Chapter 8
Dr. Omer Abraham, Chief Scientist at Avionia Station, leaned closer to examine the print in the mud. He swatted at a buzzing insect steadily circling his head.
"It's human," Bernie Korytsa said. Bernie was one of the ground crew assigned to monitor the movements of the local Avionian tribe.
"Well, maybe one of us came through here recently. Are you sure we didn't leave the print here last visit?"
"Doc," Bernie said patiently, "it's fresh. It's been made within the last couple of days. More than one too. I've been through this whole area. Quite a few people have been here, and so have the natives. Means only one thing, Doc: somebody's been trading with them for the stones." Korytsa admired Abraham, but sometimes the scientist got so absorbed in his research he failed to see the obvious. "And look at these." Korytsa handed Abraham three tiny brass capsules.
Abraham examined the tiny capsules. They were very bright, about twenty-five millimeters long, ten millimeters in diameter, and capped with a soft gray metal, perhaps lead, at one end. "What the...?" He looked up.
Korytsa shrugged. "Trade goods?"
Abraham rolled the capsules in his palm. "They're shiny. You know how the Avionians like shiny things. Yeah. Trade goods. Well, the Avionians didn't make these things, that's for sure." He slipped the capsules into a pocket, straightened up, and wiped perspiration from the side of his face. "Shit," he said. "I knew we should never have gotten into retailing the gastroliths. I knew that would blow the whole operation."
"We make one orbit per day." Korytsa chuckled. "All they had to do was come in from the opposite direction—and we never look outward unless we're expecting visitors. Gutsy bastards."
"Goddamned criminals," Abraham snorted. "But you know what, Bernie?"
"They're gonna get rich, Doc?"
"No," he answered carefully. "Well, yes, if they get away with poaching. Yes, they'll get very rich, Bernie. But something else: they know what's going on here. They know there's no incurable plague infesting Avionia."
Korytsa shrugged. "So they took a chance?"
"Maybe." Abraham was silent for a moment. "But I bet they knew the plague story was only a cover. And if they knew, Bernie, that can only mean someone talked. One of us."
Korytsa said nothing for a moment. "I don't think so, Doc." Bernie Korytsa was not an academic; he was a man with vast practical knowledge and experience, and Dr. Abraham had come to respect his judgment. "We all sign the confidentiality and security oaths, and you know what happened to the last guy who blabbed. But, Doc, there are people high up in government who are cleared to know what we're doing here. And they don't sign any damn agreement to keep quiet."
Abraham was silent for a long time. "Well," he said at last, "let's get the team together and return to the station. Dr. Hoxey's got to know about this."
Looking ahead to the time when the Avionians would have full contact with the humans of the Confederation, finding out more about the birdlike inhabitants of Avionia was the major focus of activity at the station.
Descended from evolutionary analogs to the birds of Old Earth, but without ever having developed flight, Avionian physiology was strangely familiar to xenobiologists like Omer Abraham. This was because the Avionians also possessed features reminiscent of mammalian development. The Avionian brain, for instance, was fissured, much as it is in mammals, but with large optic lobes, as in birds. But most fascinating of all to Abraham was that the superficial cerebral cortex in the Avionian brain was thick and fissured, unlike that of birds. On the other hand, the corpus striatum, very important in avian brains because it received and integrated sensory perceptions, also appeared to play a significant role in Avionian brain function.
Likewise, both the cerebellum and cerebrum of the Avionian brain appeared to be of equal importance in its function. As a result, the locals possessed the motor functions of birds, such as excellent balance and the learning and reasoning ability of the higher mammals. How those apparently contradictory features interrelated so well was a major question scientists like Abraham were devoted to solving.
The station itself was actually a McCormick-class commercial space station converted for scientific research. It belonged to the Confederation's Ministry of Science, Bureau of Human Habitability Exploration and Investigation. It required a crew of twenty, and could accommodate fifty-five scientists and technicians. There were a total of three hundred scientists, technicians, and crew in the Avionian Program. The normal tour at the station was five years, so station complements—a total of three, with a fourth on standby from which replacements could be drawn—rotated at five-year intervals. Each complement was known as a shift, and was identified by a letter, A through D. Dr. Hoxey was the head of C shift.
Each person in the program had signed a contract with the BHHEI to complete at least two full tours at the station, which guaranteed a pool of experienced and knowledgeable personnel to conduct necessary observations and experiments, and limited the number of people who had direct knowledge of the project to a relatively small group. Good incentives—long-term, very lucrative employment—encouraged them to keep quiet about the place while performing other jobs between tours. The most binding, however, was that the contracts stipulated if an employee broke the vow of silence about Avionia, swift criminal prosecution would follow: talkers were summarily consigned to a penal world, their sentences to run for life or until secrecy about Avionia was no longer required.
Until recently, it seemed to have been working.
At intervals it was necessary to adjust the orbit of Avionia Station, and it was assumed that the rocket burn had been observed by the more advanced Avionians, but since Confederation policy strictly limited contact to only the most primitive inhabitants, the effect of the firings in the night skies was unknown.
Officially, the station was in place to quarantine the world because a strain of bacteria deadly to human life had been discovered on its surface. Ostensibly, Confederation scientists were working to find a cure, to prevent its spread to other worlds. They could not do that safely on an inhabited world, hence the necessity for keeping a space station in orbit around Avionia. That story worked to keep most intruders away.
Strapped into the imaging machine, the creature, one of several recently abducted from a remote region of the planet, emitted a high-pitched shriek.
"For Christ's sake, Thelma, if you can't stop the goddamned procedure, at least turn the sound off!" Dr. Abraham shouted. He had just come into the laboratory, the mud of Avionia still fresh on his boots.
"It is essential."
"Everything's ‘essential’ with you, Thelma," Abraham grunted disgustedly. In fact, "essential" was one of Dr. Thelma Hoxey's favorite words. "Thelma, I've got some very important news—"
"It is essential," she continued, "that we discover how the creatures' brains function." Hoxey had been Chief of Avionia Station for two and a half years. She had been picked from the replacement pool after her predecessor died when his entry vehicle burned up on a landing. Her first edict after taking over had been that Chief of Station would no longer make any landings on Avionia.
"Thelma, three of them have died in that thing so far. They're ultrasensitive to the X rays."
"All right, Omer," Hoxey sighed. She signed to a technician to stop the imaging process.
"Thank you," Abraham said, relieved. He hated it when Thelma went stubborn on him.
"You are certainly welcome, Doctor." Hoxey bowed slightly. Dr. Thelma Hoxey was by-the-book and formal in all her professional relations. Her eyes connected with Abraham's. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of affection for her, but damnit, this was business and he wasn't going to back down.
The obvious pain experienced by the Avionians during the probes greatly disturbed Abraham. In his opinion, the creatures should be treated like human beings, not experimental animals. Hoxey, however, had already convinced the bureaucrats in the Ministry of Science that the experiments were essential to gathering a compl
ete understanding of how the Avionians functioned. But just then Abraham had other bones to pick with his boss.
"Thelma, we've had visitors." He held out the three brass capsules they'd just found. She looked up at him inquisitively. "These, whatever they are, were left behind on the surface just recently. I believe someone's been trading with one of the tribes for stones."
Hoxey held out her hand and examined the capsules. Abraham told her about the evidence they'd just found indicating other humans had been on Avionia. Briefly he outlined his reasons for concluding they were poachers.
"Why didn't you look harder for them, Omer?"
"I think they'd already departed. Besides, Thelma, anyone who'd take a chance on life in a penal colony to come here wouldn't balk at killing a bunch of interfering scientists, would they? We're unarmed."
"Good God, Omer," she gasped. "What do we do if these poachers decide to come here?"
Bernie Korytsa, who'd been standing silently nearby during the exchange, stepped up to the two scientists. "Be ready to leave orbit at a moment's notice, and send a drone back home right now. Call in the Marines."
"'Call in the Marines,'" Hoxey mimicked. She'd had plenty of time to recover her composure, and now she considered Korytsa's recommendation irresponsibly hasty.
Omer Abraham, lying beside her in the semidarkness of her room, reached for his cigarettes. "Smoke?" She took one and they lighted up. He drew deeply and exhaled. "Bernie—and I too, Thelma—think other humans have visited Avionia, poachers, people after the gastroliths, undoubtedly. We need to report this at once."
"But honestly, Omer, the Marines?"
"It's just an expression, Thelma. BHHEI will decide how best to handle the situation." For all her education and experience, he sometimes found Thelma incredibly naive and literal. "But we have to report this, love. Jesus! Poachers on Avionia? Why, they will not only ruin everything we've been working to preserve, they'll destroy the native cultures of the planet. We can't let that happen."
Hoxey only grunted and blew smoke through her nostrils. She was perfectly aware of the threat the poachers represented. But what bothered her more than their danger to the Avionian environment was that an investigation would require the presence on her station of people she could not control. Dr. Thelma Hoxey was very jealous of her authority as a shift leader. She could handle the constant disagreements among her scientific staff, especially over the practice of experimentation on live Avionians, but if some kind of police contingent were sent to Avionia Station to apprehend the poachers, it would not operate under her orders and would probably be able to override her decisions if there was a conflict of any sort.
"I don't see any reason to get too concerned without more information, Omer."
Abraham, about to draw on his cigarette, stopped in midbreath. "You don't?"
"Well, don't we need to know more about who might be down there, darling? And if they've already got what they wanted and left, well, asking for the Marines might be overreacting, don't you think?"
"Thelma, those men are probably still down there somewhere, in violation of laws that carry the harshest penalties. They undoubtedly are armed. We are not. If we go interfering with what they're doing, they will not hesitate to kill us."
"Well, I don't want to do anything too hasty, Omer."
"God's balls in a basket!" Abraham shouted. "I swear, Thelma, there are times when I just don't understand you at all!" Angrily, he mashed out his cigarette. "This is serious, Thelma. We can't afford to delay sending a drone for help."
"It is essential we think this thing through, Omer. I want to discuss this with the staff tomorrow."
"Damnit, Thelma!" Abraham sighed. He knew how stubborn Thelma could be. He lit another cigarette. They lay silently together, smoking.
"Omer?"
"Yes?" He didn't feel like talking to Thelma any more that night. When he finished his cigarette, he was going to return to his own quarters.
"Let's get married."
Abraham started. She had to be joking. "We may as well be married, the way we argue all the time, Thelma," he replied. They had been lovers for years. Given the lengthy assignments, marriages and liaisons were a common fact among the scientists and technicians who staffed Avionia Station. No one considered it remarkable at all that C shift's chief scientist and its leader had paired up. They were mature professionals and able to keep separate their personal relationship from their official duties. But marriage?
Abraham thought about the proposal. Thelma Hoxey was a brilliant woman, if a bit stuffy at times, and still in her prime. She did not spend much time or effort on her personal appearance, but there was plenty of fire under that dowdy exterior. Despite their often bitter professional disagreements, the two got along well together.
"Well—okay," Abraham said. "We can have the administrator draw up the papers tomorrow and then—ye gods!" he exclaimed as Thelma rolled over and grabbed him. Omer Abraham forgot about going back to his own room.
"My my, don't we look a bit haggard this morning?" Dr. B. E. Gurselfanks remarked as Abraham took his place at the conference table.
"Ahem. Bad night, Chief?" Bernie Korytsa asked, winking broadly at Gurselfanks. The other two members of the staff present at the emergency meeting—Dannul Gragg, the station administrator and "Sparky" Markoney, C shift's communications expert—exchanged amused glances.
"Where's Thelma?" Bernie asked, kicking Gragg under the table.
"She'll be right along," Abraham muttered. He couldn't help smiling. The night before was the best night's sleep he'd ever lost.
Thelma breezed in, full of energy and smiling broadly. "Well well, let's begin!" she said cheerily, taking her place beside Abraham. "We have a decision to make, gentlemen. You know what it involves."
"Here are the options," Abraham said. He laid them out plainly: send a drone immediately to ask for assistance, or wait until they could find out on their own if the poachers were still down on Avionia and what their strength was.
"We particularly need to know what contacts they've had with the inhabitants," Gurselfanks responded. If the poachers had established relations with the Avionians, it might mean he could too, and thus learn more of their language, in situ. He chafed at the no-contact restrictions BHHEI had put on them. "I say let's wait until we know more."
"Dan?" Hoxey asked.
"Well, I dunno," the station administrator said carefully, stroking his beard. He never liked to commit himself until he was sure his decision would be justified by higher authority. Frankly, he wanted to know what the others thought before he volunteered an opinion.
"Sparky?"
"Thelma, you're the boss." Markoney smiled.
"We know where you stand, Omer," Hoxey said. "You too, Bernie'" she added. "Looks like it's four to two. We wait."
"Just a minute, Thelma," Korytsa said. "Those tracks we discovered yesterday, they were still fresh. The poachers are not gone. But look at these." He picked several shiny cylinders from fifteen or so in a specimen bin. All but one were open at one end. "Smell them." He handed them around.
"Ugh," Gragg. exclaimed. "What are these things? They have a burned smell about them."
"Look at the flanged bottom parts," Korytsa said. "Look at this one. See how it's crimped around the lead tip? I did some research last night. I think I know what these things are."
Hoxey raised her eyebrows. "What are they, then, Bernie?"
"Well, I think the ones with open ends are expended cartridges from a projectile weapon operated by the action of exploding gases."
"You mean gunpowder?" Gurselfanks asked, turning one of the little brass tubes in his fingers. "Why, nobody's used gunpowder in—"
"Hundreds of years," Abraham finished.
"Nevertheless, that's what I think these things are. Gunpowder cartridges. If that's so, then these poachers are supplying the Avionians with weapons."
Gragg looked nervously at Thelma Hoxey. "Thelma, if Bernie's right, why, these poachers, they'd
—they'd—"
"If Bernie's right, Dan, these men will stop at nothing," Omer said. "And you can be sure they brought modern weapons with them. There is so much potential for money here that they would not hesitate to add murder to their other crimes."
"Good God," Gurselfanks whispered. "Thelma, maybe it would be wiser if we did call for assistance?"
"Maybe Omer's right," Gragg muttered. He handed the cartridge back to Korytsa as if it were still hot.
"Hey," Markoney interjected, "these guys, these poachers, they've got to have a ship of their own. They could come up here, Thelma, any time they want to. I didn't sign on to become a target for criminals. Let's call for help. Damn straight!"
"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?" Abraham asked Korytsa, nodding at the expended cartridges. Korytsa shook his head. "Good. Don't. We don't need to panic the others. Thelma?"
"Sparky, send a drone," she said, resigned but not convinced.
Abraham held up a forefinger. "One more thing, Thelma. Until help does arrive, we'd better not send anyone from here planetside."
"Omer! We can't stop sending observers. Observation is a prime directive!"
"Thelma, I don't know how many times I've got to tell you this, but those men down there mean business. They are—"
"Very well, Omer, you don't have to shout. I'll cancel all planetside operations until help arrives."
"What are you going to tell the staff, Thelma?" Korytsa asked, then regretted he'd asked the question.
Hoxey's face turned red with anger and frustration. "I'll tell them what I damn well please, Bernie. I am the goddamned shift leader up here! Sparky, send the drone. Call in the Marines."
Chapter 9
When Brigadier Sturgeon got the order, five months after Avionia Station decided to ask for Marines, it didn't take him any time at all to decide to deploy Company L. He thought if he rid himself of the immediacy of the mystery surrounding third platoon, he might be able to think more clearly about what they'd actually found on Society 437. He knew good and well it wasn't any goddamn microorganism.
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