“I have already told Dr. Mandell. I did not know it was important.”
He looked thoughtful. “Say nothing else about our previous—relationship. Do not lie, but do not bring up the subject if no one else does.”
“Yes. Of course. I can be coy,” she said calmly and coldly. “You believe that you will have need of a secret agent?”
“How should I know? But if I do, I want the most competent one I can find.”
“You flatter me, Your Grace.”
“Come now. Even adolescent Gus found you impressive.
Trudy, when we were—together—I was not trained to be the supreme leader. I have often pondered why he chose me to be awakened, but he did, and my life in personal service to the Prophet changed everything. It was after many years that he ordered me to be his successor. That decision did not please everyone on the council. I had you awakened because I can trust you, both in competence and in loyalty. I can, can’t I?”
“Gus—”
“Oh, Trudy, you think you know me, but I am no longer that young cadet you knew. But know—you must know—that I would never ask you to do anything that was not in aid of the Great Commission.”
She drank the last of her wine. She didn’t think there had been enough in the drink to affect her reasoning ability. A bit giddy, but thinking clearly. She raised the glass. “We did not light the torch.”
“And we will not see the bonfire.”
“To Man’s destiny.”
♦ ChaptEr 9 ♦
planning for space
The room was full of tension, and seemed crowded although it was barely half full. Carlos, Zack, and some other Earthborn sat at a table at the front of the room. Mason Stolzi, Marvin’s father, sat at the end of the table, not quite on the other side. They faced a small group, mostly Starborn and their grown children. Cadzie thought the arrangement stupid, but it was the way the Earthborn had always done things. They had invited him to sit up there with them, but he had taken a place in the front row of the seats facing the table, as if part of the audience, and he spoke when he felt like it, because as much as he liked his Unka Carlos, he just didn’t feel right about sitting up there.
Carlos took a deep breath and then a healthy gulp of wine. “I don’t like this plan much. But what else is there?”
Everybody in the crowded room nodded. No one said anything. A long silence, and it went on too long.
Finally Zack spoke, his voice low. And infirm, Cadzie thought. He’s getting old. “Anyone have a better plan?” Zack asked. “I sure don’t. I guess this is as much my fault as anyone’s. We should have brought Cassandra down twenty years ago, when we had two operating Minervas and people to fly them.”
