Aliens from Analog

by Stanley Schmidt (ed)

  “He was all good things. I know. It seems to be a common trait among the Rosans.” He rolled her gently over to face him.

  “Why do they have to die so soon?” she yelled at him. “Why can’t they live like we do, and laugh and love and talk with their children and…” She was crying.

  Sorrel raised her by her shoulders, held her close. “They can’t live like we do because Nature didn’t design them to live like we do. Because at the time of their evolving, death at dawn was certain. Why would Nature spend such an effort, giving long life to one doomed to die anyway?”

  Wandra started rocking, bringing her legs up into a fetal position. Sorrel stroked her hair. “You remember that krat we saw a while ago, outside the conference hall?” She nodded.

  “I saw it again yesterday.”

  She looked up. “What? The same one?”

  Sorrel shrugged. “It had the same ragged scar on its side.”

  Wandra’s mouth hung open, forming the obvious question.

  “The krats have been luckier than the Rosans. When the Rosans moved into the caverns, they found a place free of evolutionary pressures, where they could prosper without menace. But when the krats came, they found the Rosans already here, determined to keep their caves and destroy the invaders. Thus the krats still had evolutionary pressures. Only the strong survived. Nature discovered that longevity would be useful for krats; and the krats earned longer lives through generations of bloodletting.

  “But Nature doesn’t choose for long life among Rosans, because there is no need—and only need causes Nature to care. Nature doesn’t care whether the Rosans survive with grace or joy—Nature only cares that they survive, one way or another. The Rosans can never develop longevity, because they are too good at surviving without it.” Sorrel was surprised at the bitterness creeping into his voice. “The characteristics that make them so wonderful and worth saving are the same characteristics that damn them to mere instants of time for all eternity.”

  “It’s not fair,” Wandra wailed.

  “Fairness and justice have nothing to do with it,” Sorrel continued, and this time the bitterness was undeniable. The vision of his children dying on a radiation-burned planet burned his mind. “Nature knows nothing of justice. Only Men think of justice; it is a concept we invented and it exists only when we can create it.”

  They were both quiet for a long time; finally Wandra spoke. “Isn’t there something we can do? Intravenous feeding or something?”

  Sorrel shook his head. “That’s done under special conditions, but the basic lifetime of the Rosan is built into the cells. Even with plenty of nutrients, the cells just stop metabolizing. It’s as if they knew they were supposed to die.”

  “What about slowing down their metabolisms?”

  Sorrel looked her in the eye. “If you could extend your life by a tenth, but to do it you had to cut your ability to live each moment of that life in half, would you do it?”

  Wandra sobbed. Sorrel stroked her hair again. “I wish I could say something more soothing.” His voice turned gentle again.

  Wandra’s arms tightened around Sorrel’s chest. “Would you…stay with me? Till tomorrow?”

  Sorrel drew a ragged breath; suddenly, he felt like the old man he sometimes knew himself to be’. “I would,” he said softly, “if I really believed that, in your heart, you wanted me to.” He kissed her on the forehead, disengaged slowly. “I’ll see you in a few hours. If you have trouble sleeping, call me.” He looked down at her a last time. “Dream well,” he whispered as he left.

  Kir Bay played with his FTLcom medallion as he spoke. “Well, at least we still have plenty of time left. It’ll be hours before the Bloodbond election. It’s a shame, though, that the Supremi candidate is certain to win.”

  Sorrel gasped in horror. “What?!” It had been several days since Sorrel last listened to the Rosan news broadcasts. Now he cursed himself under his breath for not keeping better track; less than a week ago, the Supremi had been just another religious splinter group, with a half-sentence mention in the course of a full spin’s broadcasts.

  “Is it that important?” the engineer was puzzled. “It’s not as if it’ll kill the project.” Sorrel rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Politicians, unfortunately, are even crazier than they seem, Kir Bay. If the Supremi get control of the government, not only will they destroy the project, they’ll also destroy you—and I mean burning your brainblood, not just arranging an early death.”

  It was Kir Bay’s turn to gasp in horror. “Are you serious?”

  “How closely have you listened to the Supremi plans? They hate humans and everything associated with them. As chief engineer on our project, you’re a public enemy in their eyes.”

  Kir Bay’s petals tensed against his body. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Then come with me.” Sorrel consulted Daisy, the starship’s computer, on his radcom and found a place where they could hear a prominent Supremi politician speak.

  They arrived to find a large crowd mesmerized by the fiery words of a fanatic. Few people saw Sorrel and Kir Bay arrive; those who did drew away from them incontempt, and some of them hissed in fury.

  Soon Kir Bay had had enough. “You were right. We’re in great danger.”

  Sorrel pulled him out of the Supremi cavern. “Fortunately I’ve made some preparations for this, though not as many as I’d planned. Damn! You people move too fast.” He sighed. “Listen. Long ago, a special set of laboratories was prepared for the FTLcom project. Just as they were getting finished, I put a damper on the job, and now I’m the only one who knows where they are.” He told Kir Bay how to find the narrow entranceway. “Get everybody down there you can—but do it quietly!”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got an appointment with a Bloodkeeper. I’ll catch up with you later.” Sorrel shoved him toward the cart, then ran off in the other direction, toward the Bloodkeep.

  There was one Bloodkeeper left who still believed in the FTLcom project, one Bloodkeeper whose bloodline Sorrel had nurtured and protected from the Man-hatred that now exploded through the Rosan culture. Sorrel had talked with the current member of that bloodline earlier that nightspin, though he hadn’t talked with him about the dangers of Supremi leadership. Sorrel hoped the two of them could work something out to protect the bloodlines they had so painfully constructed.

  As he ran, Sorrel listened on his radio to Daisy’s translation of the Rosan newscasts. With a sinking heart, he found that Kir Bay had been wrong; they didn’t even have hours before the Supremi took control. There was a revolution in progress, and the elections were being pushed ahead of schedule to select the new Bloodbond.

  Sorrel leaned against the wall of the tunnel, panting, wishing he’d learned how to drive the Rosan vehicles even though it was crazy for a human to try to drive down the tunnels—men just didn’t have fast enough reflexes for Rosan traffic.

  Soon he realized that he wasn’t going to make it to the Bloodkeep in time, and he interrupted Daisy’s incessant reports on the radcom. “Daisy, is there anything you can hook me with to get through to the Bloodkeep? I need to talk to Mai Toam Let Call.”

  Sorrel listened as Daisy tried various patches into the Rosan communication systems. Finally they linked to the Bloodkeep, and Mai Toam answered. “Thank God you’re there!” Sorrel exclaimed. “Have you been listening to the news?”

  “Yes.” The Rosan’s voice sounded grave. “We face trouble, I fear.”

  “By the galaxyful,” Sorrel muttered. “Listen…is it possible to, uh…jimmy the labels on people’s brainblood?”

  Mai Toam coughed politely. “It is flagrantly illegal, Man Everwood.” His cough gurgled into a chuckle. “It is not, however, unheard of.”

  “I see.”

  Daisy’s voice filled the line. “I don’t wish to interrupt you, gentlemen, but I’ve heard some news I believe to be important. The selections are over. The Supremi have given orders to capture everyone involved
with the FTLcom project.”

  It had all happened so swiftly! Sorrel held down the fear in his stomach. “Call Kir Bay and warn him. Tell him I’ll meet him at the new labs.”

  Sorrel rushed down the cavemwork tunnels toward the hidden cavenet, giving orders over his radcom all the way. “Mai Toam, quickly! Switch brainblood nametags on the cannisters for Dor Kat, Tey Fin, and Dor Lee with the nametags for other Ro- sans—Rosans who’re supposed to be loyal to the Supremi. Can your bloodmemroies transmit the switches?”

  “Probably, Man Everwood, but I’ll give you a list for safety. High chance says they destroy my brainblood when ledgers show tampered feast labels.”

  “Oh my god.” Sorrel stopped his running, trying to think of an alternative to losing the Keeper’s descendants.

  “No fear, Man Everwood. Hope is, to switch my brainblood also. You need remember, whereto I’m switched. Prai Kan Tor Loov will be me renewed.”

  “Good. I’ll remember,” Sorrel promised, praying he told the truth. He’d have to write that name down at first opportunity. “Kir Bay, have you stashed theequipment?”

  “Yes. All’s set.”

  “Great. I’ll be there in—” Sorrel leaped to the landing one level lower, turned right, and ran into four younger Rosans. The Supremi got me, was Sorrel’s first panicky thought.

  “Man Everwood, Kir Bay sent us. We return you to your ship swiftly.”

  “But—”

  The radcom spoke; it was Kir Bay again. “All’s controlled here, Man Everwood; your advance planning let us prepare with thoroughness and speed. Thank you. Now, you must return to your ship, where you’ll be safe for a few generations.”

  “But—”

  The four Rosans were already herding him back the way he had come.

  “Where are Cal and Wandra?” Sorrel demanded.

  “Good luck, Man Everwood,” the radcom answered obliquely. “May you die by a rising star.”

  One of the four shepherds answered more directly. “Man Minov and Man Furenz return to the ship. You’ll see soon.” As they rounded another corner, the lead Rosan jumped back, hitting Sorrel in the chest. “Feign death,” he commanded.

  Sorrel performed as ordered, slumping into their arms. They carried him around the corner, shouted several rapid sentences at someone. More hands grabbed Sorrel, more words, and he heard many people going with him for interminable distances. His arm was being slowly, agonizingly, dislocated from his shoulder by one of his carriers; but he had no time to worry about that; his concentration was focussed on trying not to breathe. He was not very successful.

  At last there was a scuffle. “Run!” someone yelled in his ear, and Sorrel twisted to his feet and ran, following the Rosan leader, not daring to look around to see what was happening. The two of them continued to run till they reached the entrance to the outercave, where the ship lay. Five more Rosans pressed there against a long outcropping of stone, along with Cal and Wandra. Wandra held her finger to her lips, gesturing Sorrel to silence. She whispered, “Guards,” and pointed over the outcropping. Sorrel nodded.

  The six Rosans held a quiet but rapidfire conference, lasting almost a minute, then split in four directions. There was noise from beyond the outcropping, and a portable sonic pulverizer—designed for crushing rocks during excavation—screamed. “Run for the ship!” Sorrel’s Rosan yelled above the din. “Good luck!” He ran in front of the three humans into the open stretch by the slagged landing area.

  The weapons there could’ve killed fully armored Rosan larvae, to say nothing of killing delicate humans, but fortunately the guards were busy. Again Sorrel didn’t have time to see how they were being distracted—his goggles obstructed his peripheral vision—but the FTLcom team was doing a good job, and only one guard saw the three humans coming. The Rosan leader leaped at him and knocked him down, but in leaping the leader took the tip of a larva-prod in the chest and started to writhe uncontrollably. Wandra screamed; Sorrel pushed her toward the ship’s lock as it swept to ground level. Another sonic blaster wailed, and the three humans dived into the lock, which now swept back up into the body of the ship.

  All three were shaking and panting. “We’ve gotta lift off,” Cal gasped, heading for the pilot room.

  “No,” Sorrel said, “don’t. Nothing out there will hurt our asteroid armor. It’d take them generations to haul a main tunnel beamer up here from the bottom levels—and if they did that we’d have plenty of warning.” Sorrel was still panting, thinking he talked too much. “Daisy,” he breathed at the computer, “Show us the cavemwork entrance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cal and Wandra followed Sorrel into the rec bay; everyone collapsed onto his or her favorite recliner, then looked at the vidscreen’s view of the entrance. Several Rosans lay in pools of green jelly, including four of the people who had helped them escape.

  “Damn,” Cal muttered.

  Another party of solemn Rosans, wearing the medallions of the Supremi Elders, came into view, to pour smouldering acid on the brainblood of the traitors, the friends- to-humans.

  Wandra clenched her fists in horror. “You bastards!” she screamed into the unhearing viewer.

  “Viewer off, Daisy,” Sorrel commanded.

  “I’ll kill ’em,” Cal swore, heading for the weapons locker with renewed strength.

  Sorrel leaped up, blocking his path. “You’ll only get yourself killed.”

  “Get out of my way,” Cal warned, pushing Sorrel hard.

  “Stop, you idiot,” Sorrel said in exasperation, then hit Cal three times, twice in the stomach, once in the eye.

  Caught by surprise, Cal dropped to the floor. By the time he struggled back to his feet Sorrel was snapping a sleep hypo out of his med kit. Cal tried to dodge, but Sorrel winged him with the hypo. “Moron,” Cal muttered as his eyeballs rolled up. Sorrel caught him as he fell. “I’ll kill the fiends anyway. Wait till I get up.”

  But by the time Cal returned to consciousness, the fiends, and the followers, and the vanquished friends, had all already died.

  Two days later Sorrel called a council of war. They were sitting in the rec bay, weighing possibilities. “Bring in a battleship,” was Cal’s first, half-serious suggestion.

  Sorrel shuddered. “Right. I’m sure the Rosans work every bit as well under compulsion as Men do.”

  Wandra bit her nails. “Isn’t there some way we can talk with the new leaders?”

  Sorrel shrugged. “They know how to reach us—the radcom’s in perfect shape. I’m afraid, though, that they’re not interested. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess they’d forgotten us.”

  Cal sneered. “What? Forget their God?”

  Daisy rang an alert bell. “We have visitors.”

  Sorrel looked up. “Are they armed?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s see ’em.”

  The vidscreen brightened, to show a small party of Rosans. The two leaders, carefully facing away from the cavern works, proudly bore the medallions of FTLcom techs. “Connect us to the external two-way, Daisy,” Sorrel said as he rose. “Hello,” he waved to the Rosans. “Glad to see somebody finally came around.”

  Several of the followers looked away, muttering, touching their shoulders with their hands, then sweeping a half-circle, as in the prayers of the Faith of Six Parents. Even the leaders averted their eyes.

  One of them spoke. “Men of Earth, my children will remember this moment forever. We apologize for disturbing you.”

  “Nonsense, my friends.” Sorrel smiled, then whispered to Daisy. “Are you sure they’re unarmed?”

  Yes, Daisy printed on the vidscreen, invisible to the visitors.

  “Why don’t you two come in?” Sorrel continued.

  They swept the prayerful half-circle. “We’d be honored, Man Everwood.”

  The lock descended to them, and Sorrel sighed. “It’s so comfortable in here, those guys would freeze to death. Daisy, you’d better turn up the heat—” Sorrel turned to his co
mpanions—“and we’d better check out our coolsuits again.”

  They were older Rosans, Sorrel realized when they had come inside the ship. ‘ ‘What time is it out there?” he asked.

  “Close to dawn, Man Everwood.”

  Sorrel nodded.

  “As you can see, the blood of the FTLcom is weak, yet still lives.”

  “I hope that that’ll soon change?” Sorrel asked. “Else you shouldn’t have risked coming here.”

  “Yes. During nightspin there’s still much danger. But the dayspinners never turned as fanatical, though Supremi attitudes abound. We think you could return to MoonBender during dayspin with little risk.”

  Cal banged the table. “Great. So we can get the project underway again.”

  The Rosans’ petals drooped. “Not quite so easy. Without at least neutrality from nightspin leaders, any dayspin work would be regularly sabotaged. Further, dayspin leaders wouldn’t make a commitment without nightspin assent—the nightspin Bloodbond is more powerful, since more people live in nightspin time.”

  Sorrel muttered. “So we have to get nightspin authority.”

  “Yes.”

  Sorrel got up, started pacing around the room. “Tell me. Would they kill me on sight, if I returned during nightspin?”

  The two Rosans spoke briefly, then the one replied. “No, we don’t think so—the Supremi religion is still rooted, after all, in the Faith of Six Parents, and they must

  revere you for that. Now that all’s calmer, you might be safe. But Man Furenz and Man Minov concern us; their danger would be great.”

  “Good enough. I’ll go convince the Supremi leader—what’s his name?”

  “Kip Sur Tel Yan.”

  “Ah. Take me to him, and we’ll have priority 1A again before his bloodfeast.” The Rosans gawked. “How?”

  Sorrel pursed his lips. “I shall be like a Lazarine unto him,” he said grimly. No one understood, and he waved his hands. “Fear not. Kip Sur is putty for my molding. Soon he’ll know the FTLcom is the most magnificent weapon the Supremi ever dreamed of.” And Balcyrak will be proud of me, he thought sourly. He strapped his infrared goggles back into place and departed with the Rosans.