Analog Science Fiction and Fact 01/01/11

by Dell Magazines

  When they release Doris, we take her in a huddle. Kenneth is right; we’re already too few, and we need every member of this team. “Are you okay?” I ask. “I’m sorry. I really should have gone with you.”

  Doris shakes her head. “No,” she rasps. “It’s all water out there. It’s either get caught or drown.” She starts coughing.

  Sung murmurs. “Aquatic aliens . . .”

  Doris gets a breath. “They don’t seem to know about the array,” she says. “If we say nothing, we might be able to keep it safe. We have to get a distress signal out as soon as possible.”

  I try to look her in the face. “Don’t risk yourself again. We need you, and the array—well, it isn’t as fragile as all that.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, but we’re interrupted by a surge of light. The aliens have just activated their translator.

  The female alien steps forward, her sparkly net defying gravity as if it were underwater. She and her pattern-furred partner wave hands at one another, execute an incongruous little dance step, and begin chattering at us. The tree shivers, and here comes an English translation—choppy, with little delays.

  “Well come. We show respect. We are DarkLight, born of GiveReceive; GreatTreePurpose. Truth!”

  Ho-boy. When is English not English? At least it’s not threats or interrogation.

  Doris clears her throat. “So you’re playing nice, suddenly?”

  The aliens look at me, as if expecting me to speak—but what can I say? I shake my head.

  “Sung,” whispers Kenneth. “Any clue on the dark light stuff?”

  Sung shrugs. “Introducing themselves maybe?”

  At once the aliens jump into a dance step, and pat one another’s hands. “Yes, yes, we speak ourselves,” says the small one. “Light!”

  “Dark,” says the maze-patterned one.

  “Light!”

  “Dark.”

  Something’s localizing the translation to their positions. They repeat the words several times before announcing in unison, “We are DarkLight. Truth!”

  I can’t help a nervous laugh.

  “Truth, hell, ” Doris mutters, and clears her throat. “Tell us your demands.”

  Both the aliens look at me again.

  I lean to Doris’s ear, whisper, “If they’re being helpful, could we maybe ask them to send a signal. . . ?”

  Doris snorts. “Five minutes ago they were arguing about which of them owned us.” She steps in front of me. “Look here. We work for a company called Terrafirm. I’m the senior representative here, so if you want to talk, you can talk to me.”

  Dark and Light look at each other, then cast a glance back toward the door. The guards are shifting from foot to foot now, which makes me nervous.

  “We pursue Purpose,” says Light, with a wriggle that makes her cape swirl and sparkle. “We speak, and you want to speak to us.”

  “Hoped,” says Dark. “Not to DodgeStrike. Their Purpose is not to speak, but to fight. If you fight, they claim you. But if you speak, you are ours.”

  Doris reddens. “But we don’t belong to any of you!”

  Dark and Light look at me again. I can see Dodge and Strike moving nearer, oh so gradually, and my gut says they’re bad news. I’m not getting all of this, but the ugly truth is we d o belong to these guys—they’ve got us. And I’d far rather deal with Dark and Light, because I’m betting Dodge and Strike could kill us easily.

  “We’d rather talk than fight,” I blurt out. “We’re humans, my name is Lynn, she’s Doris, and those guys are Sung and Kenneth. We don’t want to die. We need to send a signal to Terrafirm—”

  “Lynn!” Doris gasps. She starts coughing.

  Light and Dark dance and pat their hands together. Light cries, “Oh sing, sing, they speak! Oh LynnDoris, SungKenneth, the die-ing is our sadness, a terrible mistake!”

  Dark echoes, “Terrible, terrible mistake. The Form Purpose saw your home ugly, and changed your tools without knowing their function.”

  “Witnessed,” says Light.

  Holy moly—what was that, an apology? I guess I didn’t think about how they might answer. Dodge and Strike are close to charging distance now, and panic is rising in my chest. If only Doris would take over . . . but she’s still coughing, tears leaking into the wrinkles beside her eyes. Then, thank God, Sung murmurs behind me.

  “Our home . . . that could be Base. Our tools—life support?”

  My stomach churns. “Or it could mean . . .” The array. But now that the aliens are translating I can’t say that out loud.

  Kenneth shakes his head. “What about all the people they killed outside the Base?”

  Dark and Light press their shoulders together and blink at us. “When the Form Purpose pursued upon your home, humans came out and killed some of us,” Dark says. “The Form Purpose called to the Fight Purpose for help. The Fight Purpose took claim.”

  Light nods vehemently. “Witnessed, that.”

  Doris finally draws an indignant breath. “Does this mean you’re blaming us? ”

  One of the big guards cuts her off. “DarkLight are kind,” he barks.

  “Too much,” shrieks his companion. “Truth!”

  I flinch. Coming from these two, the word “truth” sounds righteous and dangerous. Next thing I know they’re fighting each other, striking with their hands, dodging with the craziest limbo moves I’ve ever seen—their backbones are like water. It only lasts a second, but now I’m sure they could jump us any time.

  “DarkLight, you and your Great Tree,” one of them says.

  “No sense,” says the other. “These aliens talk, but you forget the most important test of new species. We must determine their value in Purpose.”

  “Hear, hear,” says the first. “Humans, what is your Purpose?”

  Doris tenses. “What do you mean?”

  “Uh, to send a signal?” I’m guessing. “To talk? Um, to stay alive?”

  “Careful, Lynn,” Doris murmurs. “We can’t trust them—they could well be messing with us. Who knows what they might really be after?”

  “Purpose! Always, first and last,” says Light. Her eyes brighten, and the pebbly skin flexes above her eyes. “We pursue Purpose: Everything fits into the pattern.”

  Dark echoes, “Pursue, pursue.”

  Whatever Purpose is, they want it bad.

  “Look here,” says Doris, clearing her throat. “I don’t see why this is any of your business. Let us call our people for help, and then we’ll talk.”

  Dodge and Strike let out an eerie trilling sound. Dark and Light stare at me with their mouths open, and for the first time since they came in, all their little motions have stopped. Every vestige of cuteness is gone from their reptilian-mammal faces, and their white teeth are needle sharp. I think we’ve made a dangerous mistake.

  I say quickly, “How about you tell us your purpose f rst? Tell us why you came to this planet.”

  Everyone looks at me.

  “What in hell are you thinking?” hisses Kenneth. “They’ll kill us—” But Dark and Light jump in the air and clap their hands together as if they’ve just scored points. “Tell our Purpose, oh yes,” says Light. She picks up the translator.

  “Yes, yes,” says Dark. “Come to the Heart.”

  I hope I haven’t done something fatally stupid. But even Dodge and Strike seem happy with the proposal; they come forward and give each of us individual force fields.

  “Hmph,” says Doris, as they clip hers to her waist. “Not a bad idea, Lynn.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sung fiddles with his field generator. “This is one nice piece of tech. These guys are way ahead of us.”

  Kenneth nods. “Imagine if we could crack one open and—” “No,” snaps Doris. “Don’t give them any reason to expect a look at our tech.” She comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Try to stay by me. They seem to expect you to back me up.”

  I swallow. “Yeah, okay.”

  I’m not comfo
rtable with the force field—it feels wet on my face and hands—and I don’t have the nerve to match Dark and Light’s enthusiastic dives through the door. With a deep breath, I walk through.

  My feet immediately float off the floor. We’re not in a pool—this is a water-filled tube of translucent material, about two bodylengths in diameter and seemingly endless. As we go, the tube widens and joins others, coming from left, right, above, and below. The junctions are marked with floating clusters of holographic symbols. Pairs of aliens swim near us, but none show any curiosity. They pass by in a rush of water, trailing colorful baubles from their patterned bodies, and disappear into rooms while we bob and spin in their wake. Every so often we pass glimmering room-sized bubbles with more alien pairs reclining inside them. One door, blue instead of gold, has multicolored fish swimming behind it.

  Our guides move languidly, while the rest of us pant and struggle and need lots of breaks—there isn’t much swimming on K’s world. At last we reach a huge bright nexus where at least twenty tubes come together. Dark and Light swim upward to a force door surrounded by glowing symbols, and lead us through into breathable air. I switch off my force field.

  “This is the Heart,” says Light.

  Dark nods. “Truth! Come, come in.”

  I’ll be damned. It’s an otter nightclub.

  The room is big and shadowy, its curved walls almost invisible. To our left, alien couples recline together on curved interconnected couches, grooming each other or sleeping. On our right is the blue-glowing entrance to a room full of fish. Dark and Light lead us toward the dancers—more alien couples, each pair twisting and waving arms amidst a flashing spherical whirl of holographic confetti. The only thing that doesn’t seem to fit here is the low volume of the music, a weird undercurrent to the whistling chatter of alien voices.

  I think we’re all too confused to speak. Even Doris, though she’s trying to look assertive by keeping us close behind our hosts’ tails. They lead us up to a dancing pair at the center of the room—two albinos, with white fur and pink skin. Both are wearing long earrings, but given their size difference, I’d guess they’re a male and a female.

  As we reach them, Light turns and bobs her head at us. “These are BlueOrange, born of BlackWhite, PatternPurpose, who cut water among us.”

  “Hail,” says Dark.

  I hope the translator isn’t faltering. Dark and Light don’t interrupt the two albinos, but stand and wait. I’m scanning around for anything that looks like it could be hot-wired as a transmitter when Kenneth’s voice behind me hisses, “Guys. Tactile holograms.”

  I frown at him, but he points me back toward the dancing aliens. It’s serious brain overload—Kenneth has a better eye for whirling, flashing lights—but then I glimpse something I can follow. The big albino makes a lightning snatch and catches a ball of light in his hand. As he pulls it toward him it flashes into a three-dimensional image, and he pokes at it, then passes it to the smaller one, who does the same before pushing it away, back into the whirl.

  I glance at Sung. He’s watching, mouth open. No kidding—I’d give my eyeteeth to know how those things are generated!

  Finally the big albino turns away from his images. His facial fur is dyed blue to match the color of his jingly earrings, while the skin above his eyes stands out in sagging lobes like pink fungus. “Well come, humans,” he says.

  How does he know who we are?

  “Speak, brother,” calls the smaller one, never stopping her dance.

  He nods. “It is our joy to share our Purpose. This ship is named Star-Pattern-Celebration, following the Pattern Purpose before all others. We come to this planet, tracing a line of color in the great star pattern. Once here, we’ll celebrate together with the Form Purpose and the Performance Purpose, building and dancing. Then we’ll seek another path to continue the pattern.”

  “Truth!” calls the small albino. “The great star pattern lives in four dimensions.”

  I glance at Kenneth and Sung, but they look baffled.

  “We don’t understand,” says Doris.

  The aliens look at me again.

  “What does that mean? ” I ask, and Doris gives me a satisfied nod. “I mean, to start with, what’s a pattern purpose?”

  “Orange,” says the big albino.

  “Here,” answers the small one. She jumps, catches an image, and pulls it down, turning toward us for the first time. Her facial fur is dyed orange, and she’s got lobes above her eyes, but less exaggerated, hardly protruding beyond her fur. She pokes the image she’s caught, and it expands in the air, to a sphere about a meter in diameter.

  It’s a star map. A sophisticated one, with glowing symbolic notations hovering at its surface. The only regions I recognize are in the lower near quadrant—all non-Allied areas except for the K’s world system.

  “Joy,” says Blue. “Watch the great star pattern.”

  Orange nods, echoing, “Joy, joy!”

  A star flashes near the center of the sphere, and glowing curved lines expand outward from it. When they hit star systems or planets they spark with colors, then continue onward and outward. Orange and Blue start dancing, Dodge and Strike clap rhythms as they watch, and Dark and Light burst into song—it’s strangely easy to get caught up in the blooming pattern, the alien rhythms, and the music. After some minutes, the very last line curves and curls into our system here, and the aliens fall silent.

  Doris breaks the spell. “You honestly expect us to believe that you came to this planet for no better reason than to draw a gigantic picture?”

  Spined, wrinkled, and lobed furry faces turn to me.

  “Well?” I shrug. “Is it a picture?”

  “Not a picture,” says Light.

  And Dark, “No, no; a drive, a beauty.”

  He can’t mean anything like FTL drive. “I don’t know,” I say, “but it is beautiful. And you have to admit, it’s awfully elaborate to be a lie.”

  Sung nods. “She’s got a point. That pattern would take days to make, even just drawing it on a computer.”

  “Decades,” adds Kenneth, “if they actually drew it with ships.” His eyes go wide. “That’s a huge territory.”

  “You’re right, Kenneth.” Doris scowls. “The picture is a distraction; it’s why they’re trying to claim us that matters. These guys have impressive tech. They’ve killed enough of us to fit K’s world into their pretty pattern—they might consider forcing the whole Allied Systems to fit.”

  Goddamn—am I supposed to back that up? I glance away from Doris’s pale determination and the inscrutable aliens, to my friends. Kenneth is wringing his hands, and even Sung looks worried. “Guys,” I say, “don’t you think this Purpose thing seems pretty vague? Wouldn’t they have told us if they wanted—”

  Doris cuts me off before they can answer. “Lynn Gable. You’re an engineer. You don’t know anything but your numbers. I can understand you not seeing the bigger picture, but if you don’t see the need to pry past this front of childish enthusiasm, you’re an idiot.”

  “Doris,” Kenneth objects, and Sung hisses in a breath.

  Me, not seeing the bigger picture—what a load of crap! Here I thought she wanted me on her side! Dark and Light are staring at me, and my ears are burning. “But what if this was all a mistake? Shouldn’t we consider asking them to help us contact our people?”

  Dodge and Strike interrupt, clapping their webbed hands sharply. “Purpose first.”

  Light is calm, but firm. “LynnDoris, we’ve told you our Purpose, and now you must respect—” There’s a word in there that the translator can’t handle. “For one side, always the other to match.”

  “Truth!” says Dark. “What is your Purpose?” They lean closer, while Dodge and Strike move in from behind like menacing shadows.

  Oh shit. I started this tit for tat, and now we owe them. What if this question of Purpose is the only thing keeping them from wiping K’s world clean? I have to say something!

  “My purpose—
is my job,” I say. “Is that what you mean? I can draw pictures, too, you know—I have some in my computer, if you want to see. . . .”

  “You’ll show them nothing!” Doris roars. A blur comes at my face—

  6. Tsee

  Violation!

  Doris has hit Lynn, no chance to stop her, truth! SungKenneth leap forward but KirHaa leap too, faster. Lynn’s knees fail— “Chkaa!” I shriek. Holding the translator I’ve no hands, oh, oh!

  Chkaa catches Lynn—relief—but KirHaa are already on Doris. Kir’s hand strikes; Haa’s foot sweeps, observed, and Doris lands wheezing on her back. KirHaa whirl around with whiskers extended, seeking more Purpose, certain, but SungKenneth don’t invite them. Instead they fall to their knees beside Doris, observed, and turn only twisted faces toward Lynn—perhaps too frightened to approach my brother.

  “Enough!” “Resolved!”

  Ah, the commanding voices of TsorrPfiirr PatternPurpose, welcome! With a shake of their ear chimes and a wave of their unpigmented hands, they stop us all at once.

  “Hail, TsorrPfiirr,” I say.

  And Chkaa, “Hail.”

  I bow my head, respectful, pressing my shoulder to my brother’s beneath Lynn. Observed: She breathes, but she isn’t conscious. “We’ve made an error,” says Chkaa softly, “expecting apfaa between these two.”

  I struggle not to fail my reply. The pattern we envisioned was so perfect, truth: two spacefaring races, each graced with apfaa as a foundation of their superior intelligence! I can’t ignore Chkaa’s reasoning, certainly—for if we maintain our vision, Doris has just indicted herself within it. But to deny the pattern—oh, how can we not pursue?—would be such a tragedy!

  “Maybe,” I murmur at last. “Perhaps another one was the true apfaa, and she seeks healing with Doris, unsuccessful.”

  Chkaa answers gravely. “Possible.”

  KirHaa have also bowed their heads before TsorrPfiirr, observed, but their bodies are restless. “Hail,” they begin, but then Kir declares, “We’ve been invited in our Purpose.” “Witnessed,” chimes Haa. “Great Tree Purpose must now cede their claim to these creatures.”