The Gentle Giants of Ganymede g-2

by James P. Hogan

  Hunt didn't know what to say, so said nothing. The things he had just been told were shocking not because of the means or ends that they implied, which were all too familiar to humans, but because they were so unexpected. For him the conversation was a revelation and a staggering one at that, but no more. For the Ganymean, he realized, it was traumatic.

  Shilohin seemed somewhat reassured by the absence of any violent emotional response on his part, and so continued. "Not surprisingly, the psychological effects on the colonists were equally disastrous. The whole sorry affair was quietly ended and filed away as one of the shabbier episodes of our history. We prefer to try and forget about it."

  A babble of human voices interspersed with laughter came from further along the corridor. As Hunt looked up expectantly Shilobin touched his arm to retain his attention for a moment longer.

  "That, Dr. Hunt, is the real reason why we feel too ashamed to talk about the Oligocene Earth and its animals," she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Shapieron was pronounced fully functional once more and the Ganymeans announced their intention to take the ship for a test flight to the outermost fringe of the Solar System. The trip was expected to take about a week.

  A mixed gathering of scientists, engineers and UNSA personnel had congregated in the messroom at Pithead to watch the takeoff, the view of which was being relayed from Main Base and shown on the wall screen. Hunt, Carizan and Towers were sharing a table at the back of the room and drinking coffee. As the countdown neared zero, the hubbub of conversation quieted and an air of expectancy descended.

  "All UNSA vessels have cleared the area. You're okay to go on schedule." The voice of the controller at Main sounded from the audio grille.

  "Acknowledged," the familiar voice of ZORAC replied. "All our prelaunch checks are positive. We're lifting off now. Au revoir until about a week from now, Earthmen."

  "Sure. See ya around."

  For a few seconds longer the huge, majestic shape, its tail end now retracted and its outer bays closed, remained motionless, towering skyward to dominate the untidy sprawl of the base in the foreground. Then the ship began to lift, slowly and smoothly, sliding up into an unbroken background of stars as the camera followed it and the last ice crest disappeared off the bottom of the picture. Almost at once it started to contract rapidly as the foreshortening increased with the angle at a rate that hinted of the fearsome buildup of speed.

  "Man, look at her go!" came the voice from Main. "Do you have radar contact yet, J5? "

  "It's going like greased lightning out of hell," another voice answered. "We're starting to lose it. The image is breaking up. They must be on main drive already--their stress field's starting to scramble the echoes. Image on the optical scanners is losing coherence too. . ." And then: "That's it. It's gone. . . like it was never there at all. Fantastic!"

  That was that. A few low whistles of surprise broke the silence in the mess room at Pithead, followed by muttered exclamations and murmurings. Gradually the fragments of conversation flowed together and merged into a steady continuum of noise that rose and found its own level. The picture on the screen reverted to the view of Main, now looking somehow empty and incomplete without the ship standing in the background. Even after so short a time, life on Ganymede without the Giants around didn't feel quite right.

  "Well, I've got to go," Hunt said, rising from his chair. "Chris wants to talk about something. See you both later." The other two looked up.

  "Sure. See you later."

  "See you, Vic."

  As he moved toward the door, Hunt realized that Pithead didn't seem right either without a single Ganymean in sight. It was strange, he thought, that every one of them should need to go on a test flight; but. . . that was not really something for Earthmen to reason why. He realized also that not having ZORAC around would also take some getting used to. He had come unconsciously to accept the ability to communicate directly with others and to consult with the machine, whatever time of day it was or wherever he happened to be. ZORAC had come to be a guide, mentor, tutor and advisor all rolled into one--an omniscient and omnipresent companion. Hunt suddenly felt very alone and isolated without it. The Ganymeans could have left specialized relay equipment at Ganymede that would have sustained a link to ZORAC, but the mutual slowing down of clocks that the Shapieron's velocity would produce, together with the large distance that its flight would entail, would soon have made any form of meaningful cornmunication impossible. It was, he admitted privately to himself, going to be a long week.

  Hunt found Danchekker in his lab fussing over his Minervan plants, which by this time were proliferating in every corner of the room and seemed set to embark on an invasion of the corridor outside. The subject that the professor wanted to discuss was the theory that he and Hunt had formulated jointly, before the arrival of the Ganymeans, concerning the low inherent tolerance of all Minervan land-dwelling species to atmospheric carbon dioxide. This theory held that the trait had been inherited, along with the basic system of chemical metabolism, from some very early, common, marine ancestor. After discussing the matter at some length with various Ganymean scientists through ZORAC, Danchekker now knew that this theory was wrong.

  "In fact, when land dwellers eventually appeared on Minerva, they evolved a very efficient method of coping with the planet's high carbon-dioxide level. The way in which they did it was one which, with the benefit of hindsight, was very obvious and very simple." Danchekker stopped rummaging around among the mass of leaves for a moment and half turned his head to allow Hunt time to reflect on the statement. Hunt, perched casually on one of the stools with an elbow resting on the edge of the bench beside him, said nothing and waited.

  "They adapted their secondary circulation systems to absorb the excess," Danchekker told him. "Systems that had evolved specifically to remove toxins in the first place. They provided a ready-made mechanism ideal for the job."

  Hunt turned the proposition over in his mind and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "So . . ." he said after a while. "This idea we had that they all inherited a low tolerance was way off the rails. . . all baloney."

  "Baloney."

  "And this characteristic stayed, did it? I mean, all the species that came later inherited the mechanism . . . they were all well adapted to their environment?"

  "Yes. Perfectly adequately."

  "But there's still something I don't see yet," Hunt said, frowning. "If what you've just said was true, the Ganymeans should have inherited an adequate resistance too. If they did, they wouldn't have had a CO2 problem. But they themselves said they did have a CO2 problem. So how come?"

  Danchekker turned to face him and wiped his palms on the front of his lab coat. He beamed through his spectacles and showed his teeth.

  "They did inherit it . . . the resistance mechanism. They did have a problem too. But, you see, the problem wasn't natural; it was artificial. They brought it upon themselves, far later in their history."

  "Chris, you're talking in riddles. Why not start at the beginning?"

  "Very well." Danchekker began wiping dry the tools he had been using and replaced them in one of the drawers as he spoke. "As I said a moment ago, when land-dwelling life appeared on Minerva, the secondary circulation systems that all species already possessed--which caused them to be poisonous--adapted to absorb the excess carbon dioxide. Thus, although Minervan air was high in carbon dioxide compared to that of Earth, all the forms of life that emerged there flourished quite happily since they had evolved a perfectly good means of adapting to their surroundings which is the way one would expect Nature to work. When, after hundreds of millions of years, intelligence emerged in the form of primitive Ganymeans, they too possessed the same basic architecture, which had remained essentially unchanged. So far so good?"

  "They were still poisonous and they were well adapted," Hunt said.

  "Quite so."

  "What happened then?"

  "Then a very interesting th
ing must have happened. The Ganymean race appeared and went through all the stages you would expect of a primitive culture beginning to grope its way toward civilization--making tools, growing food, building houses and so on. Well, by this time, as you might imagine, the ancient self-defense that they had inherited from their remote marine ancestors for protecting them against carnivores was turning out to be more of a damned nuisance than a help. There were no carnivores to be protected from and it was soon obvious that none were likely to appear. On the other hand, the acute accident-proneness that resulted from self-poisoning was proving to be a severe handicap." Danchekker held up a finger to show a small band of adhesive plaster around the second joint. "I nicked myself with a scalpel yesterday," he commented. "Had I been one of those early Ganymeans, I would most probably have been dead within the hour."

  "Okay, point taken," Hunt conceded. "But what could they do about it?"

  "Somewhere around the time that I was describing--the early beginnings of civilization--the ancients discovered that the poisons in the secondary system could be neutralized by including certain plants and molds in their diet. They discovered this by observing the habits of some animals whose immunity to damage that should have meant certain death was well known. That simple step was probably their biggest single leap forward. Coupled with their intelligence it virtually insured dominance over all forms of Minervan life. It opened up the whole of medical science, for example. With their self-poisoning mechanism defused, surgery became possible. At a later stage in their history they developed a simple surgical method of neutralizing the secondary system permanently without having to rely on drugs. It became standard practice for every Ganymean to be treated in this way soon after birth. Even later still, when they had progressed to a level beyond ours, they isolated the gene that caused the secondary system to develop in the fetus in the first place and eradicated it completely. They literally bred this trait out of themselves. None of the Ganymeans we've met was born with a secondary system at all, and neither were quite a few generations before them. Rather an elegant solution, don't you think?"

  "Incredible," Hunt agreed. "I've never had a chance to talk about that kind of thing with them. . . not yet anyway."

  "Oh, yes." Danchekker nodded. "They were extremely proficient genetic engineers, were our Ganymean friends. . . very proficient."

  Hunt thought for a second and then snapped his fingers in sudden comprehension.

  "But of course," he said. "In doing that they buggered their CO2 tolerance too."

  "Precisely, Vic. All the other animals on Minerva retained the high natural tolerance. Only the Ganymeans were different; they sacrificed it in exchange for accident-resistance."

  "But I don't see how they could," Hunt said, frowning again. "I mean, I can see how they did it, but I don't see how they could get away with it. They must have needed the CO2 tolerance, otherwise they wouldn't have evolved it in the first place. They must have known that too. Surely they weren't stupid."

  Danchekker nodded as if he already knew what Hunt was going to say.

  "That probably wasn't so obvious at the time," he said. "You see, the composition of the Minervan atmosphere fluctuated through the ages much the same as that of Earth has. From various researches the Ganymeans established that at the time land life first emerged, volcanic activity was at a peak and the level of CO2 was very high; naturally, therefore, the earliest species developed a high resistance. But as time went on the level decreased progressively and appeared to have stabilized itself by the time of the Ganymeans. They came to regard their tolerance mechanism as an ancient relic of conditions that no longer existed and their experiences showed that they could get by without it. The margin was small--the CO2 level was still high by our standards--but they could manage. So, they decided to do away with it permanently."

  "Ah, but then the level started going up again," Hunt guessed.

  "Suddenly and catastrophically," Danchekker confirmed. "On a geological time scale anyway. They were in no immediate danger, but all their measurements and calculations indicated that if the rate of increase went on, they--or their descendants one day anyway--would be in trouble. They would be unable to survive without their ancient tolerance mechanism, but they had eliminated that mechanism from their race. All the other animals would have no difficulty in adapting, but the Ganymeans were somewhat stuck."

  The full magnitude of the problem that had confronted the Ganymeans dawned on Hunt at last. They had bought a one-way ticket out of the hard-labor camp only to find that it led to the death cell.

  "What could they do?" Danchekker asked, and then went on to answer the question for himself. "First--use their technology to hold the CO2 level down by artificial means. They thought of that but their models couldn't guarantee them a tight enough measure of control over the process. There was a high risk that they'd end up freezing the whole planet solid and, being the cautious breed that they were, they elected not to try it--at least not until it was a last-resort measure.

  "Second--they could reduce the CO2 as before, but have ready at hand a method for warming up the Sun to compensate for the loss of the greenhouse effect if the atmospheric engineering got out of control. They tried that on Iscaris but it went wrong, as the scientists on Minerva learned when they received a message from the Shapieron that was sent just before the ship itself got away."

  Hunt made no move to interrupt, so Danchekker continued. "Third--they could migrate to Earth. They tried doing so on a pilot scale, but that went wrong too." Danchekker shrugged and held the posture, his arms extended to indicate that he had run out of possibilities. Hunt waited for a moment longer, but the professor evidently had nothing more to say.

  "So what the devil did they do?" Hunt asked.

  "I don't know. The Ganymeans don't know either, since whatever else may have been thought of was thought of after they had left Minerva. They are as curious as we are--more so I would imagine. It was their world."

  "But the animals from Earth," Hunt insisted. "They were all imported later on. Couldn't they have had something to do with the solution?"

  "They could have, certainly, but what exactly, I've no idea. Neither have the Ganymeans. We're satisfied, though, that it would not have been anything to do with using a terrestrial type of ecology to absorb the CO2 . That simply wouldn't have worked."

  "That idea's gone right out the window, eh?"

  "Right out," Danchekker said decisively. "Why they brought the animals there and whether or not it had anything to do with their atmospheric problem is still all a mystery. . . ." The professor paused and peered intently over the top of his spectacles. "There's another mystery too now--a new one--from what we've just been talking about."

  "Another one?" Hunt returned his stare curiously. "What?"

  "All the other Minervan animals," Danchekker replied slowly. "You see, if they all possessed a perfectly adequate mechanism for dealing with CO2 , it couldn't have been the changing atmosphere of Minerva that wiped them all out after all. If that didn't, then what did?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  The landscape was a featureless, undulating sheet of ice that extended in every direction to merge into the gloom of a perpetual night. Overhead a diminutive Sun, barely more than just a bright star among millions, sent down its feeble rays to paint an eerie and foreboding twilight on the scene.

  The huge shadowy shape of the ship soared upward to lose itself in the blackness above; arc lights set high on its side cast down a brilliant cone of whiteness, etching out an enormous circle on the ice next to where the ship stood. Around the inside of the periphery of the pool of light, several hundred spacesuited, eight-foot-tall figures stood four deep in unmoving ranks, their heads bowed and their hands clasped loosely before them. The area within the circle was divided into a series of concentric rings and at regular intervals around each ring rectangular pits had been cut into the ice, each one aligned with the center. By the side of each of the pits lay a metallic, box-shaped container
roughly nine feet long and four feet wide.

  A small group of figures walked slowly to the center and began moving around the innermost ring, stopping at each pit in turn and watching in silence while the container was lowered before moving on to the next. A second small group followed, filling each of the pits with water from a heated hose; the water froze solid in seconds. When they had finished the first ring they moved out to begin on the second, and continued until they were back at the edge of the circle.

  They stood gazing for a long time at the simple memorial that they had erected in the center of the circle--a golden obelisk with an inscription on each face, surmounted by a light that would burn for a hundred years. And as they gazed, their thoughts went back in time to friends and faces that they once had known, and who could never again be more than memories.

  Then, when the time had come, they turned away and began filing slowly back toward their ship. When the arc lights were turned out, only the tiny glow of light around the obelisk remained to hold the night at bay.

  They had honored the pledge that they had made and carried with them through all the years that had brought them here, from another place, from another time.

  Beneath the ice field of Pluto lay the soil of Minerva.

  The Giants had come home to lay their dead to rest.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Shapieron reappeared out of space as suddenly as it had gone. The surveillance radars of Jupiter Five picked up an indistinct echo hurtling in from the void and rapidly consolidating itself as it shed speed at a phenomenal rate. By the time the optical scanners had been brought to bear, there it was, coasting into orbit over Ganymede just like the first time. This time, however, the emotions that greeted its arrival were very different.