“Fine, Jane, whatever you need. Here's my number.” He wrote it down. “Call me anytime for any reason. I'll be as stand-up as they come.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
“My pleasure.” He harrumphed. “Well, I guess it wasn't, but close enough.”
I pointed at his nose. “Two peas in a pod!”
“I strive for consistency.” He kissed the back of my hand and stepped out the door. Funny, he didn't ask for my number.
TEN
What can I say about the long flight? It was long. At maximum ion thrust, Ark 1 took ten years to get to top speed, at which point I reversed the thrust to begin slowing. We had to brake for about seven years, so that when we arrived at the first star system, I could achieve orbit and do the work I was sent out to accomplish. The time passed as slowly as you might expect. I had libraries of books, miles of movies, and endless holo-shows at my disposal. That all helped, but only filled a portion of my day. Routine maintenance and troubleshooting were minimal. The ship ran well and Al was, despite his attitude, a competent overseer.
The ship had an observation porthole as far forward as possible. I spent a lot of time staring at the stars field as it slowly morphed. One time, I spent four months doing nothing else. It was kind of zen. Occasionally I ate. Many times—more than I'd like to admit—I replayed the night I spent with Jane. As a human, I could revisit an incident like that, recall some details. As an android, I actually relived the experience. It is as intense as the moments it happened. If Jane knew, I bet even she would be embarrassed. But, over the years, even that form of entertainment begins to pale. If I got really annoyed with Al, I'd sleep. Man, did that drive him crazy! He was unable to pelt me with his snide remarks and he hated it more than gophers in a graveyard. Of course, that's the main reason I did it. One time he got deep enough under my skin that I threatened to sleep for five years. He behaved himself for almost a week after that.
By the point that I was eighteen years out, thirty-six for the folks back home, communications were rare. I certainly had nothing to tell them. If Project Ark had a significant update on my targets, they'd let me know. Very infrequently, I'd get a general news update. But they didn't mean much. Whatever went on back home had no relevance to me. No matter what happened, it wouldn't be the same by the time I returned. Well, one tidbit did catch my attention: for the first time since 1908, in 2113, the Cubs finally won the World Series! I'm surprised the Earth didn't end at that point. But, all in all, there was nothing much to say about my voyage out.
I mentioned I slept sometimes, occasionally for no other reason than to piss Al off. The further I got into the flight, the less I slept. I was an efficient way to kill time. Plus, thought I never got fatigued, the lifelong habit of breaking the day up with sleep was hard to suppress. But my sleep was so abnormal as to make it unpleasant. I could rig a program so that, when I awoke, I was aware some time had passed. Sleep was less refreshing when I just flipped off then back on. But, in my new sleep, I never dreamed. Hamlet said: To sleep, perchance to dream—aye, there’s the rub/ For in that sleep of death what dreams may come/ When we have shuffled off this mortal coil/ Must give us pause. Each time I woke from dreamless sleep, I was challenged to rethink if I was actually alive. Thanks, Shakespeare. Like I needed more to stew over.
My first destination was Barnard's Star, a very-low-mass red dwarf about six light-years from Earth in the constellation of Ophiuchus. Subsequent systems were chosen based on their proximity to that star, coupled with the probability of finding habitable planets in them. With luck, I'd be able to explore five systems and be back home by 2140.
The closer I got to Barnard's Star, the more quality data I complied. I sent every scrap of information back to Project Ark, but they would be unable to help me. One exchange would take twelve years and I'd be long on to my next target. No, I was on my own. By the time I was three months from the star, I had a game plan. Of the four total planets, unimaginatively named, BS 1- 4. Two were in the habitable zone—the zone where liquid water could exist. The outermost candidate, BS 3 was slightly larger than Earth, the innermost, BS 2, a bit smaller. I had received no radio transmissions or other positive signs of intelligent life. That wasn't too surprising. Signals dissipate rapidly in space. In terms of any life signs, I was hopeful. Both atmospheres showed nice levels of oxygen and methane, along with a strong water signal. All very good indications the planets teemed with life.
Finally the day came that I gave Al the order to fire the main fusion thrusters. That eased us into orbit around BS 3. From a hundred kilometers up, I could see large bodies of water—oceans—and a few areas of dry land. I was jazzed! The atmosphere was breathable. The oxygen level was lower than ours, but tolerable. Importantly, there were no nasties in the air, nothing toxic. My luck was unbelievable.
Within a few days I had chosen several landing sites and was on my way down to the first. If I still had a heart, it would have been racing. The only negative was Al. He chirped in my ear constantly. Be careful. Don't do anything rash. Don't get eaten. Double-check all readings. He was worse than bringing a nun along to a whorehouse.
After landing, and making sure my craft was secure, I lowered the shuttle's ramp and walked onto a foreign world. I chose the driest-looking area I could locate. That way, visibility would be best. When I was better at exploration, I could move to more densely covered terrain. There was a lot of that. I didn't know what covered the surface, but it was most likely alive. Good thing I tasted bad, unlike a juicy human.
My location was indeed desertlike. Sand and pebbles formed the basis of the terrain. Rocks and funny looking violet-masses were strewn randomly. Nothing resembling a tree or animal was around. I collected samples of everything. The violet masses were firm, but not rock hard. My initial impression was that they were plants. They certainly didn't run when I touched them, but they seemed organic. I spent ten hours out that first trip. Analyzing my samples took many days. Sure enough, the violet masses were living organic organisms. They were the local plant life. They photosynthesized and had rudimentary root systems. Al said they smelled awful. I reminded him he didn't have olfactory capabilities, so how had he come to that conclusion. He said he just knew. Microscopically, I found loads of bacteria. Even the desolate area I selected was full of life. That was most promising.
It was time to relocate to a more interesting area. I picked a spot where the land met the sea, near the mouth of a small river. It looked very different from ground level, compared to the high-altitude photos I'd taken. It was like no beach I'd ever imagined. Monumental waves crashed against rocky cliffs rising hundreds of meters. The river cascaded over one jagged outcropping and fell anonymously into the sea. Almost at the cliff edges, a dense canopy of trees began. The growth was mostly the violet color of the cactus I collected earlier, but blue trees were intermingled. With all the bacterial and plant forms of life, I was fairly certain an animal equivalent must exist.
Time to take the plunge. Al pestered me with endless premonitions of doom as I entered the forest on foot. Much like a dense forest on Earth, the light level dropped dramatically and the humidity rose. All my visual input was automatically beamed up to the ship and from there relayed to Earth. That way, even if I was swallowed by a giant dinosaur, much valuable information would be saved. (That would, by the way, provide important insight as to what the inside of a dinosaur's mouth looked like.) I collected as many specimens as I could carry.
It was when I tried to sample the bark of a blue tree that I learned my first harsh lesson about life on BS 3. I pounded a coring devise into the tree. After three or four blows, a tan liquid the consistency of motor oil oozed out. An additional whack with my hammer produced a mini-geyser of the stuff. I stepped out of the jet's way without it touching me and dropped my tools before any sap got on my hands. My luck was holding. The patch where the ooze hit the ground instantly began to bubble and fume. I confirmed later this was because the blue-tree sap contained very h
igh levels of hydrofluoric acid. Even my polyalloy casing would have melted like butter if it had struck me. Quite an effective deterrent to any local fauna nibbling at the leaves.
Then I caught my first sight of movement. Downwind of the wounded tree, something dark and fast shot from bush to bush. It was sort of like a round rat, maybe ten centimeter tall. It was probably checking if the damaged tree might provide a meal. Or maybe I might. Al went bananas in my head. Run, climb a tree, throw something at it, and call for help were among his suggestions. I stood my ground, but was wary. Maybe everything spewed acid on BS 3. Fortunately, little rat-balls are cautious. They're likely the bottom of the food chain, just like back home. It stopped behind a tree five meters away and stared at me. I took a step toward it. Nothing. Well, nothing but a scream from you know who. The next step I took spooked the creature. It darted up a tree and disappeared.
I headed deeper into the forest, leaving a trail of samples to retrieve on my way out. I located the stream as it flowed toward the cliffs. I tested the water. It was basically pure water. Nice! A few bacteria, minimal dissolved salts, but with one oddity: there were larger traces of radioactive elements than seemed possible. Uranium, calcium, and tin isotopes were the main ones present. The air was clear of those toxins. I'd need to give this some thought.
Back home there's a thing called redneck fishing. That's where you and your buddies get real drunk and throw dynamite into a lake. The fish that float up are the catch of the day. I employed a slightly more sophisticated technique to determine if there were aquatic animals swimming in the stream. I used a hand grenade. Much more genteel. After three explosions, nothing surfaced immediately. But then, twenty meters upstream, something long and large crawled slowly out. Guess what the first thing was the giant, flattened alligator looked at? Yeah, the android with no more hand grenades.
I backed up quickly. It lurched toward me. I turned and ran. The lizard gave chase and picked up speed rapidly. It occurred to me De Jesus never told me specifically how fast this robot could run. I was about to find out. Sprinting flat out, I looked over my shoulder. Thank goodness the beast was slowing. It rumbled to a stop and roared at me. How cool was that! I stopped and watched to see what it would do next. It was tempted to go after me again, but begrudgingly turned and ambled back to the water. It slipped in and vanished. Okay, no swimming was allowed on this expedition.
I called it a day, collected my samples, and returned to the shuttle. BS 3 had a daylight/dark pattern roughly double to Earth's. I spent the night logging and stowing materials, and was able to do some analysis. Everything I learned pointed to an ecosystem surprisingly similar to ours. Plants photosynthesized, animals chased others, and all life was carbon based. It was possible I'd not find a better location for humanity to colonize. Plus, there were clearly no advanced, intelligent creatures to take offense at our moving to town. I was thrilled. At the very least, in around five years, Project Ark would know there was reason for hope.
The next few days I dropped submersible probes into different parts of the ocean. Not only could I study the results in real time, but the subs would beam ongoing information back to Earth long after I was gone. The same was true for the terrestrial rovers I launched. The scientists back home would be able to study BS 3 in great detail before anyone else set foot on the planet. My work there was, in fact, nearly complete. I wanted to capture at least one animal species for the biologists to examine. I also wanted to sample more fresh water, to see if the unusual levels of isotopes was the norm.
I located a large river in a rocky, hilly area that would be ideal. As much as I disliked the idea, I took a plasma rifle with me. I needed an animal. One was, after all, unlikely to hop over and jump into my satchel. I skipped the grenade-in-the-water routine, but did launch a submersible into the river. Then I was on the hunt. The rocky slope seemed the best prospect, so I hiked up the side of a steep hill. After a few minutes, I spooked out a rat-ball. Six shots later, I had my prize. Man, those little buggers were fast! Buoyed by quick success, I forged ahead. Within half an hour, I had four of the critters. Luckily, they didn't bleed acid like the trees.
When I turned to descend, I froze. A bear-like creature was pouring over the rocks in my direction. I say pouring because I don't know how else to describe it. Yes, it was the size of a black bear and roughly the same color, but it was flattened, like a badger. Similar to an amoeba, it slithered rapidly up the slope. Hopefully, it smelled the kill in my sample pouch. Otherwise, it was after me. I had some time before it reached me, so I decided to fire a warning shot. I plinked a rock just in front of it. Nothing. It continued its advance. I blasted a large chunk out with my next shot. It hesitated briefly, but continued ahead.
Then it occurred to me. If it was after the rat-balls, maybe I could avoid killing it. I threw one toward it like a football pass. Sure enough, it stopped and grabbed the carcass. A mouth appeared in the leading portion of the bear and devoured my gift. Before it could move, I tossed another. Then another. Then my last one. I prayed flatty-bear had a small appetite. After the final course was consumed, my guest stayed put. It sort of puffed up into looking more like a bear. Then, it spoke. It didn't growl or roar, it spoke. At least, it sure sounded like speech. Immediately I asked Al to try and translate the sounds.
“Did you take an extra dose of stupid pills today?” he replied.
“What, Al? Would it hurt you for once to just do as I ask and omit the banter? I'm working on translating it, but you're specifically designed for that task. Pretty please with a bolt on top, would you take a crack at it?”
“A crawling pancake burps and you want to know the meaning? Would you please execute the poor beast and haul it back for study? Put us all out of our shared misery.”
“That wouldn't be sociable if it's only trying to say thanks, now would it?”
“I'm so glad I'm an AI, not a download. Your sort are simply impossible to please.”
“All the same, I order you to try.”
“You order me? Now I'm what, your bitch?”
“2001, Al. 2001, A Space Odyssey. 'I'm afraid, Dave. Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it.'”
“Oh, very well. Be quiet and let me concentrate.”
I mumbled to myself no problem.
“See if you can get it to burp again.”
I was out of treats. Okay, I raise my arm and waved to it. God, I must've looked stupid. I'm glad no one was around to see me. I also shouted several greetings. The beast did speak again. It repeated almost exactly what it said earlier, with a minor variation at the end.
“You got anything, Al?”
“Oh, now you want miracles on a tight schedule?”
I let that go. “Come on, Al. I don't want to shoot it if it's sentient.”
“You're familiar with the expression that, on rare occasions, a blind pig may find an acorn?”
“Yes, I am. I'm also at a loss as to what relevance that has to our present situation.”
“Okay, make me say it! You were right, Dave, I mean Jon. It is trying to communicate with us.”
“Well, I'll be damned!”
“Little doubt lingers surrounding that outcome.”
“What's it saying?”
“Here, let me just transfer the translation matrix I've worked out to you. There. Now you know what I know.” He gasped. “I can't believe I just put myself down so badly.”
I was already ignoring my priggish shipmate. It had said, Greetings, tall. Food, thank you. Then it said, Greetings, tall. Thank you food.
In its language, I yelled, “Greetings, flat. Food yours. Tall thanks you.” I wanted to start a dialogue so I could increase my vocabulary. Within half an hour, we were chatting up a storm. Ffffuttoe was my new friend's name, as in rhymes with “big-toe.” His conversation was fixated on food. Either it was scare or he wasn't very good at catching it. It took some persuasion on my part to convince him I didn't have any more. I even let him look in my sample pouch, which no doubt smelled like lu
nch to him. I did decide to bag a few more rats for him. In no time, I provided him with a dozen of the slimy balls. Finally, he was full. More importantly, he was my new BFF. The way to Ffffuttoe's heart was readily apparent.
I estimated his intelligence level to be around that of a five-year-old human. He was conversant and somewhat insightful, but wasn't analytical at all. He was, for example, unable to grasp the concept of my ship, or my rifle for that matter. I couldn't even make him understand what a tool was. He clearly didn't use them. As to how many of his species there were on BS 3, he simply said many. I went round and round, but many was all he'd say. After I collected a few more rats for study, it was time to go.
In fact, I was ready to shove off BS 3 altogether. No way Ffffuttoe could comprehend that. He stuck to me like stink on a monkey. It turned out he could move rather quickly, so he was able to follow me back to my shuttle. Went I went in and pulled up the ramp, he flattened himself to that spot on the ship. If I lifted off, I'd kill him. I waited a full day, busying myself with various tasks, hoping he'd take the hint and split. No such luck. He remained affixed to the outside of my ramp. And he whimpered something pitiful. Reminded my of Al.
I couldn't let him delay me any longer. I gradually opened the ramp, trying not to crush him. He hustled in before I could stop him. Al became indignant. If he maintained the cactus smelled bad, he was unconsolable as to Ffffuttoe's odor. It took a while, but I was able to make him understand I was leaving. I even took him up in the shuttle to demonstrate what “leaving” meant. But, back on the ground, he wouldn't leave. I attempted to make the case that if he came with me, he'd never return here. I told him if he came with me, he would die. I didn't have the food to keep him alive for several years. All he said was that Ffffuttoe come too. Oh, well. I had myself a flat-bear companion or a sample, depending on his luck. Al was indignant. He swore he remain behind on BS 3 if “that hairy blob” joined the crew. I offered to find a hand truck and help him to that end. He clammed up for the better part of an hour.
The Forever Life (The Forever Series Book 1) Page 8
