I, Alien

by Mike Resnick (ed)

  Fickle, fickle species! Their world made only three and a half orbits around its solitary sun before what was announced to be the last journey here, to the moon, was completed. I was stunned. Never before had I known a race to turn its back on space travel once it had begun; one might as well try to crawl back into the shards of one’s egg . . .

  But, incredibly, these humans did just that. Oh, there were some perfunctory missions to low orbit, but that was all.

  Yes, there had been other accidents—one on the way to the moon, although there were no casualties; another, during which three people died when their vessel depressurized on reentry. But those three were from another nation, called “Russia,” and that nation continued its space efforts without missing a wingbeat. But soon Russia’s economy collapsed—of course! This race still hadn’t developed controlled fusion; indeed, there was a terrible, terrible accident at a fission power-generating station in that nation shortly before it fell apart.

  Still, perhaps the failure of Russia had been a good thing. Not that there was anything inherently evil about it, from what I could tell—indeed, in principle, it espoused the values that all other known civilized races share—but it was the rivalry between it and the nation that had launched the inhabited ships to the moon that had caused an incredible escalation of nuclear-weapons production. Finally, it seemed, they would abandon that madness . . . and perhaps if abandoning space exploration was the price to pay for that, maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.

  I was in a quandary. I had spent much longer here than I’d planned to—and I’d as yet filed no report. It’s not that I was eager to get home—my brood had long since grown up—but I was getting old; my frayed scales were losing their flexibility, and they were tinged now with blue. But I still didn’t know what to tell our homeworld.

  And so I crawled back into my cryostasis nest. I decided to have the computer awaken me in one of our bigyears, a time approximately equal to a dozen Earth years. I wondered what I would find when I awoke . . .

  What I found was absolute madness. Two neighboring countries threatening each other with nuclear weapons; a third having announced that it, too, had developed such things; a fourth being scrutinized to see if it possessed them; and a fifth—the one that had come to the moon for all mankind—saying it would not rule out first strikes with its nuclear weapons.

  No one was using controlled fusion. No one had returned to the moon.

  Shortly after I awoke, tragedy struck again: seven humans were aboard an orbital vehicle called Columbia— a reused name, a name I’d heard before, the name of the command module that had orbited the moon while the first lander had come down to the surface. Columbia broke apart during reentry, scattering debris over a wide area of Earth. My dorsal spines fell flat, and my wing claws curled tightly. I hadn’t been so sad since one of my own brood had died falling out of the sky.

  Of course, my computer continued to monitor the broadcasts from the planet, and it provided me with digests of the human response.

  I was appalled.

  The humans were saying that putting people into space was too dangerous, that the cost in lives was too high, that there was nothing of value to be done in space that couldn’t be done better by machines.

  This from a race that had spread from its equatorial birthplace by walking—walking!—to cover most of their world; only recently had mechanical devices given them the ability to fly.

  But now they could fly. They could soar. They could go to other worlds!

  But there was no need, they said, for intelligent judgment out in space, no need to have thinking beings on hand to make decisions, to exalt, to experience directly.

  They would continue to build nuclear weapons. But they wouldn’t leave their nest. Perhaps because of their messy, wet mode of reproduction, they’d never developed the notion of the stupidity of keeping all one’s eggs in a single container . . .

  So, what should I have done? The easiest thing Would have been to just fly away, heading back to our homeworld. Indeed, that’s what the protocols said: do an evaluation, send in a report, depart.

  Yes, that’s what I should have done.

  That’s what a machine would have done. A robot probe would have just followed its programming.

  But I am not a robot.

  This was unprecedented.

  It required judgment.

  I could have done it at any point when the side of the moon facing the planet was in darkness, but I decided to wait until the most dramatic possible moment. With a single sun, and being Earth’s sole natural satellite, this world called the moon was frequently eclipsed. I decided to wait until the next such event was to occur—a trifling matter to calculate. I hoped that a disproportionately large number of them would be looking up at their moon during such an occurrence.

  And so, as the shadow of Earth—the shadow of that crazy planet, with its frustrating people, beings timid when it came to exploration but endlessly belligerent toward each other—moved across the moon’s landscape, I prepared. And once the computer told me that the whole of the side of the moon facing Earth was in darkness, I activated my starbird’s laser beacons, flashing a ruby light that the humans couldn’t possibly miss, on and off, over and over, through the entire period of totality.

  They had to wait eight of Earth’s days before the part of the moon’s face I had signaled them from was naturally in darkness again, but when it was, they flashed a replying beacon up at me. They’d clearly held off until the nearside’s night in hopes that I would shine my lasers against the blackness in acknowledgment.

  And I did—just that once, so there would be no doubt that I was really there. But although they tried flashing various patterns of laser light back at me— prime numbers, pictograms made of grids of dots—I refused to respond further.

  There was no point in making it easy for them. If they wanted to talk further, they would have to come back up here.

  Maybe they’d use the same name once again for their ship: Columbia,

  I crawled back into my cryostasis nest, and told the computer to wake me when humans landed.

  “That’s not really prudent,” said the computer. “You should also specify a date on which I should wake you regardless. After all, they may never come.”

  “They’ll come,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” said the computer. “Still . . .”

  I lifted my wings, conceding the point. “Very well. Give them . . .” And then it came to me, the perfect figure . . . “until this decade is out.”

  After all, that’s all it took the last time.

  Back to Contents

  CORRESPONDENCE WITH A BREEDER by Janis Ian

  1

  624.12 ABR, MESKLIN

  Dear Mister Mike Resnick----

  Greetings from the future!?”

  You may be appalled to learn that I am writing to you through judicious use of the MicroMac, a privilege rarely granted and more rarely accepted in my universe, and that we will be good friends soon*&!

  My name is Torthan Volbiss, and as part of my Natural History science project I have elected to do research into the lives of great canine breeders of the nineteenth century. I have selected you for my project!*&!

  I am hoping we can communicate via satelnet regarding this project, as I am pressed for sunturns and must get this in quickly or my lectern will be degrading me.

  Please advise as soon as possible:

  1. How many canines have you bred in your past centurns ?%$

  2. Of the ones you have bred, which is your best-beloved canine @#?

  3. Have you obtained superiority propagation certificates from extra-Sol and if so, which planet did you like best?)(

  4. If not, why not?!*

  5. Are you accepting applications for lecterns?.#

  Sincerely&*(

  Torthan Volbiss

  16
24.17 ABR, Walpurgis III

  Dear Mr. Resnick:

  Thank you for correcting my punctuation? I did not realize only one character was needed at the end of each sentence@ I will enterprise with more awareness in future# [That is a joke, future, do you acquire it”]

  Not being a transtemporality major, I cannot explain how the transmissions are affected. I only know that Woz Volbiss III, my great3-paternost invented a new way to take advantage of the SLF , and somehow we are able to scratch heads this way*

  Not many students are afforded the ability to use the MicroMac, and I must be brief or it will fire electrical charges into my system +

  I did not realize you are in the twenty-first century* My how instants wing is I believe the correct term from your era:

  Yes, the word I meant was INTERN* Of course I could not fulfill the mission in soft tissue , but I could certainly handle your datamail from here$ To be less-than-sharply-honed it would also gain me extra scores, and as the Unicollege program is very competitive this would be of great aid to myself and my domestic unit .

  If you have only sixty years how have you managed to attain your Q-factorization in the field % Also are you speaking from the side of your mouth when you say travel to other planets is not possible for the ordinary man=

  Surely you are anything but ordinary, you are a breeder of some repute even in your era&

  Thank you for your attenuation.

  Genuinely,

  Torthan Volbiss

  1624.22 ABR, Herovit’s World

  Dear Mike,

  Thank you for tolerating my use of your first name! Also thank you for the language lesson, I will confine myself to ! ? and . .

  Are you always so polite to your data-friends. I am impressed that you have answered all sixteen of my packets within one sunturn ? You must have a great deal of time on your maniples , my elucidator says you will be a wonderful mentor for this study. I agree, I can feel it in my skeletal structure ? It is very kind of you to answer my questions?

  I am sorry to hear you are no longer breeding canines, although I agree that the invention of dentistry has probably made this unnecessary. My misunderstanding due to lingual problems, I am sure. Sometimes the convertor
  I am sorry I do not share your tongue, but the MicroMac will have to do as yours is a dead tongue. Perhaps eventually we can share tongues and become closer.

  What is your habitat like, do you have wives! If so, where are they kept when their mouthpieces are turned off. Do you regularly apneate in a cama or a Landsend !

  I must penitate that this project did not seem like much fun when it was assigned to me, but I am beginning to enjoy it.

  Your new friend,

  Friendily,

  Torthan V.

  * * *

  1624.29 ABR, Darkover

  Hi! Mike! How! are! you!

  This was a joke as I have been wrestling your era. You said to use only one punctuate! . or ? This was only one for each word.

  Are you laughing now. I am?

  It is hard to translate humor, for instance I did not understand that your earlier reference to canines and dentistry was a joke. I will endeavor to be more attentive in future/past/present.

  It is also difficult for me to understand what you mean by many of your references, since I do not have the scaffolding a story to scan ! I promise to regard it with open eyes ?

  I am sorry for rushing but I am overdue at ergball and must soar .

  Rapidly,

  Torthan V.

  1624.39 ABR, Rama III

  Dear Mike,

  Thank you for your many answers, and the lesson on punctuation. I have reported your educational efforts to my elucidator, who has invited you to give a sermon here when science permits. This is a very great honor, I am pleased to present it to you!

  I did not realize a sentient of your standing was permitted only one wife. Is this by custom or by chance? Also, what do you do when she is worn out? Are there many replacements available?

  I am afraid I have not read any of your fiction, it is not encouraged in my family as we are reproduced for science. I am familiar with a writer of your era called Connie Willis, however, as we have elucidated her works in our econosociobiology class. They are not fiction, is that correct!

  ABR is standing in for After Bush Resigning or After Bioengineering Replacement or something of the sort. I am not an ancient history major and do not know the answers to many of your questions, including also whether your fiction has survived and where the last Worldcon was. I do remember from early studying that the concept of World was outlawed after the inhabitation of Hominid II and its subsequent stubborn insistence on taking over its galaxy.

  Sincerely,

  Torthan V.

  1624.41 ABR, Trantor

  Dear Mike,

  I am sorry I cannot check the bookstores as we do not have any. Or libraries.

  Perhaps I am vocalizing inadequately. Information is transferred directly from RNA before birth. Those who are unable to retain information are culled. That is why the MicroMac is so important! Much information was lost in the aevum since your time, and you are helping to replace it in me! Because of you I am confident that my progeny will not be culled!

  I anxiously await one of your chronicles, as I am also going through pubertization and hoping there will be some “pointers” in it because you seem to be very wise. Particularly in your commentary about wives and their replacements.

  I anxiously await your box
  Frankly,

  Torthan V.

  1624.48 ABR, Pern

  Dear Mike,

  I am having great enjoyment in slinging your story words at my allies . I’ll be damned! that is correct yes?

  Thank you for sending a most interesting chronicle, however you of all must know there are no elephants on Neptune. They were evacuated many universes ago.

  I have gained credit nonetheless, as my former science elucidator was quite surprised that you are only a canine breeder who is a writer on the fringe , yet you know things from studies he thought were done many-mega later. He asks how did you realize the psychic bond elephants have, are there elephant genetics in your background?

  Are you by chance the pen-alias of Dr. Asimov, and involved in this research?

  Also thank you for sending me the list of “awards” you have received, though I was not familiar with the word. In researching your communications stream I see it means you were given a pat on the head for excellence. We do not have “awards” for excellence as it is assumed if you are not culled you will be excellent.

  I am thinking of changing my majority field to one which will help me understand you better. There is an ancient history course available on Asimov V which refers to the little-known genus called “science fiction,” the fiction of science. Since you are as you say a “science fiction writer,” this will enable us to tongue more efficiently. And as it will also work with my science course, I am moving there in 3 parsecs and will not be available for the duration. I would appreciate any chronicles you could send in the interim turns.

  Yours in excitement,

  Excitedly,

  Torthan

  1625.12 ABR, Asimov V

  Dear Mike,

  My new elucidator <
trans: teacher> of science fiction was quite engulfed that I am in correspondence with you! She says my enthusiasm rating is high enough to qualify for a complete major change! This would enable me to enter the higher academicia and perhaps even graduate at some point in future! Please send more “stories,” The Return of Santiago was very interesting even though there are no known planets of any description you use.

  I am thinking of naming my initial progeny Peacemaker Angel One-Note MacDougal Volbiss in your honor. In fact, I am thinking of changing my majority report completely because of the effect you have had on me.

  I am wondering if you have an opinion, should I become a breeder of canines or a science fiction writer? Both fields are, as you would say, broadly ajar here.

  Please answer soon as I will get extra credit for your haste.

  Earnestly,

  Torthan

  1625.13 ABR, Asimov V

  Dear Mike,

  Thank you for your answer. It does seem that since canines are only permitted on Stapledon I, II, and III, and they appear to breed themselves adequately without anyone’s help, the profession of science fiction writer would be best.

  There are no other science fiction writers on the known planets, although this does not infer that they do not exist in other dimensions. I would be the first here, which will also give me much esteem and will once and for always restore my family name.

  I have been reading the advice you sent me in I’ve Got This Nifty Idea and have what I believe to be a Nifty Idea. When I am finished may I submit it to you?

  Wonderingly,

  Torthan

  1625.18 ABR, Asimov V

  Dear Mr. Resnick,

  In the mannerism of formal speaking as you suggest when a new author (myself, Torthan Volbiss!) is making submissions, below you will find my “story” How the Slime Gods Conquered Terra!” I am very excited because I have (I believe for the first time in science fiction history!) managed to combine true science and true storytelling!