Orphan Star

by Alan Dean Foster

  But it took very little time for each individual to decide.

  On the twenty-third day after the question was asked, Maybeso appeared outside the cave. Flinx and Sylzenzuzex were sitting by the lakeshore with Fluff, Moam, and Bluebright. They didn’t notice the new arrival.

  At that moment, Flinx was holding a long tough vine with sharp shards of bone attached to one end. While the others of their small group watched, he was teaching Fluff how to fish. Fluff looked delighted as he brought in the fourth catch of the day, a rounded silvery organism that looked like a cross between a blowfish and a trout.

  Swimmers, the Ujurrians explained, had smaller lights than najacs and other land prey. Therefore fishing was a smaller evil than hunting.

  “This too is part of the new game?” Moam inquired, duplicating the vine and bone hook arrangement perfectly on her first try.

  “It is,” Flinx admitted.

  “That’s good,” Bluebright observed.

  “I hope everyone agrees.”

  Sylzenzuzex downed another clutch of berries. The sugar content was satisfactory, and the freshness enlivened her diet.

  Miffed, Maybeso vanished from before the cave and reappeared next to her. She nearly fell off the smooth granite she’d been crouched on.

  “Everyone has answered,” Maybeso announced. “Most everybody says yes. We play the new game now.”

  “Fourteen thousand years of digging, down the excretory canal,” Sylzenzuzex commented, climbing to her feet again and brushing at her abdomen. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Flinx.”

  “Not to worry,” Maybeso snorted at her. “Only here do we play new game, now. Other places on backsides of the world will continue with old game. If new game is not fun,” he paused slightly, “we go back to old game.” He turned a forceful gaze on Flinx. “Forever,” he added.

  Flinx shifted uncomfortably as the enigmatic Ujurrian vanished. Several weeks ago he had been so sure of himself, fired with a messianic zeal he had never previously experienced. Now the first real doubts were beginning to gnaw at his confidence. He turned away from the stares around him—the ursinoids were well equipped for staring.

  “Is good,” was all Fluff murmured. “How do we begin the game, Flinx?”

  He indicated the perfect hook-and-line arrangements everyone had completed. “Fire was a start. This is a start. Now I want everyone who works for the people at the mine to come here to learn with us—at nighttime, so the cold minds will not become suspicious. That would be,” he hesitated only briefly, “bad for the game.”

  “But when will we sleep?” Moam wanted to know.

  “I won’t talk too long,” replied Flinx hopefully. “It’s necessary. Maybe,” he added without much confidence, “we can accomplish the first part of the game without making any light places dark. Ours or anyone else’s.”

  “Is good,” declared Fluff. “We will tell the others at the mine.”

  Sylzenzuzex sidled close to him as the ursinoids dispersed.

  “Teach them something basic about civilization while we help ourselves,” he murmured. “Once they get rid of the people at the mine, they’ll have a start at obtaining all the nuts and berries they want. . . .”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I hope,” Teleen auz Rudenuaman ventured, “that the Baron concludes his hunt soon. We’re running low on a number of synthetics and supplements for the food synthesizers, and we’re nearly out of stock on several other unduplicatable items.”

  “There is no need to worry about the Baron,” Meevo FFGW assured her from beneath his stiff human face.

  There really wasn’t any reason for concern, she insisted to herself, turning to look out the newly replaced pink window panels. On the mountain above, the miners worked steadily, efficiently as always.

  The Baron had made several journeys through Commonwealth territory before. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help experiencing a pang of concern every time one of her ships carried any of the disguised reptilians. She might survive, via a web of confusing explanations, if a Commonwealth patrol ship ever intercepted one of those missions and discovered the AAnn on board.

  But she would lose an irreplaceable business associate. Not all of the AAnn aristocracy were as understanding of human motivations or as business-minded as Riidi WW.

  The office communit buzzed for attention. Meevo rose and answered the call. Turning from the vista of forest and mountain, she saw his flexible humanoid mask twist repeatedly, a sign that incomprehensible reptilian contortions were occurring beneath.

  “Said what . . . what happened?” The AAnn’s thick voice rose. Teleen leaned closer. “What is going on, Meevo?”

  Slowly the AAnn engineer replaced the communit receiver. “That . . . was Chargis at the mine. The escaped human and thranx have returned alive. He reports that there are many natives with them, and that the newcomers have joined with those working the mine in armed revolt.”

  “No, no . . .” She felt faint as his words overpowered her. “The natives, in arms . . . that’s impossible.” Her voice rose to a scream as she regained control of herself. “Impossible! They don’t know the difference between a power drill and a beamer. Why would they want to revolt, anyway? What do they want . . . more nuts and berries? This is insane!” Her face elongated suddenly, dangerously. “No, wait—you said the human and thranx had returned with them?”

  “So Chargis insists.”

  “But that’s impossible, too. They should have died weeks ago from exposure. Somehow,” she concluded inescapably, “they must have succeeded in communicating with the natives.”

  “I would say that is understatement,” the engineer declared. “I was told the natives possessed no language, no means of communicating abstract concepts among themselves—let alone with outsiders.”

  “We have overlooked something, Meevo.”

  “As a nye, I say that is so,” the engineer concurred. “But it will not matter in the end. It is one thing to teach a savage how to fire a weapon and another to explain the tactics of warfare to it.”

  “Where did they get weapons, anyway?” Teleen wondered, staring up the mountainside once more. The distant structures showed no sign of the conflict evidently taking place within.

  “Chargis said that they overwhelmed the guard and broke into the mill armory,” Meevo explained. “There was only one guard, as there are none here who would steal weapons. Chargis went on to say that the natives were clumsy and undisciplined in breaking in, and that the human and thranx tried hard to quiet them.” He grinned viciously. “They may have unleashed something they cannot control. Chargis said . . .” The engineer hesitated.

  “Go on,” Teleen prompted, determined to listen to it all, “what else did Chargis say?”

  “He said that the natives gave him the impression that they regarded this all as . . . a game.”

  “A game,” she repeated slowly. “Let them continue to think that, even as they are dying. Contact all personnel on base,” she ordered. “Have them abandon all buildings except those here, centered around Administration. We have hand beamers and laser cannon big enough to knock a military shuttle out of the sky. We’ll just relax here, holding communications, food processing, this structure, and the power station until the Baron returns.

  “After we’ve incinerated some of their number,” she continued casually, as though she were speaking of pruning weeds, “the game may lose interest for them. If not, the shuttles will end it quickly enough.” She glanced back at him. “Also have Chargis gather some good marksmen into two groups. They can use the two big groundcars and keep our friendly workers bottled up where they are. Mind the shooting, though; I don’t want anything damaged within the mine buildings unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. That equipment is expensive. Barring that, they can have target practice on any natives they find outside.”

  She added, in a half-mutter, “But under no circumstances are they to kill the human youth or the thranx female. I want both of them healthy and unda
maged.”

  She shook her head, disgusted, as the engineer moved to relay her orders. “Damned inconvenient. We’re going to have to import and train a whole new clutch of manual laborers. . . .”

  Everything, Flinx thought furiously, had gone smoothly and according to plan—at the start. Then he had watched helplessly as months of planning and instruction were cast aside, submerged in the uncontrollable pleasure the Ujurrians took in breaking into the armory to get at the toys which made things vanish. Not even Fluff could calm them.

  “They’re enjoying themselves, Flinx,” Sylzenzuzex explained, trying to reassure him. “Can you blame them? This game is much more exciting than anything they’ve ever played before.”

  “I wonder if they’ll still think so when some of their lights are put out,” he muttered angrily. “Will they think my game is still fun after they’ve seen some of their friends lying on the ground with their insides burnt out by Rudenuaman’s beamers?” He turned away, speechless with anger at himself and at the Ujurrians.

  “I wanted to take over the mine silently, by surprise, without killing anyone,” he finally grumbled. “With all the noise they made breaking into the armory, I’m sure the remainder of the building staff heard and reported below. If she’s smart, and she is, Rudenuaman will place her remaining people on round-the-clock alert and wait for us to come to her.”

  He grew aware of Fluff standing nearby, looked deep into those expectant eyes. “I’m afraid your people are going to have to kill now, Fluff.”

  The ursinoid looked back at him unwaveringly. “Is understood, Flinx-friend. Is a serious game we play, this civilization.”

  “Yes,” Flinx murmured, “it always has been. I’d hoped to avoid old mistakes, but . . .”

  His voice died away and he sat on the floor, staring morosely at the metal surface between his knees. A cool leathery face rubbed up against his—Pip. What he didn’t expect was the gentle pressure below the back of his neck, where his b-thorax would have been had he been thranx.

  Looking back and up he saw faceted eyes gazing into his. “Now you can only do the best you can do,” Sylzenzuzex murmured softly. The delicate truhand moved gently, massaging his back. “You have begun this Thing. If you don’t help finish it, that female down there will.”

  He felt a little better at that, but only a little.

  A sharp crack like tearing metal foil sounded clearly. Flinx was on his feet, running in the direction of the sound, which was followed soon by a second. From a transparent panel running the length of an access corridor they were able to peer out and down the gentle slope on the right side of the large building. It was devoid of growth, which had been cleared off for a distance of twenty meters from the side of the structure.

  Across the clearing, near the edge of the forest, they could see the hovering shapes of two groundcars. The same cars, Flinx noted, which had met their shuttle upon its arrival here so many weeks ago.

  Each car mounted a small laser cannon near its front. Even as they watched, a thin red beam jumped from the end of one such weapon to the rocky slope ahead and above. There were several small shafts there, sunk into the cliffside.

  Soon the clean rock was scarred by three black ellipsoids, modest splotches of destruction where brush had been crisped and the lighter silicate rocks fused to glass.

  From somewhere at the upper end of the mine shaft a blue line from a hand beamer flashed down to strike the exterior of the groundcar. The car’s screen was more than strong enough to absorb and dissipate such tiny bursts of energy.

  Unexpectedly, the two cars turned and moved rapidly back downslope toward the main installation. Their muted hum penetrated into the corridor where Flinx and the others watched silently as the cars, floating smoothly a meter above the surface on thick cushions of air, turned and stopped just out of beamer range.

  A moment later the familiar bulk of Bluebright came churning around the corner toward them. Pulling up sharply, he let his words spill out in between steam-engine pants: “They have killed Ay, Bee, and Cee,” he gasped, his enormous eyes wider than usual.

  “How did it happen?” Flinx asked quietly. “I told everyone that they wouldn’t fire into these buildings. They won’t risk damaging their equipment because they’re not yet convinced we pose a serious threat to them.”

  Fluff took over the explanation, having already communicated silently and rapidly with Bluebright. “Ay, Bee, and Cee went outside the metal caves.”

  “But why?” Flinx half asked, half cried.

  “They thought they had created a new idea,” Fluff explained slowly. Flinx showed no comprehension, so the ursinoid continued. “These past many days you have told us over and over that this game you call civilization should be played according to common sense, logic, reason. From what Bluebright tells me, Ay, Bee, and Cee decided among themselves that if this was so the cold minds and the others would see that it was reason and logic to cooperate with us, since we have taken their mine from them.

  “They went out without weapons to talk logic and reason to those in the machines. But,” and Fluff’s voice grew hurt at the wonder of it, “those did not even listen to Ay, Bee, and Cee. They killed them without even listening. How can this thing be?” The shaggy head peered puzzledly down at Flinx. “Are not the cold minds and the ones like you down there also civilized? Yet they did this thing without talking. Is this the reason you speak of?”

  Flinx and Sylzenzuzex had yet to see one of the jovial ursinoids angry. Fluff appeared close to it, though it really wasn’t anger. It was frustration and lack of understanding.

  Flinx tried to explain. “There are those who don’t play the game fair, Fluff. Those who cheat.”

  “What is cheating?” wondered Fluff.

  Flinx endeavored to explain.

  “I see,” Fluff announced solemnly when the youth had finished. “This is a remarkable concept. I would not have believed it possible. The others must be told. It explains much of the game.”

  Turning, he and Bluebright left Flinx and Sylzenzuzex alone in the corridor.

  “How long,” she asked, staring out the window panel toward the distant complex, “do you think they will sit down there before growing impatient and coming up after us?”

  “Probably until the shuttles return. If we haven’t resolved this before then—no, we must finish this before the Baron comes back. . . . We have nothing but hand beamers here. They have at least two surface-to-space, gimbal-mounted laser cannons down by the landing strip, in addition to the smaller ones mounted on the groundcars. Possibly more. We can’t fight that kind of weaponry. I hope Fluff and Bluebright can get that through their family’s hairy skulls.” He moved up alongside her to stare out the panel.

  “I’m sure the two big guns are directed toward us right now. If we tried a mass retreat they’d incinerate the lot of us, just like Ay, Bee, and Cee. We’re going to have to—”

  A high-pitched scream suddenly floated shockingly down the corridor. It rose from mid-tenor to the high, wavering shriek of the utterly terrified . . . then stopped. It was undeniably human.

  The second scream was not. It came from an AAnn. Then came more screams of both varieties.

  Pip was fluttering nervously above Flinx’s shoulder and cold perspiration had started flowing from beneath the crop of red hair.

  “Now what?” he muttered uneasily, as they started off in the direction of the screams. Every so often another scream would be heard, followed at regular intervals by an answering sound from the opposite camp.

  In one respect they were all alike—short and intense.

  They must have heard two dozen before encountering Moam and Bluebright. “What happened?” he demanded. “What were those screams?”

  “Lights,” began Moam.

  “Going out,” Bluebright finished.

  Flinx discovered he was trembling. There was blood on Moam’s naturally grinning mouth. Both broad, flat muzzles were stained with it. There were small groups of worker
s and guards who had been unsuccessful in their attempt to flee the captured mine.

  “You’ve killed the prisoners,” was all he could stutter.

  “Oh yes,” Moam admitted with blood-curdling cheerfulness. “We not sure for a while, but Fluff explained to us and family. Cold minds and people down there,” then gesturing in the direction of the main base, “cheat. We think we understand now what is to cheat. It means not playing the game by the rules, yes?”

  “Yes, but these aren’t my rules,” he whispered dazedly, “not my rules.”

  “But is okay with us,” Bluebright offered. ‘We understand these rules not yours, Flinx-friend. Not good rules. But cold minds make up new rules, we play that way okay too.”

  The Ujurrians waddled off down the corridor.

  Flinx sank to his knees, leaned up against the wall. “Game, it’s still all a game to them.” Suddenly he looked at Sylzenzuzex and shuddered. “Goddamn it, I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

  “You are she who rides the grizel,” Sylzenzuzex said without anger. “You have wakened it. Now you must ride it.”

  “You don’t see,” he muttered disconsolately. “I wanted Fluff and Moam and Bluebright and all the rest of them to be spared all our mistakes. I want them to become the great thing they can—and not,” he finished bitterly, “just a smarter version of us.”

  Sylzenzuzex moved nearer. “You still hold the grizel by its tails, Flinx. You haven’t been thrown yet. It is not you who taught them to kill—remember, they do hunt meat.”

  “Only when they have to,” he reminded her. “Still,” and he showed signs of relaxing some, “this may be a time when they have to. Yes, a snowtime hunt, to live. The rules have been altered, but we still have rules. They just need to be defined further.”

  “That’s right, Flinx, you tell them when it’s all right to kill and when it’s not.”

  He looked at her oddly, but if there was anything hidden beneath the surface of her words he couldn’t sense it. “That’s the one thing I never wanted to do, even by proxy.”