The Gentle Giants of Ganymede g-2

by James P. Hogan

  One of the eggs was hovering three miles up over Lake Geneva and relaying up to the Shapieron its telescopic view of the throngs that were still building up on the hills overlooking Ganyville and all over the meadows surrounding it. The Ganymeans were pleasantly surprised, and at the same time astounded, that they should be the objects of such widespread interest and such a display of mass emotion. Hunt had tried to explain that the arrival of alien spacecraft was not something that happened very often, let alone one from twenty-five million years in the past, but the Ganymeans appeared unable to comprehend how anything could give rise to a spontaneous demonstration of emotion on so vast a scale. Monchar had wondered if the Earthmen that they had so far met represented "the more stable and rational end to the human spectrum rather than a typical cross section." Hunt had decided to say nothing and leave it at that. Monchar would no doubt be able to answer that for himself in good time.

  A lull in the conversation had occurred and everybody was watching the screen as one of the Ganymeans muttered commands to ZORAC to take the egg a little lower and zoom in closer. The view expanded and closed in on the side of a small, grassy hill, by this time thick with people of all ages, sizes, manners and garbs. There were people cooking, people drinking, people playing and people just sitting; it could have been a day at the races, a pop festival, a flying display, or all of them rolled into one.

  "Are they all safe out in the open there?" one of the Ganymeans asked dubiously after a while.

  "Safe?" Hunt looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

  "I'm surprised that none of them seem to be carrying guns. I'd have thought they would have guns."

  "Guns? What for?" Hunt asked, somewhat bewildered.

  "The carnivores," the Ganymean replied, as if it was obvious. "What will they do if they are attacked by carnivores?"

  Danchekker explained that few animals existed that were dangerous to Man, and that those that did lived only in a few restricted areas, all of them many thousands of miles from Switzerland.

  "Oh, I assumed that was why they have built a defensive system around the place," the Ganymean said.

  Hunt laughed. "That's not to keep carnivores out," he said. "It's to keep humans out."

  "You mean they might attack us?" There was a sudden note of alarm in the question.

  "Not at all. It's simply to insure your privacy and to make sure that nobody makes a nuisance of himself. The government assumed that you wouldn't want crowds of sightseers and tourists wandering around you all the time and getting in the way."

  "Couldn't the government just make a law ordering them to stay away?" Shilohin asked from across the room. "That sounds much simpler."

  Hunt laughed again, probably because the feeling of seeing home again was affecting him a little. "You haven't met many Earth-people yet," he said. "I don't think they'd take very much notice. They're not what you might call . . . easily disciplined."

  Shilohin was evidently surprised by the statement. "Really?" she said. "I had always imagined them to be precisely the opposite. I mean . . . I've watched some of the old newsreels from Earth--from the archives of your J5 computers, newsreels from the times when there were wars on Earth. Thousands of Earthmen all dressed the same walked backward and forward in straight lines while others shouted commands which they obeyed instantly. And the wars. . . when they were ordered to fight the wars and kill other Earthmen, they obeyed. Is that not being disciplined?"

  "Yes . . . it is," Hunt admitted uncomfortably, hoping he wasn't about to be asked for an explanation; there wasn't one.

  But the Ganymean who had been worried about carnivores was persistent.

  "You mean that if they are ordered to do something that is clearly irrational, they will do it unhesitatingly," he said. "But if they are ordered to do something that is not only eminently sensible but also polite, they will take no notice?"

  "Er . . . I guess that's about it," Hunt said weakly. "Very often anyway."

  Another Ganymean crewman half turned from the console that he was watching.

  "They're all mad," he declared firmly. "I've always said so. It's the biggest madhouse in the Galaxy."

  "They are also our hosts," Garuth broke in sharply. "And they have saved our lives and offered us their home as our home. I will not have them spoken of in that manner."

  "Sorry, sir," the crewman mumbled and returned his attention to his console.

  "Please forgive the remark, Dr. Hunt," Garuth said.

  "Think nothing of it," Hunt replied with a shrug. "I couldn't have put it better myself. . . . It's what keeps us sane, you see," he added for no particular reason, causing more bewildered looks to be exchanged between his alien companions.

  At that moment ZORAC interrupted with an announcement.

  "Ground Control is calling from Geneva. Shall I put the call through for Dr. Hunt again?"

  Hunt walked over to the communications console from which he had acted as intermediary during previous dialogues. He perched himself up on the huge Ganymean chair and instructed ZORAC to connect him. The face of the controller at Geneva, by now familiar, appeared on the screen.

  "Allo again, Dr.'unt.'Ow are zings going up zere?"

  "Well, we're still waiting," Hunt told him. "What's the news?"

  "Ze Prime Meenister of Australia and ze Chinese Premier'ave now arrived at Geneva. Zey weel be at Ganyville eenside ze'alf ower. I am now auzorized to clear you for touchdown een seexty meenutes from now. Okay?"

  "We're going down one hour from now," Hunt announced to the expectant room. He looked at Garuth. "Do I have your approval to confirm that?"

  "Please do," Garuth replied.

  Hunt turned back toward the screen. "Okay," he informed the controller. "Sixty minutes from now. We're coming down."

  Within minutes the news had flashed around the globe and the world's excitement rose to fever pitch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hunt stood inside one of the central elevators of the Shapieron , gazing at the blank expanse of the door panel in front of him while the seemingly interminable length of the vessel sped by outside. Behind him, the rest of the UNSA contingent from Ganymede were packed tightly together, every one of them silently absorbed in his own thoughts as the moment of homecoming drew nearer. The Shapieron was now descending stern-first on its final approach. A number of Ganymeans were present in the elevator too, on their way to join the main body of Ganymeans that had been selected to make the first exit out onto the surface of Earth, most of whom were already assembled in the stern section of the ship.

  The symbols appearing and disappearing on the face of the indicator panel by the door suddenly stopped changing and became stable. A second later the wide doors slid aside and the company began spilling out of the elevator to find themselves in a vast, circular space that extended all the way around the cylindrical wall of the ship's inner core. Entrances to six huge airlocks were equally spaced around the outer walls and the floor in between was filled with a dense throng of Ganymeans, most of them strangely silent. Hunt spotted Garuth, surrounded by a small group of Ganymeans, standing near one of the airlocks. Shilohin was on one side of him and Monchar on the other; Jassilane was nearby. Like all of the Ganymeans present, they were staring up at an enormous display screen set high on the wall of the central core, dominating the floor from above the elevator doorways. Hunt made his way through the throng of giant figures toward where Garuth's group was standing. He stopped next to Garuth and turned to look back at the screen.

  The view being shown was one looking vertically down on the shore of the lake. The picture was bisected into two roughly equal halves, one showing the greens and browns of the hills, the other the reflected blues of the sky. The colors were vivid and obscured in places by scattered puffs of small white clouds. The shadows of the clouds made sharp blotches on the land beneath, indicating the day was bright and sunny. The features in the terrain slowly revealed themselves and began flowing outward toward the edges of the screen as the ship descen
ded.

  The clouds blossomed up from flat daubs of paint to become islands of billowing whiteness floating on the landscape; then they were gone from the steadily narrowing and enlarging view.

  Dots that were houses were visible now, some standing isolated among the hills and others clustered together along the twisting threads of the roads that were becoming discernible. And precisely in the center of the screen, vertically below the Shapieron's central axis, a speck of whiteness right on the shoreline marked the concrete landing area of Ganyville, with the rows of neatly aligned chalets inside the perimeter now beginning to take shape. A narrow strip of green emphasized the perimeter line, denoting the zone outside the fence that had been kept clear of people. Beyond the cleared zone the land was visibly lighter in hue with the additive effect from thousands upon thousands of upturned faces.

  Hunt noticed that Garuth was speaking quietly into his throat microphone and pausing at intervals as if to listen to replies. He assumed that Garuth was updating himself with reports from the flight crew back in the command center, and elected not to interrupt. Instead he activated his own channel via his wrist unit. "ZORAC, how's it going?"

  "Altitude nine thousand six hundred feet, descent speed two hundred feet per second, reducing," the familiar voice replied. "We've locked on to the approach radars. Everything's under control and looking good."

  "Looks like we're in for a hell of a welcome," Hunt commented.

  "You should see the pictures coming in from the probes. The hills are packed for miles around and there are hundreds of small boats on the lake all packed together about a quarter-mile offshore. The air space above and around the landing zone is clear, but the sky's thick with aircars all around. Half your planet must have turned out."

  "How are the Ganymeans taking it?" Hunt asked.

  "A bit overawed, I think."

  At that moment Shilohin noticed Hunt and moved across to join him.

  "This is incredible," she said, gesturing upward toward the screen. "Are we really important enough for all this?"

  "They don't get many aliens dropping in from other stars," Hunt told her cheerfully. "So they're making the most of the occasion." He paused as another thought struck him, then said: "You know, it's a funny thing. . . people on Earth have been claiming that they've seen UFOs and flying saucers and things like that for hundreds of years, and all the time there's been all kinds of arguing about whether they really existed or not. You'd think they'd have guessed that when it really happened, it'd be unmistakable. Well, they sure know all about it today."

  "Touchdown in twenty seconds," ZORAC announced. Hunt could sense a wave of emotion rippling through the ranks of Giants all around him.

  All that was visible on the screen now was the waffle-iron pattern of the chalets of Ganyville and the white expanse of the concrete landing area. The ship was descending toward the lakeward side of the landing area, which was clear; on the landward side, between the landing area and the edge of the chalets, rows of dots arranged into ordered geometric groups became visible, and resolved themselves rapidly into human figures.

  "Ten seconds," ZORAC recited. The murmuring that had been building up as a vague background subsided abruptly. The only sound was the distant rush of air around the ship and the muted surging of power from its engines.

  "Touchdown. We have landed on the planet Earth. Awaiting further instructions."

  "Deploy ship for surface access," Garuth ordered. "Proceed with routing shutdown of flight systems and prepare Engineers' Report."

  Although there was no sensation of motion, Hunt knew that the whole section of the ship in which they were all standing was now moving smoothly toward the ground as the three elevator tubes telescoped downward from the main body of the vessel. While this was taking place, the main screen high above their heads presented a full-circle scan of the ground in the immediate vicinity of the ship.

  Beyond the area bridged by the Shapieron's tail fins, arrayed in a vast arc between the ship and the rows of chalets in the background, several hundred people were standing stiffly at attention in a series of boxed groups, as if lined up for inspection at a military parade. In front of every group was a flag bearer carrying the standard of one of the nations of Earth; in front of the flag bearers the Heads of State and their aides, all attired in dark business suits and standing rigidly erect, were waiting. Hunt picked out the Stars and Stripes of the USA, the Union Jack and several more of the emblems of US Europe, the Hammer and Sickle of the USSR and the Red Star of China. There were scores more that he could not identify readily. Behind and to the sides he caught snatches of brightly colored ceremonial military uniforms and the glint of sunlight reflected from brass. He tried to put himself in the position of those people standing outside. None of them had yet seen an alien face to face. He tried to capture their feelings and emotions as they stood there gazing up at the huge tower of silver metal that they had just watched slide down out of the sky. The moment was unique; never before in history had anything like this happened, and it could never happen for the first time again.

  Then ZORAC's voice sounded once more.

  "Tailgate is down. Pressures are balanced, outer lock-doors open and surface-access ramps extended. Ready to open up."

  Hunt sensed the expectation building up around him. All heads were now turning to gaze toward Garuth. The Ganymean leader cast his eyes slowly around the assembly, allowed them to rest for a moment on the party of Earthmen still grouped together by the elevator door, and then shifted them toward Hunt.

  "We will go out in the order already agreed. However, we are strangers on this world. There are others among us who are coming home. This is their world and they should lead us out onto it."

  The Ganymeans needed no further prompting. Even as Garuth finished speaking, their ranks parted to form a long, straight aisle leading from the group of Earthmen by the elevators to where Garuth and Hunt were standing. After a few seconds, the Earthmen began walking slowly forward. Danchekker was in front. As they approached the airlock near which Hunt was waiting, the Ganymeans moved aside to make room for them in front of the inner door.

  "All set then, Chris?" Hunt asked as the two drew face to face. "A few more seconds and you'll be home again."

  "I must say all this publicity is something I could have done without," the professor replied. "I feel rather like some kind of Moses leading the tribes in. However, let us get on with it."

  Hunt turned to stand beside Danchekker, facing the inner door. He glanced at Garuth and nodded.

  "ZORAC, open inner door, lock five," Garuth ordered.

  The ribbed metal panels slid noiselessly out of Hunt's field of vision. He stepped forward into the lock chamber and began moving forward toward the outer door, vaguely aware through the torrent of emotions rising inside him of Danchekker to one side and the rest of the UNSA contingent following behind. Beyond the outer door a broad, shallow ramp sloped down to the concrete. They stepped out onto the top of the ramp to find themselves in what appeared to be a vast cathedral of arched metal vaulting ribs, formed by the sweeping curves of the undersides of the Shapieron's tail fins, soaring upward and inward to meet the body of the ship high above their heads. The ramp and the area straddled by the ship were in the shadow of the bulk of the vessel and its mighty fins. But beyond the ship the day was a blaze of sunlight, painting the scene around them in a riot of color--the green of the overlooking hills and the purple, white and blue of the mountains and the sky behind; the rainbow speckling of the crowds packed on the hillsides; the pastel pinks, greens, reds, blues and oranges of the chalets; the whiteness of the concrete apron below them and even the snowy shirtfronts of the delegates standing there in their precise, unmoving ranks.

  And then came the cheering. It was like a slow tide of noise that seemed to begin far away on the tops of the hills and roll downward gathering strength and momentum as it went, until it broke over them in a roaring ocean of sound that flooded their senses. The hills themselves su
ddenly seemed to become alive as a pattern of spontaneous movement erupted as far as the eye could see. People in the tens of thousands were on their feet, shouting out the tension and the anticipation that had been building up inside them for days, and as they shouted, they waved--arms, hats, shirts, coats--anything that came to hand. And behind it all, rising and falling and rising again as if striving to be heard above the din came sporadic strains of massed bands.

  The Earthmen halted a few feet down the ramp, momentarily overcome by the combined assault on their senses from all sides.

  Then they began moving again, down the ramp and onto the solid ground of Earth beneath the towering columns of the Shapieron's fins. They marched forward into the sunlight toward a spot where a small party of Earth's representatives were standing ahead of the main body. They walked as if in a trance, their heads turning to take in the scenes around them, the multitudes on the hills, the lake behind . . . to gaze up at the ship stretching toward the sky above, now quiet and motionless. A few of them raised their arms and began waving back at the crowds on the surrounding hills. The noise redoubled as the crowds roared their approval. Soon they were all waving.

  Hunt drew closer to the party ahead and recognized the features of Samuel K. Wilby, Secretary General to the UN. Beside him were Irwin Frenshaw, Director General of UNSA from Washington, D.C., and General Bradley Cummings, Supreme Commander of the uniformed arm of the UNSA. Wilby greeted him with an extended hand and a broad smile.

  "Dr. Hunt, I believe," he said. "Welcome home. I believe you've brought some friends with you." He shifted his eyes. "Ah--and you are Professor Danchekker. Welcome."

  Danchekker had no sooner completed shaking hands when the noise around them rose to an unprecedented crescendo. They looked up and back at the ship.

  The Ganymeans were coming out.

  With Garuth in the lead, the first group of Giants had emerged at the top of the ramp. There they had stopped, and were staring around them in a way that hinted at their complete bewilderment.