Beowulf's Children

by Larry Niven

  “Hope so. Now what can Uncle Carlos do for you?”

  Justin explained about the eel. “Zack will want to kill it as fast as possible. Destroy the eggs.”

  “Knee-jerk reflex. I’ll deal with him. Your father will want it studied.” Carlos thought for a moment. “Might want those eggs destroyed, though. No telling what they’ll hatch into.”

  “Eels.”

  “Samlon become grendels. We don’t have any examples of harmful larval stage and harmless adult, but—”

  “I see the point, but I don’t agree. And that’s the point. We think there’s going to be a row over this at the council meeting, and I wanted to take a little straw vote, find out where we’d stand.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that it’s our eel. It’s our island, really—we’re going to inherit it. And we can’t just kill everything that comes up the river or flies in from the mainland. Eventually, we have to know how we fit in with this planet, or we’ll be stuck here on this island forever.”

  “You could stay here for ten generations, easy,” Carlos observed. “Plenty of land.”

  “We don’t want to.”

  “Some of you don’t want to.”

  “Some means damned near all,” Justin said. “Starting with me.”

  Carlos studied him. “I don’t blame you,” he said at last. “Listen—I think that your father will side with you—he believes that strength is safety. And knowledge is strength.”

  “Are you suggesting that Zack would like to hide his head in the sand?”

  “Can you entirely blame him?”

  An arc of sparks jetted out, turning the floor into a summer night’s sky. The stars died.

  “We almost lost, amigo,” Carlos said quietly, watching Madagascar. “We make a lot of noise about how heroic it all was. But listen between the lines.” His eyes were deadly calm. “We almost lost.”

  “I know that it was tough—”

  “No,” Carlos said. “I didn’t say that it was ‘tough.’ I didn’t say ‘it was a struggle.’ I said that we almost lost. All of us. Wiped out. If it hadn’t been for a fluke of grendel behavior—that you can drive them crazy with the smell of their own speed—they would have slaughtered every living thing on this island.”

  Carlos sat at the edge of one of the benches, and picked up a thermos, uncapping it to take a sip. He scanned the pieces of Earth strewn about his studio. There in one corner was India, mother to Man’s civilizations. Suspended from the ceiling was Africa, possibly mother to Man himself. Already in place north of the colony was Europe, which had birthed the scientific method, and the Americas, creators of the technologies that had finally taken man to the stars.

  In that moment, Carlos seemed old, deeply fatigued; but a light flickered behind his eyes that was almost ecstatic.

  “To our home,” Carlos said, and took a long sip. The hair at his temples was almost white, and the skin on his forearms was loose over the wiry muscle. “I’ll never see Earth again, muchacho. Earth is an abstraction to you. A place the old folks talk about. Pictures we show you, tapes we play. Dead voices of dead people. But it was our home.”

  “We haven’t heard from Earth in twenty years!” Justin said, instantly ashamed of the mockery that had crept into his voice.

  “Not a thing,” Carlos agreed soberly. “And that means something different to every one of us. But back during the Grendel Wars, all that mattered was that we couldn’t go home, and we couldn’t win. We were all going to die, and there would be no one to bury our bones. We wanted to die here, to be a part of the soil—” He laughed coarsely. “But not as grendel shit. Anyway—at the meeting tonight, please understand why we are the way we are. If we are too protective of you, it’s because you are all we have.”

  Justin nodded. “All right, amigo—but just remember—you can’t keep making our decisions for us. And the more afraid you are, the more you had better let us grow up.”

  “I do remember being your age, Justin. So cocky. So . . . invulnerable. That was before Bobbie died, and there was nothing I could do to save her.” He tilted his head to stare at the floor. “And you know? There was a moment there where I tasted my own death so clearly, when it was so real, that I would have given up anything.” He paused. “Even Bobbie. For another few moments of life.”

  Carlos took another drink. Justin caught the odor of fermentation from the thermos. “You never see yourself the same way again, amigo. You never quite get it back.” He grinned crookedly, mocking the pain in his own voice.

  “You’re all we have left, Justin,” he murmured. “And just maybe all that there is.” As if aware that he had almost crossed some invisible line, he stood. “Back to work,” he said brusquely.

  Justin hiked a thumb at the globe. “Looking good,” he tossed over his shoulder on his way to the door. He let it slam behind him.

  The first comm shack had been a frail thing, tin and wood, but that was before the Grendel Wars. Now the colony’s communications and computers were housed in a fortress, stone and concrete walls, massive doors, small windows. Above each door was a small room filled with boulders and rubble poised to fall on any potential invader.

  The Merry Pranksters had once filled one of those chambers with wet cotton. They’d watched through video cameras as Joe and Edgar Sikes walked into the trap. The momentary shock and horror, then the laughter, man and boy waist-deep in wet cotton, throwing gobs of it at each other . . . but Zack and the other Earth Born hadn’t been amused. The repercussions hadn’t died out for months, and now entrance to Comm Control was monitored by TV cameras and recorded by Cassandra, and you couldn’t get in unless the duty watch people let you.

  The communications building controlled all contact with the Orion spacecraft Geographic still in orbit above, the branch settlements around the island, and the automated mining apparatus on the mainland. The main communications board was also the colony’s defense center, manned constantly as a human backup for the main computer defense systems. None of that had been needed for twenty years.

  Rules, Justin thought as he buzzed the interior. They set up their rules. Fine for them, but now we have to take turns standing watch with the First. It wasn’t hard duty, and privately Justin appreciated the enforced reading and study time that Comm Watch provided, but it was another point of contention between Star Born and Earth Born.

  Edgar Sikes opened the door.

  “Ho. Edgar, I need a favor. I have to talk to my dad.”

  Edgar didn’t seem surprised. “No can do. Cadmann’s down south, and that’s as much of an address as he left us.”

  Edgar was eighteen, pudgy, and brighter than hell. A childhood back injury had kept him from early participation in sports, and he had the reputation of being more interested in computers than people, someone worth knowing if you needed information, but never the first to be invited to parties. He was slightly younger than Justin. They had never been particularly close, but now Edgar’s father Joe was married to Justin’s stepsister Linda. Justin wasn’t sure what relationship that created between him and Edgar. Close enough that he could ask Edgar for a favor. “Let’s talk about it.”

  Edgar shrugged and stood aside.

  “Greetings, Justin-san.”

  It wasn’t surprising to find Toshiro Tanaka in the Comm Center. Toshiro didn’t sleep, at least not until nearly dawn and then not for long. He took advantage of that: other Star Born could get Toshiro to cover their shift at the center. Toshiro was going to sit alone and read or play computer games all night anyway, and by taking someone’s shift he built up obligations. Like Carlos, Toshiro never wanted for coffee or tea.

  “Greetings, Toshiro-san.” Justin suppressed a grin. He wasn’t completely sure how to take this new kick Toshiro was on. Toshiro was always polite, always smiled, but Justin had read about the manners of the Tokagawa culture Toshiro seemed to be fascinated with. They always smiled, even when they were about to chop your liver out. “You’ve told t
hem about the eel, then? Joe, he told you?”

  “A little,” Joe said. “You saw it too. Tell us.”

  Joe was sprawled in a massive sculpture, a chair and footstool Carlos had carved from the hard, dense, twisted grain of a horsemane root system. Carlos had installed it for his own watch. Butts and boots and elbows had polished and scarred it, but Justin believed it would last as long as Avalon.

  Joe Sikes was graying, slope-shouldered and a little paunchy despite his best intentions. He was one of the three heroes of the Grendel Wars, holding a place just below Carlos and not far below Cadmann Weyland himself. Justin’s generation believed as an article of faith that all First had ice on their minds, but it wasn’t easy to see what disability that gave Joe Sikes. The self-doubt characteristic of the First bothered him less than anyone except Cadmann. Sikes always seemed to be working on something. He was strong on industrial development, which included maintaining and establishing the mines on the mainland, and Justin had always found him easy to talk to.

  That changed, sort of, when it became clear that Sikes and Linda were much more than casually involved. Justin had never been able to justify his feeling of resentment, other than feeling that Joe was too damn old for her. And he was First, the damaged generation.

  “Five meters of fun,” Justin said. “Zack just about had kittens. ‘Kill it! Kill it! You have your orders, you know the rules, kill it!’ ”

  “Glad you didn’t,” Edgar said. He tapped computer keys, and the image of Big Mama Eel rippled across the computer screen. “Looks harmless enough. Maybe we’ll learn something.”

  Joe Sikes grunted agreement. “Yeah, but we still got problems from the mainland. Give Zack too much to think about, we’ll overload the system.”

  “No possible relationship,” Edgar said. He jerked a thumb at the screen where the eel swam steadily around and around in the tank. “No way that’s going to explode.”

  Say what? Justin said, “Explode?”

  “Well, I agree again,” Joe said. “But Zack may not. Justin, you’re gonna love this.”

  “Yes,” Toshiro said. “Most serious. Baffling.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Justin asked.

  “Linda’s working the new stuff up in the waldo room, let her tell you,” Joe Sikes said. “We’ve had little problems at the mining site before. This is a big one, but maybe it’s just more of the same.”

  “Which will do well enough,” Toshiro said.

  “You sound worried.”

  Toshiro shrugged. “Concerned. A setback.”

  “Hell, you’re not going to live long enough to go back to Japan no matter what happens,” Justin said. “So you can stop worrying.”

  Toshiro smiled politely.

  “Well, it’s true,” Justin said. “Coming back with me?”

  “Thank you, I am on duty here,” Toshiro said.

  Justin nodded and crossed the large central control room toward the green door at its far end.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Joe Sikes told him. He jerked his head toward Toshiro, who was now absorbed in some kind of computer game involving medieval Japanese warriors.

  “Well, yeah, you’re right, but it’s still true,” Justin said. “There’s no way we’ll build enough industry to fire up Geographic and go back to Earth or anywhere else. Not that I’d go. I can’t figure why he wants to.”

  Edgar Sikes shrugged. “Beats me, I guess. I asked him once.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Roots.”

  “Eh?”

  “Roots. Can’t say I blame him. How’d you feel if you were the only white kid here?”

  “I don’t think I’d notice.”

  “Toshiro does,” Edgar said. “There were four Orientals in the Earth Born, but they’re all dead in the Grendel Wars. Anyway, that’s what he said. I asked him why he wanted to see Earth again, and he said ‘Roots.’ ”

  The waldo room was at the rear of the telecommunications building. “Cassandra, ready or not, here I come,” Justin said, and waited for the door to open. It didn’t. He frowned.

  “Sorry, I’ve been doing some reprogramming,” Edgar said. “Let Justin in, please, Cassandra.” The door swung open.

  He was immediately assailed by a sweet-sour triple dose of Eau de Diaper. His sister Linda was seated at the robotics control panel. Her blonde pigtails made her look even younger than her seventeen years. She leaned back into a thick leather chair, silvered goggles covering her eyes. She might have been asleep. A hand-carved cradle that could have been built in the fourteenth century, but in fact was a product of Carlos’s workshop, stood next to her workstation. A three-month-old baby watched as if he knew what his mother was doing.

  Joe shooshed the baby unnecessarily, then tiptoed over to Linda and planted a big juicy one on her lips.

  Sis leapt out of the illusion sputtering, waving her hands in alarm. Then she pulled her goggles off, and sighed.

  “Joe Sikes, I hate when you do that.” She peeled off her headset, and stood to hug Justin.

  “Hey, Cad,” he said to the baby. The three-month-old was still fat and wrinkly, his stubby little fingers reaching out and trying to grasp a chunk of the world. His watery blue eyes struggled to focus.

  Linda had discovered boys when she was fourteen and when she was fifteen they discovered her right back. She had been extremely popular and enjoyed every minute of it, a dozen lovers in as many weeks. Then she was pregnant, and suddenly she was tired of casual sex, tired of popularity, tired of the game.

  And bang, she was attached to Joe Sikes, elderly, slope-shouldered, hardworking Joe Sikes. Justin remembered thinking it was pure lust. His little sister was one of those rare women who became almost ethereally beautiful as she swelled and neared term. If so, lust had ripened into something more stable—but a palpable erotic haze still shimmered in the air between them. His step-sister had found a husband and lover. She had also found a friend and teacher, and under Joe’s instruction was rapidly developing into one of the most capable of the Second’s engineers. Now she studied—Aaron had once said that while the First had ice on their minds, Linda had integral equations on hers—worked, and nursed her baby, and the only way to see her was to come to the command center.

  “What we got?” Joe Sikes asked. His forefinger traced a lazy circle on the back of her neck.

  “Geographic relays checked out,” Linda said. “I’m certain that the, uh . . . will you stop that for a moment? Thank you. Nothing garbled in transmission. We’re getting the right data, and it still looks the same, there are explosions in the mines.”

  “Explosions,” Justin said.

  “In the mines,” Edgar repeated. “Ain’t we got fun?”

  “That sounds—” Justin stopped. “Can’t be grendels.”

  “Unless they’ve learned to use grenades,” Edgar said.

  “Now, there’s a grim thought. Something break in?”

  “Not bloody likely,” Joe Sikes said.

  Justin nodded agreement. The mines didn’t exactly have doors. “So what is it? Machinery failure?”

  Linda looked worried. Her face was thinner than Jessica’s but somehow softer at the same time. Little Cad had been good for her—good for the elder Weyland, as well. At least six children would eventually call Cadmann “Granddad.” Colonel Weyland doted on all of them, but Cadzie, as the colonel’s first namesake, would get special attention. Justin felt a pang of jealousy, followed by an answering pang of shame.

  “I’ll do a show-and-tell at the meeting tonight,” Joe said. “We’ll want to make an emergency trip up in maybe a week.” He was pugnacious and happy, and Justin didn’t understand that.

  “You think it’s that serious?”

  “Kid, this isn’t a conveyor belt breakdown. Here—Cassandra, show us Mine Disaster Three.” A phantasm formed above a holopad. It looked like an ant farm done in neon vermilion.

  Joe set his blinking cursor where several tunnels joined in an angular lum
p. “It looked like a momentary flare of heat—very sharp—here in the processing equipment. And the sensors actually burned out. Weird. The entire assembly is completely jammed. The repair robots can’t get to them. It’s like something warped the entire unit out of alignment. Linda took a sonic profile of the entire operation. Look at the patterns of vibration leading up to the incident—”

  A graph of sound patterns replaced the ant farm: the usual jagged hills and valleys produced by running machinery, punctuated by a sudden and violent pulse.

  “We’re going to translate that into sound. Listen—”

  Chug chug chug.

  Tung.

  “Jesus Christ,” Justin said.

  Joe’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “The Merry Pranksters.”

  For a moment, nobody said anything. Then Justin cleared his throat. “That’s a pretty nasty accusation. They’ve never done anything like this.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “You’re just unhappy about getting wet.”

  “Nah, that was fun.” He looked at Edgar and got an answering nod. “This is something else.”

  “So how could they have done it?” Justin demanded. “The only way to get all the way to the mining site is with Robor. Or one of the Minervas. God knows they’re under control. How could they get in?”

  “And that would be the point, now, wouldn’t it?” Joe’s usually even tones went flat and nasty. “It was impossible to carve fifty-foot buttocks on Isenstine Glacier, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it impossible to use seismic charges to send Morse code limericks to the geological station?”

  Justin restrained a chuckle, and raised a hand in protest. “That may be true—but they’ve never done anything destructive, and you know it. What would be the point? This isn’t their style, Joe.”

  Joe’s head cocked, and he waited.

  “This isn’t funny! It’s just vandalism.”

  Joe patted Linda’s shoulder possessively. “It was just a matter of time before they crossed the line,” he said. “The point was always to get our attention, wasn’t it? I know that there are certain residents of Surf’s Up—”