Visitors

by Orson Scott Card

“But they’ll lie,” said Ram Odin.

  “I think they won’t,” said Noxon. “Because they can see that this is the best long-term protection for their descendants as well as ours.”

  “Why?” said Ram. “How? We can’t develop our tech past a certain point, while theirs is invisible and already far beyond anything we can do.”

  “Because every human colony will start with a Ram Odin and a Noxon,” said Noxon. “And that means that we’ll have the power to go back in time and undo whatever the mice do wrong. Or even undo the original placement of the mice into the ­colonies. Because part of the deal is this: The mice go into stasis during the colony founding, and they don’t get colonies of their own until at least three hundred years. And the release of the mice into each wallfold they’re allowed to enter will take place in public, and under circumstances that will make it easy for future human timeshapers to come back and prevent it.”

  “That’s not foolproof,” said Wheaton. “I can think of—”

  “So can the mice,” said Noxon. “But whatever they think of, we can probably think of a way to get around them and undo it. If we choose to spend our futures in stupid competition with each other. But maybe we won’t. Maybe the mice will see that keeping promises works out better for them than going to war with timeshaping humans.”

  “I see it already,” said the alpha mouse. “And so will all my descendants.”

  “Come on,” said Noxon. “The reason your testes aren’t visible is because you’ve been castrated. You won’t have any descendants.”

  “Not me personally,” said the alpha mouse. “I think of all the babies in their uteruses to be my children, so to speak.”

  “Well, Father of Great Nations, answer me: Will you accept this plan and abide by whatever decision I make when we reach the alien world?”

  “I accept the plan and I promise to abide by your decision,” said the alpha mouse.

  “How is that different from what you would say if you were already determined to break every promise and take over the world and the ship and everything?” asked Noxon.

  “It isn’t different,” said the alpha mouse. “But I mean it. And you’ll see that I mean it because I will no longer seize every opportunity to subvert you.”

  “So our alliance is set?” asked Noxon.

  “We have only one condition,” said the alpha mouse.

  “Which is?” asked Noxon.

  “You take at least one of us into the future with you and let her connect with your computer system when the aliens take it over. So we can make some assessment of what they’re capable of.”

  “No,” said Noxon.

  “Seriously? Why not? Knowledge is essential.”

  “Knowledge is power,” said Noxon. “You’ve been trying for thousands of generations to break into the programming of the ships that control Garden, in order to reprogram them to allow you through the Wall and to let you develop higher tech than they currently permit. And you’ve failed. But these aliens broke into our computer systems, took them over, and used them to destroy us. You want to see how it’s done.”

  Silence for a few moments. Then: “That was truly not my plan,” said the alpha mouse. “If it had been my plan, then that means I was already acting in bad faith and our alliance was already shattered. But I was acting in good faith. I really need to understand what their capabilities are. We will be much safer approaching their planet if I have some idea of how to resist them and keep them from taking over our ship remotely.”

  Noxon thought for a while. Finally he spoke to Ram Odin. “I think I’m going to take one of them forward in time to watch the alien invasion while hooked into the communications network.”

  “I thought your argument against that was excellent,” said Ram Odin. “Flawless, in fact.”

  “It was,” said Noxon.

  “So what did they say to change your mind?” asked Ram.

  “More promises,” said Noxon, “which are exactly what they’d say if they’re telling the truth or if they’re lying.”

  “So you have no idea,” said Ram Odin.

  “You have to leap sometimes,” said Noxon. “You have to trust.”

  “And if you’re wrong to trust them?” asked Ram.

  “It’s in their self-interest to keep the alliance at least until we get to the alien world,” said Noxon. “At least until we’ve eliminated that threat. After that—well, we’ll see.”

  “That’s it? We’ll see?”

  “All alliances between rivals take that form,” said Noxon. “We work together as long as it makes sense to do so—and then see how the other side behaves when some of the incentives for cooperation are removed.”

  “Very wise,” said Wheaton.

  “It’s time to get these mice out of here,” said Noxon. “Come on, all of you climb up on me. The mice,” he added quickly. “Talking only to the mice.”

  They scampered up into his clothing. The facemask remained aware of every one of them. “You won’t regret this,” said the alpha mouse.

  “Good,” said Noxon, already regretting it, yet sure there was no better way. “Now the rest of you, kindly take my hands. We’re jumping back into the future one last time. I believe we have a car parked nearby waiting to take us back to civilization.”

  The decision about the mice had been entirely Noxon’s to make. But since Deborah and Anthropologist Wheaton were not crucial now to any course of action, he could leave their future up to them.

  “You don’t have a place on Earth anymore,” said Noxon. “There’s a girl with eyes using your name and fingerprints, Deborah, and a charming philologist who has done rather a good job of keeping a dying discipline alive who needs no competing Dr. Wheaton.”

  “Especially since there’s no record of my degrees or my publications,” said Wheaton. “It rather blocks my ability to influence what passes for thinking among this sorry crop of anthropologists.”

  “I can offer you each your choice of improbable futures. You can voyage to the alien world and take part in the discussions, though not the decisions, about what we will do to prevent the destruction of Earth. Or you can voyage to Garden, my home, where I can promise you will have access to the full range of studies of—”

  Deborah interrupted him. “For me, there’s no choice but the world where I can get new eyes.”

  “You do understand,” said Noxon, “that you might be unable to control the facemask. It’s not a matter of what humans call ‘strength of will.’ Some of the strongest people I know have been unable to tame the mask. If you get eyes, but cease to be yourself, it would be a poor bargain.”

  “Then you’ll go back in time and prevent it,” said Deborah.

  “But there you’ll be in a world without replacement batteries, without charging stations.”

  “They’re solar. We’re not Neanderthals.” She gave Wheaton an exaggerated wink, to prevent his objection to her pejorative use of “Neanderthal.”

  “They’re solar, but not unbreakable,” said Noxon. “Garden is not a very good place to be blind.”

  “I will bring spares,” said Deborah.

  “And the technology of our era is available,” said Wheaton. “Each starship should have the ability to replicate her glasses.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” said Noxon.

  Deborah raised a hand. “Something else must be said, however. Just because I will go to Garden or nowhere, that doesn’t mean you must go with me, Father. The chance to study the evolution of two alien species—I think that not only will you enjoy that voyage more, you might actually be able to offer crucial insights as Noxon makes his decisions.”

  “What insights?” said Wheaton. “I know Erectids and other anthropes, and nothing more.”

  “You know how to see evolutionary patterns,” said Deborah. “You know how natural selection works
, how different societies promote the survival of some traits and not others. And there have been no human scientists on that road before you.”

  “Do I detect a desire to be rid of this old man?” asked Wheaton with a laugh.

  “Do I detect a barely-concealed plea for validation?” asked Deborah. “You know I love you, and I’d like to think your work would not be possible without me to clerk for you. But that isn’t true, and besides, you can have the ship pop out an extra expendable to take notes and look things up for you. Much more efficiently and accurately than I would.”

  “Very well, I suppose I can work without you,” said Wheaton. But he looked grumpy, and that seemed to be a concealment of an underlying hurt.

  “One world offers me eyes,” said Deborah, “and the other offers you a chance to do seminal work. If Noxon and Ram succeed in changing the future of that world, you will be the only scientist to observe the alien society as it existed before human interference.”

  “We won’t be doing much observation,” said Noxon. “Particularly if we reach them at a time when they’re already technologically ahead of us. We’ll skedaddle instantly then.”

  “I’ve found that brave dead scientists don’t contribute as much as prudent live ones,” said Wheaton. “I’ll study what there’s time to study.”

  “It’s where you want to go,” said Deborah.

  “All things being equal. But . . . nineteen wallfolds. A species of merpeople! Either world will do for me.”

  Deborah made no answer, even though both Noxon and Wheaton looked at her, waiting.

  “You know I have a choice myself,” said Noxon. “There are two of me now. One who went through the nuclear blast but managed to heal from it. One who didn’t.”

  “Which are you?” asked Deborah.

  “I’m the one who was warned and saved from the blast,” said Noxon. “But my twin and I have worked it out. It’s quite simple, really. There’s some risk that he suffered damage to some or all of his gametes. The facemask heals damage it can detect, but it’s possible for gametes to be motile and yet not viable, or viable but mutated.”

  “Ouch,” said Deborah.

  “Mine, however, were unharmed,” said Noxon. “Not that there’s no risk of mutation or deformation—any gamete can be damaged by the vicissitudes of chance. But . . .”

  “So you, Mister Pristine Sperm, will go where you think your seed will be most needed,” said Deborah.

  “Not quite,” said Noxon. “Chances are that both of us will be able to reproduce successfully. But we want to invest my superior odds in a particular way.”

  “I’m not sure why this is a matter for discussion with us,” said Wheaton.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I’m discussing the possibility of marriage to your daughter,” said Noxon. “And explaining to you both why my twin and I have decided that where she goes, there go I. Not because we expect anything, or require anything. We’re both quite smitten with your daughter. In fact, we’re both very much in love with her. So on the chance that she might at some future point reciprocate . . .”

  “Passage through the Wall apparently makes you awkward and stuffy in any language,” said Wheaton.

  “We want to offer her the best chance of creating a family with healthy, whole, unmutated children.”

  “Apart from that little genetic twist about being able to fiddle with time,” said Wheaton.

  “We’re not sure whether that’s a plus or not,” said Noxon. “We do know that while pathfinding emerged at an early age, time manipulation came along much later. I don’t think that she would find a nursing baby suddenly disappearing and then reappearing at another time.”

  “So you look at my breasts and think of attaching a baby to them?” asked Deborah.

  Noxon looked at her steadily, trying to conceal his consternation. “I assure you that I’m a normal human male in most respects. But I’m an uxorious male, I believe the professor would say, and so I don’t have the alpha male’s assumption that all women are faunching to mate with me.”

  “Only to nurse your babies.”

  “Only to wish the babies they nurse to be healthy and not particularly weird.”

  “What if I like your twin better than you?” asked Deborah. “Pretty cheeky, to take the decision out of my hands.”

  “We’re quite sure that you can’t tell the difference between us at this point,” said Noxon. “And also sure that our feelings toward you are identical, because we were in love with you long before we duplicated.”

  “When, exactly, did this overpowering passion first . . . overpower you?” asked Deborah.

  “I first noticed it when you inconveniently got yourself killed by an Erectid stone.”

  “Clumsy of me,” said Deborah.

  “You didn’t follow instructions,” said Noxon. “And I knew, rationally, that I should consider the option of leaving that unfortunate event alone. But I did not consider it. I didn’t actually give a rat’s ass what else happened. Even if it would make saving Garden more difficult, I was not going to leave you dead.”

  “How gallant,” said Deborah.

  “I thought of going on without you and I found that unbearable,” said Noxon.

  “Yet because one of you is going to Garden and the other to the planet Hell, or whatever we’re calling it, one of you must go on without me.”

  “Yes,” said Noxon. “And so we decided, rationally, that we would offer you ourself at our best. My best. And the other would go about his tragic, meaningless existence without you.”

  “And now you’re being ironic.”

  “I’m being quite sincere,” said Noxon. “My twin is quite ­broken up about it. But he was the one who insisted that we make the decision on this basis—this rational basis—rather than drawing straws. Or making you choose, which would have been arbitrary and cruel to you.”

  “Which of you farts in his sleep the most?” asked Deborah.

  “We’ve never measured,” said Noxon. “But if you prefer that as a basis for the decision . . .”

  “I believe you’d do it,” said Deborah.

  “You’re the one who brought relative nocturnal flatulence into the discussion,” said Noxon.

  “I had a condition once,” said Wheaton. “I tried eating an Erectid diet, back when we still had some unfortunate and inaccurate ideas about what they ate. Deborah may have an exaggerated idea of the importance of avoiding flatus in her pursuit of happiness. It only lasted a few weeks, but—”

  “It lasted nearly a year, despite my begging,” said Deborah. “Noxon, I’m touched, you must understand, but . . .”

  “Deborah Wheaton,” said Noxon, “I’m not really proposing marriage to you. Not yet. I know you can’t possibly give an answer now. I’m just saying that our decision rests upon your decision. Unless you are sure, right now, that no man with a mask like this can . . .”

  “As I was saying, before you interrupted—and please don’t go back in time and stop yourself from interrupting me, because that might create yet a third Noxon, and I’d have to choose between the rude interrupter and the even ruder correcter of interrupters—”

  “As you were saying,” Wheaton prompted her.

  “I’m still sorting out whether I’m in love with you or the amazing things you can do. Human females are attracted to power. That’s simply a fact. And so my feelings of attachment to you are suspect, because they began immediately upon my learning of your ability to vanish and reappear, and then to go back in time.”

  “Did my saving your life help or hurt?” asked Noxon.

  “It complicated matters, of course,” said Deborah. “Now I have to sort out how much of being in love with you stems from gratitude, and how much from girlish awe at a champion alpha male, and how much comes from my enjoyment of your quirky personality and the prospect of having you as the father of
my children.”

  “Please wrestle with this quandary as long as you like,” said Noxon. “I’ll be content with whichever source of love you decide to go with.”

  “Oh, just tell him yes and get it over with,” said Wheaton. “It’s been obvious from the start that you two were made for each other.”

  “I’m used to keeping company with a genius,” said Deborah. “An irascible one, but . . .”

  “I’m not irascible,” said Noxon. “In fact, I’m downright rascible.”

  “That’s a false etymology,” said Wheaton. “The ‘ir’ in ‘irascible’ is not a negator, like the ‘ir’ in ‘irresponsible’ or ‘irrespective.’ The root of ‘irascible’ is the Latin ‘ira,’ meaning ‘wrath,’ and—”

  Deborah stopped her father with a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure he was making a joke, not asserting an etymology, Father.”

  “Why are you kissing me?” Wheaton retorted. “He’s the one most in need of kissing, I think.”

  “Now he’ll think I’m kissing him out of obedience to you, instead of as the result of my own uncontrollable ardor,” said Deborah.

  Whereupon Noxon sprang from his chair, took her in his arms, and kissed her without regard for her immediate motive. She responded with as much enthusiasm as was appropriate with her father present. Which was to say that, upon repetition, in private, the whole business seemed to work much better.

  CHAPTER 28

  Face to Face

  Param insisted on visiting the battlefield immediately after victory was assured. “They have to see me there,” she told Olivenko. “I’m in no danger, but the soldiers need to see me there with the dead, with the wounded.”

  She was relieved that before Olivenko could answer, both Rigg and Loaf came in on her side. “She’s the one they fought for,” said Rigg. “They’ll love her for it,” said Loaf. And Olivenko could only smile and say, “I salute the Queen-in-the-Tent for her courage and generosity of spirit. I would never advise her to go against her own noble instincts.”

  “Olivenko, you are so full of poo,” said Param.

  “I meant every word,” said Olivenko, smiling even more broadly.