The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Fifth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  Drill met the party at the airlock this time, linked with Memory and Lowbrain in Zen Synch so as not to accidentally step on the President or one of her party. He smiled and greeted each by name and led them toward the conference room.

  “I believe,” said Cup, “we may avoid future misunderstandings, if your Excellency would consent to inform us about your species. We have suffered some confusion in regard to your distinction between ‘conscious’ and ‘unconscious’ entities. Could you please explain the difference, as you understand it?”

  “A pleasure, your Excellency,” Drill said. “Our species, unlike yours, is highly specialized. Once, eight million years ago, we were like you—a small, nonspecialized species type is very useful at a certain stage of evolution. But once a species reaches a certain complexity in its social and technological evolution, the need for specialists becomes too acute. Through both deliberate genetic manipulation and natural evolution, humanity turned away from a generalist species, toward highly specialized forms adapted to particular functions and environments. We understand this to be a natural function of species evolution.

  “In the course of our explorations into manipulating our species, we discovered that the most efficient way of coding large amounts of information was in our own cell structure—our DNA. For tasks requiring both large and small amounts of data, we arranged that, as much as possible, these would be performed by organic entities, human subspecies. Since many of these tasks were boring and repetitive, we reasoned that advanced consciousness, such as that which we both share, was not necessary. You have met several unconscious entities. Frog, for example, and the Slab on which I lie. Many parts of my Ship are also alive, though not conscious.”

  “That would explain the smell,” one of the delegation murmured.

  “The terraforming Ships,” Drill went on, “which attacked your planets—these were also designed so as not to require a conscious operator.”

  The Shars squinted up at Drill with their little eyes. “But why?” Cup asked.

  “Terraforming is a dull process. It takes many years. No conscious mind could possibly enjoy it.”

  “But your species would find itself at war without knowing it. If your explanation for the cause of this war is correct, you already have.”

  Drill shrugged massively. “This happens from time to time. Sometimes other species which have reached our stage of development have attacked us in the same way. When it does, we arrange a peace.”

  “You consider these attacks normal?” Opposite Minister-General Vang was the one who spoke.

  “These occasional encounters seem to be a natural result of species evolution,” Drill said.

  Vang turned to one of the Shars near him and spoke in several sharp barks. Drill heard a few words: “Billions lost … five planets … atrocities … natural result!”

  “I believe,” said President Gram, “that we are straying from the agenda.”

  Vang looked at her. “Yes, honorable President. Please forgive me.”

  “The matter of withdrawal,” said President Gram, “to recognized truce lines.”

  Species at this stage of their development tend to be territorial, Memory reminded Drill. Their political mentality is based around the concept of borders. The idea of a borderless community of species may be perceived as a threat.

  I’ll try and go easy on them, Drill said.

  “The Memories on our terraforming Ships will be adjusted to account for your species,” Drill said. “After the adjustment, your people will no longer be in danger.”

  “In our case, it will take the disengage order several months to reach all our forces,” President Gram said. “How long will the order take to reach your own Ships?”

  “A century or so.” The Shars stared. “Memories at our exploration basis in this area will be adjusted first, of course, and these will adjust the Memories of terraforming Ships as they come in for maintenance and supplies.”

  “We’ll be subject to attack for another hundred years?” Vang’s tone mixed incredulity and scorn.

  “Our terraforming Ships move more or less at random, and only come into base when they run out of supplies. We don’t know where they’ve been till they report back. Though they’re bound to encounter a few more of your planets, your species will still survive, enough to continue your species evolution. And during that time you’ll be searching for and occupying new planets on your own. You’ll probably come out of this with a net gain.”

  “Have you no respect for life?” Vang demanded. Drill considered his answer.

  “All individuals die, Opposite Minister-General,” he said. “That is a fact of nature which no species has been able to alter. Only species can survive. Individuals are easily replaceable. Though you will lose some planets and a large number of individuals, your species as a whole will survive and may even prosper. What more could a species or its delegated representatives desire?”

  Opposite Minister-General Vang was glaring at Drill, his ears pricked forward, lips drawn back from his teeth. He said nothing.

  “We desire a cease-fire that is a true cease-fire,” President Gram said. Her hands were clasping and unclasping rhythmically on the edge of her chair. “Not a slow, authorized extermination of our species. Your position has an unwholesome smell. I am afraid we must end these discussions until you alter it.”

  “Position? This is not a position, honorable President. It is truth.”

  “We have nothing further to say.”

  Unhappily, Drill followed the Shar delegation to the airlock. “I do not lie, honorable President,” he said, but Gram only turned away and silently left the human Ship. The Shars in their pale thousands received her.

  * * *

  The Shar broadcasts were not heartening. Opposite Minister-General Vang was particularly vehement. Drill collected the highlights of the speeches as he speeded through Memory’s detailed remembrance. “Callous disregard … no common ground for communication … casual attitude toward atrocity … displays of obvious savagery … no respect for the individual … defend ourselves … this stinks in the nose.”

  The Shars leaped and barked in response. There were strange bubbling high-pitched laughing sounds that Drill found unsettling.

  “We hope to find a formula for peace,” President Gram said. “We will confer with all the ministers in session.” That was all.

  That night, the Shars surrounding Ship moaned, moving slowly in a giant circle, their arms linked. The laughing sounds that followed Vang’s speech did not cease entirely. He did not understand why they did not all go home and sleep.

  Long, long, Memory said. No comfort there.

  * * *

  Early in the morning, before dawn, there was a communication from President Gram. “I would like to meet with you privately. Away from the recorders, the coalition partners.”

  “I would like nothing better,” Drill said. He felt a small current of optimism begin to trickle into him.

  “Can I use an airlock other than the one we’ve been using up till now?”

  Drill gave President Gram instructions and met her in the other airlock. She was wearing a night cape with a hood. The Shars, circling and moaning, had paid her no attention.

  “Thank you for seeing me under these conditions,” she said, peering up at him from beneath the hood. Drill smiled. She shuddered.

  “I am pleased to be able to cooperate,” he said.

  Mash! Lowbrain demanded. It had been silent until Drill entered Zen Synch. Drill told it to be silent with a snarling vehemence that silenced it for the present.

  “This way, honorable President,” Drill said. He took her to his sleeping chamber—a small room, only fifty feet square. “Shall I send a Frog for one of your chairs?” he asked.

  “I will stand. Three legs seem to be more comfortable than two for standing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible, Ambassador Drill, that you could lower the intensity of the light here? I find it oppre
ssive.”

  Drill felt foolish, knowing he should have thought of this himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I will give the orders at once. I wish you had told me earlier.” He smiled nervously as he dimmed the lights and arranged himself on his Slab.

  “Honorable ambassador.” President Gram’s words seemed hesitant. “I wonder if it is possible … can you tell me the meaning of that facial gesture of yours, showing me your teeth?”

  “It is called a smile. It is intended as a gesture of benevolent reassurance.”

  “Showing of the teeth is considered a threat here, honorable ambassador. Some of us have considered this a sign that you wish to eat us.”

  Drill was astonished. “My goodness!” he said. “I don’t even eat meat! Just a kind of vegetable mash.”

  “I pointed out that your teeth seemed unsuitable for eating meat, but still it makes us uneasy. I was wondering…”

  “I will try to suppress the smile, yes. Eating meat! What an idea. Some of our military specialists, yes, and of course the Sharks and Shrikes and so on…” He told his Memory to enforce a strict ban against smiling in the presence of a Shar.

  Gram leaned back on her sturdy rear leg. Her cape parted, revealing her ribbons and badges of office, her four furry dugs. “I wanted to inform you of certain difficulties here, Ambassador Drill,” she said. “I am having difficulty holding together my coalition. Minister-General Vang’s faction is gaining strength. He is attempting to create a perception in the minds of Shars that you are untrustworthy and violent. Whether he believes this, or whether he is using this notion as a means of destabilizing the coalition, is hardly relevant—considering your species’ unprovoked attacks, it is not a difficult perception to reinforce. He is also trying to tell our people that the military is capable of dealing with your species.”

  Drill’s brain swam with Memory’s information on concepts such as “faction” and “coalition.” The meaning of the last sentence, however, was clear.

  “That is a foolish perception, honorable President,” he said.

  “His assurances on that score lack conviction.” Gram’s eyes were shiny. Her tone grew earnest. “You must give me something, ambassador. Something I can use to soothe the public mind. A way out of this dilemma. I tell you that it is impossible to expect us to sit idly by and accept the loss of an undefined number of planets over the next hundred years. I plead with you, ambassador. Give me something. Some way we can avoid attack. Otherwise…” She left the sentence incomplete

  Mash, Lowbrain wailed. Drill ignored it. He moved into Zen Synch with Memory, racing through possible solutions. Sweat gathered on his forehead, pouring down his vast shoulders.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, there is a possibility. If you could provide us with the location of all your occupied planets, we could dispatch a Ship to each with the appropriate Memories as cargo. If any of our terraforming Ships arrived, the Memories could be transferred at once, and your planets would be safe.”

  President Gram considered this. “Memories,” she said. “You’ve been using the term, but I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Stored information is vast, and even though human bodies are large we cannot always have all the information we need to function efficiently even in our specialized tasks,” Drill said. “Our human brains have been separated as to function. I have a Lowbrain, which is on my spinal cord above my pelvis. Lowbrain handles motor control of my lower body, routine monitoring of my body’s condition, eating, excretion, and sex. My perceptual centers, short-term memory, personality, and reasoning functions are handled by the brain in my skull—the classical brain, if you like. Long-term and specialized memory is the function of the large knob you see moving on my head, my Memory. My Memory records all that happens in great detail, and can recapitulate it at any point. It has also been supplied with information concerning the human species’ contacts with other non-human groups. It attaches itself easily to my nervous system and draws nourishment from my body. Specific memories can be communicated from one living Memory to another, or if it proves necessary I can simply give my Memory to another human, a complete transfer. I have another Memory aboard that I’m not using at the moment, a pilot Memory that can navigate and handle Ship, and I wore this Memory while in transit. I also have spare Memories in case my primary Memories fall ill. So you see, our specialization does not rule out adaptability—any piece of information needed by any of us can easily be transferred, and in far greater detail than by any mechanical medium.”

  “So you could return to your base and send out pilot Memories to our planets,” Gram said. “Memories that could halt your terraforming ships.”

  “That is correct.” Just in time, Memory managed to stop the twitch in Drill’s cheeks from becoming a smile. Happiness bubbled up in him. He was going to arrange this peace after all!

  “I am afraid that would not be acceptable, your Excellency,” President Gram said. Drill’s hopes fell.

  “Whyever not?”

  “I’m afraid the Minister-General would consider it a naïve attempt of yours to find out the location of our populated planets. So that your species could attack them, ambassador.”

  “I’m trying very hard, President Gram,” Drill said.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  Drill frowned and went into Zen Synch again, ignoring Lowbrain’s plaintive cries for mash and sex, sex and mash. Concepts crackled through his mind. He began to develop an erection, but Memory was drawing off most of the available blood and the erection failed. The smell of Drill’s sweat filled the room. President Gram wrinkled her nose and leaned back far onto her rear leg.

  “Ah,” Drill said. “A solution. Yes. I can have my Pilot memory provide the locations to an equivalent number of our own planets. We will have one another’s planets as hostage.”

  “Bravo, ambassador,” President Gram said quietly. “I think we may have a solution. But—forgive me—it may be said that we cannot trust your information. We will have to send ships to verify the location of your planets.”

  “If your ships go to my planet first,” Drill said, “I can provide your people with one of my spare Memories that will inform my species what your people are doing, and instruct the humans to cooperate. We will have to construct some kind of link between your radio and my Memory … maybe I can have my Ship grow one.”

  President Gram came forward off her third leg and began to pace forward, moving in her strange, fast, hobbling way. “I can present it to the council this way, yes,” she said. “There is hope here.” She stopped her movement, peering up at Drill with her ears pricked forward. “Is it possible that you could allow me to present this to the council as my own idea?” she asked. “It may meet with less suspicion that way.”

  “Whatever way is best,” said Drill. President Gram gazed into the darkened recesses of the room.

  “This smells good,” she said. Drill succeeded in suppressing his smile.

  * * *

  “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I am Drill.”

  “It’s nice to see you again, Drill.”

  “I think we can make the peace work.”

  “Everything will be all right, Drill. Drill, I’m sure everything will be all right.”

  “I’m so glad I had this chance. This is the chance of a lifetime.”

  “Drill, it’s nice to see you again.”

  * * *

  The next day President Gram called and asked to present a new plan. Drill said he would be pleased to hear it. He met the party at the airlock, having already dimmed the lights. He was very rigid in his attempts not to smile.

  They sat in the dimmed room while President Gram presented the plan. Drill pretended to think it over, then acceded. Details were worked out. First the location of one human planet would be given and verified—this planet, the Shar capital, would count as the first revealed Shar planet. After verification, each side would reveal the location of two planets, verify those, then reveal four, and
so on. Even counting the months it would take to verify the location of planets, the treaty should be completed within less than five years.

  That night the Shars went mad. At President Gram’s urging, they built fires, danced, screamed, sang. Drill watched on his Ship’s video walls. Their rhythms beat at his head.

  He smiled. For hours.

  * * *

  The Ship obligingly grew a communicator and coupled it to one of Drill’s spare Memories. The two were put aboard a Shar ship and sent in the direction of Drill’s home. Drill remained in his ship, watching entertainment videos Ship received from the Shars’ channels. He didn’t understand the dramas very well, but the comedies were delightful. The Shars could do the most intricate, clever things with their flexible bodies and odd tripod legs—it was delightful to watch them.

  Maybe I could take some home with me, he thought. They can be very entertaining.

  The thousands of Shars waiting outside Ship began to drift away. Within a month only a few hundred were left. Their singing was quiet, triumphant, assured. Sometimes Drill had it piped into his sleeping chamber. It helped him relax.

  President Gram visited informally every ten days or so. Drill showed her around Ship, showing her the pilot Memory, the Frog quarters, the giant stardrive engines with their human subspecies’ implanted connections, Surrogate in its shadowed, pleasant room. The sight of Surrogate seemed to agitate the President.

  “You do not use sex for procreation?” she asked. “As an expression of affection?”

  “Indeed we do. I have scads of offspring. There are never enough diplomats, so we have a great many couplings among our subspecies. As for affection … I think I can say that I have enjoyed the company of each of my partners.”

  She looked up at him with solemn eyes. “You travel to the stars, Drill,” she said. “Your species expands randomly in all directions, encountering other species, sometimes annihilating them. Do you have a reason for any of this?”

  “A reason?” Drill mused. “It is natural to us. Natural to all intelligent species, so far as we know.”

  “I meant a conscious reason. Is it anything other than what you do in an automatic way?”