Still Forms On Foxfield

by Joan Slonczewski

  “For sure, Martha. Everyone has a right to…What? How much space the landing craft needs? Well how the devil am I—excuse me, how am I supposed to figure that?”

  Seth entered the room. His enigmatic gaze swept her work area, encrusted with printouts, pencils and nondescript metallic artifacts. The shelf above contained reference volumes held in place by an old “Thinker” statuette which her grandmother had left her.

  “Half-past eight, now.” Allison’s finger-watch dial was a standard product of the manufacturing modules located behind the computer complex. “We’re still tracking the craft, but it hasn’t changed course yet.”

  She watched Seth pick up a curious stony object from where it sat on a stack of compiler test runs. It was porous and looked like a tangle of pale orange ropes suddenly rigidified.

  “Sure, I’ll let you know. Bye, now.” The receiver fell into place.

  “Well, Seth, what’s up?” She planted a brief kiss on his cheekbone.

  “I need to see you,” he said. “We’re both so busy, always.”

  “I know, I know. I needed this like a hole in the head. Oh, well.” She shrugged. “Say, what’s all this about the One needing cobalt? Commensals don’t use cobalt, as far as I know; it’s too scarce here. Humans need it, though, for vitamin B-12.”

  Seth nodded slowly. “We don’t want to raise false hopes yet.”

  “But there has been progress, hasn’t there?”

  “A native life form has been modified, at the Dwelling, to produce human amino-acid and hexose requirements, plus some of our vitamins.”

  “That’s amazing.” Allison was not expert in biochemistry, but Seth had to be to deal with the One. “What sort of life form is it?” she asked. “Plantlike, I suppose.”

  “More like a slug or a snail, I’d say.”

  Allison laughed. “‘Escargots a la Foxfield,’ as they’d say in those old books! We’ll wait and see. Could be a fair breakthrough; not for nothing do we call the Fractions commensal…” For the first time she noticed a troubled look in his eye. “Something wrong, Seth?”

  “No, only—” He glanced away. “It’s on my mind that I want to spend more time here with you. It’s not good the way it’s been.”

  She smiled wryly. “It could be better, that’s true. But then, connections are just hard to work out. I’m always glad when we’re together, whether for two days or two months.” She lowered her voice. “We know what we mean to each other, Seth. What else can I say?”

  “Yes, but…I want to stay here, Sonnie.”

  She paused. “You can’t leave the Dwelling, Seth. It’s important what you’re doing; you belong there, at Coral Vale.” Immediately she wished the words unsaid.

  Seth’s knuckles whitened on the desk edge. “You think I’m not serious, don’t you? That it’s just my state of mind, because the Fractions are conjoining now? Is that what your Deltron tells you?” He turned and strode briskly from the room. Allison heard the outer door open and slam shut.

  Noreen approached with a sheaf of printouts, half of which she dumped in the recycling bin.

  “It’s all right,” muttered Allison, hurt and puzzled.

  “Sure, I know.” Noreen inclined her head, neatly framed by auburn waves. “He’s so moody this time of year. The Coral Vale Connaughts are all a bit strange. ‘Charmed’ and ‘colored,’ too.”

  Allison was in no mood for quark jokes. Why now, of all times, did this have to surface? “So what’s all this garbage?” she demanded, indicating the printouts.

  “It’s the WEATHERCAST program,” said Noreen. “I fixed that ab-end for you—see?”

  Allison scanned the printout. “So that’s why the program stopped.” She threw down the paper with mock horror. “You whiz kid, you—trying to take over my job, are you?”

  “Go on, Allison,” she responded sheepishly. “Just getting out the bugs.”

  “The Meeting had better appreciate that infernal program.”

  Allison checked the radar screen, which showed a small craft steadily descending. “That’s it, Noreen. Give Martha a ring, will you? I’ve got to go.”

  “Leaving me to miss all the fun.”

  “Well, some folks have to keep the gears rolling, eh? When I’m back, you can get your sleep, though.”

  “Go on—me, sleep, after the shock I got from that telex last antinight?”

  The Georgeville “landing strip” was no more than a level field just outside the center of town. It had not been used for spacecraft landing since the Plowshare was hit by a meteor. Today over two hundred Foxfielders trampled the ground moss, which was damp and redolent from passing showers but fortunately only centimeters deep this early in the summer. The Friends talked excitedly and craned their necks at the sky though it so far contained nothing but undulating cloud banks and Wheelwright’s Sun. A stiff breeze blew in from the forest side, ruffling coats and skirts and sending hats flying, to the immense delight of children whose classes had been cancelled for the day.

  Allison wore a smart beige suit for the occasion, now to her regret because the pants were bound to pick up moss stains as she wrestled with the microphone connection at the base of the speaker’s platform.

  “Terribly sorry about this.” Lowell looked on solicitously. His tie waved like a flag in the breeze. “Any way I can help?”

  She shook her head. “Almost fixed.”

  At last Allison stood and surveyed the assembly as she stretched. Martha was there, and Doc Frances; and Celia sat in a folding chair, laughing throatily at some remark from Clifford, whose bald cranium gleamed like a moon. The same light brought out the tinge of red in Seth’s locks like smoldering coals. The commensal Fractions Ghareshl and Rashernu had their coronal fronds spread wide to catch the sun.

  “Do you suppose,” someone suggested, “they’ve all grown radiation-proof scales?”

  Bill’s eyes were glued to his binoculars. “I see it; I see it!” the machinist exulted. “It’s coming down; would you like a look, boss?” He offered Allison the binoculars.

  “For the love of God,” someone whispered.

  A shadow crossed the sun. People gasped, then fell silent, for it was their custom to begin vital occasions with stillness.

  To Allison’s amazement, the craft landed with no sign of exhaust and little sound. Electrogravitics? Impossible, she thought; they’d practically need a double-star system to supply the power. Still…

  It was shaped like a spool of thread some five or six meters tall. Not all that big for a spacecraft, really; but then, it was only a shuttle. A dark opening appeared on the lower rim and four figures emerged. They were sheathed in deep green skin-tight suits which heightened their appearance of Earth-born elongation. As they approached, Allison observed some sort of goggles pushed back over their heads. She glanced automatically at their feet, half expecting to see flippers.

  “Friends of Foxfield.” The woman’s voice was amplified by an unseen mechanism. Her tight hood outlined her copper face, long with prominent cheekbones. “I am Silva Maio, Psychosynchronic Adjustor from the Board of Adjustors of United Nations Interplanetary. All citizens greet you with joy today, you brave people whose ancestors accomplished the unique feat of colonizing a new star system during the Age of Uncertainty…”

  Her cadence was a bit distracting, but comprehensible enough. “Unique feat”—was it really? What had become of the other Ramscoop expeditions?

  “The past century,” the Adjustor continued, “has seen many changes, as you would expect. A critical technological advance was the discovery of a nearly instantaneous means of transport between distant points in the galaxy, based on the Shimuri Effect first detected by Hiroko Shimuri during the last century. This effect will make it possible for all of you to resume active citizenship in UNI.

  “My fellow citizens and I will facilitate your orientation and reintegration into our society. Let me now introduce citizen Rissa Nduni, chief medical doctor; citizen Kyoko Aseda, systems architect; citiz
en Casimir Stroem, biosphere analyst.”

  She paused at this point, and Lowell took the initiative.

  “Citizens, we Friends welcome you to Foxfield. Lowell Braithwaite is my name, and I sincerely hope that your society has not outgrown this time-honored fashion of greeting—” He stepped forward and extended his hand. The Adjustor clasped it firmly.

  “May the Lord bless you all,” he went on. “We’ll try not to inundate you with introductions just now, but we should at least begin with Allison Thorne, who received your first greeting yesterday.”

  Allison shook the hands of the sea-green clad visitors.

  “Such a pleasure, at last, Friend Thorne,” said Kyoko Aseda. “I look forward to working with you.”

  Allison nodded and tried not to stare at the citizen’s delicate Oriental features.

  “Celia Blyden,” said Lowell, “survived the Plowshare; she’s one of those ‘ancestors’ you mentioned.”

  A few chuckles were heard.

  “And it is my special privilege to introduce our nonhuman friends, Ghareshl and Rashernu, commensal Fractions of the One. The One’s aid has contributed greatly to our survival on Foxfield.”

  Seth had been signaling with the Fractions. Each now turned her eye toward the visitors. The humans nodded gravely and did not attempt to shake hands.

  “And now,” Lowell concluded, “our Committee for Extraplanetary Concerns has prepared an orientation program for you. Martha?” His voice trailed off as he turned from the mike.

  Martha stepped to the platform, her hair shifting in the breeze. “Welcome, friends. We will be glad to show you what we have accomplished here with the Lord’s grace. But first I have some crucial information for you. We have discovered the hard way that this planet contains high concentrations of certain toxic substances which are rare or unknown on Earth. We have developed antidotes for them, and Medical Director Frances Poyser recommends immediate administration for all of you.”

  Adjustor Maio exchanged brief unamplified words with the off-world doctor, a nearly two-meter giant with complexion of rich loam.

  “We appreciate your concern,” said the doctor, “but we’ve taken adequate precautions. We have extensive environmental data from unmanned probes.”

  Allison blinked in surprise. How long had these folks been around, then? Had they deliberately kept their ships out of range of her instruments?

  Frances stepped forward. “I am pleased to hear that,” she observed crisply. “The list of toxins is extensive, however, and some of them we could never have counteracted without the commensals’ help. I urge you at least to double-check with me…”

  “Cliff,” whispered Allison, “how can they know all about this planet, no matter how many probes they sent? I mean, we should know; we’ve lived and died here long enough.”

  Clifford shrugged. “Why should they trust us? Like as not, Doc is a witch doctor to them.”

  Citizen Stroem spoke for the first time. “Doctor Poyser, we’ll be happy to discuss all your knowledge of this biosphere. We are extremely interested to learn just how it is that you people managed to survive here; from our point of view, it’s a miraculous achievement.”

  Frances nodded. “The Lord has been kind, though I hardly dare claim intervention of that order. We shall assist you in every way.”

  “That goes for all of us,” added Martha. “Our home is yours. We would like to show you Georgeville today, our first settlement, founded ninety-two Earth years ago in 2033 A.D. Like the planet, our town was named after George Fox who began the Religious Society of Friends in England around 1650, and whose Journal remains a source of inspiration for Friends. Our first Meeting House and the Medical Center were built here. Also you may care to see our Agricultural Resource Station, and the Technical Services Center…”

  Clifford chuckled. “Hope they keep up with her better than I can.”

  “We appreciate your invitation,” said the Adjustor. “A word about time scale, though: since your star system lies twelve point two light-years from Terra, and your ship accelerated at one g to relativistic speeds—”

  The schoolmaster’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he exclaimed. “With all my conversions of year length, that slipped my mind.”

  Allison called out, “Add eight years.”

  “Eight years, twenty-six days,” the frog-suited visitor corrected. “Today would have been day one hundred and fifty-one, year 2133, Westerran.”

  “Great start, Cliff,” Allison teased.

  “Right, sister. May all our differences prove so easy to resolve.”

  She winced then and wondered about the other dates, the “real” Earth dates. None had been mentioned so far.

  A dozen Friends and their guests strolled the path between tawny fields of Wheat-31. Sheaves from the first harvest dotted the landscape like younger siblings of the Resource Station which loomed on the horizon.

  “The first decade was critical for our settlers,” Clifford said. “They couldn’t just land, after all. A planet had to be chosen, and preliminary biosphere analysis took over two years.”

  Allison watched the tall visitors whose feet left deep prints in the sod. Yet they walked without effort, and she wondered why the twenty-percent higher gravity did not hinder them. Their hoods were pulled down now, revealing moderately cropped hair, though the Oriental’s smooth black coif contrasted sharply with Casimir Stroem’s curls, golden as the grain.

  Casimir stopped to finger one of the stalks. “Little pest damage,” he observed.

  “True enough,” said Noah Rowntree, the Agricultural Resource Coordinator. “Our crops attract relatively few native species. Though the native chemistry turned out not to be totally alien, thank goodness. In fact, trace metals aside, it was much closer to that of Earth than the specialists had predicted.”

  “That’s generally the case,” said Casimir. “On other planets, I mean.”

  Clifford went on. “Two families made the first attempt to start a settlement on the ground. The results were disastrous. Most died of unexplained illness…but certain deaths were particularly disturbing. The bodies were found intact, apparently, except that every drop of blood had been drained away.”

  Allison suddenly became very aware of Seth and Ghareshl, whose stream of Transac interchange continued.

  “Strange creatures were observed,” said Clifford, “in connection with some of the ‘accidents.’ It was discovered that the creatures killed humans by producing a toxic gas, and—well, I’ll skip the details; it’s obvious that some way had to be found to deal with this menace. At the time, most of the Plowshare crew felt that some sort of ‘defense’ was needed to clear the creatures out of an area for settlement; by then they were really desperate to get out of that cramped ship, you know.

  “One person disagreed. Biologist Rachel Coffin believed that the creatures showed evidence of high intelligence and that communication should be attempted. Dissent was very bitter, but the Meeting finally reached consensus for a ten-month moratorium to achieve contact. Rachel did succeed, through the use of visual signals which later were developed into the Transac syllabary. From then on, amazing opportunities unfolded from our interchange with the ‘commensal’ beings.”

  “Excuse me, Friend Clifford.” Kyoko Aseda spoke up. “You mentioned syllables just now; that implies a spoken language in some sense, no?”

  “Since human speech is basically oral, we often find it convenient to interpret the Transac signs in phonetic terms, in teaching and for names and so forth. The ’mensals, I assume, interpret them in olfactory or chemisense terms.”

  “I see.” Kyoko then turned to Ghareshl. She lifted her hands and formed deliberate signs: the raised thumb for question, the cupped fingers of thought. “What thoughts on first contact humans?”

  Allison was impressed. She’d picked that up in a hurry.

  The commensal extended a handful of corollar tendrils. “First thoughts of wonderment; expansion of known world-waves. An ent
ity which is One yet not One, blood-sharing yet blood-different.”

  Seth translated the response into speech. “They call themselves Fractions of the One Organism,” he explained. “She is a hand of many fingers; an eye of many faces.”

  “As are Christians, united in the Spirit,” Anne Crain added. “Friends feel a certain affinity with the outlook of the One.”

  A pause ensued.

  Casimir stroked his youthful chin and turned to Seth. “I gather this ‘blood-sharing’ phenomenon refers to a friendship ritual of some sort?”

  “Far more than ritual,” Seth gravely replied. “The exchange of blood for blood enables our survival.”

  Noah walked closer. “What Seth says was true literally in the early days, more figuratively so now. The commensals were suffering from a scarcity of certain minerals in the soil, particularly iron, which human blood happens to be full of. And, as I understand, they didn’t even kill humans deliberately; they simply failed to realize that some of the chemicals which they emitted would interact fatally with any human nearby. Once the body was there, of course…

  “But after contact, we worked out an arrangement. You see, although commensal physical ability is rudimentary, their biochemical technology seems limitless. Given the necessary elements in any form, a Fraction can produce just about any organic compound you could imagine. So we described basic Earth-type nutrients to them, and eventually even drugs and plastic substances. See out there—one Fraction is spreading fertilizers directly on the field.”

  Allison followed the sweep of his arm. In the distance a pale green form progressed like a ghost.

  “At first,” said Noah, “We let the Fractions draw blood from us in exchange. Once we learned the One’s precise requirements we substituted some supplements from the Plowshare’s supply. Today, some folks do continue the direct exchange of body fluids as a special form of communication, most often at the Dwelling. Friend Seth is from Coral Vale; he’d be familiar with that.”

  Doctor Rissa Nduni looked up. “Surely,” she suggested in her deep contralto, “this form of symbiosis has physiological consequences?”