Cauldron

by Jack McDevitt

  The creatures resembled hobgoblins. They were small, barely half her height, with slick gray skin, enormous eyes set back where a human’s temples would have been, and thick limbs. There was a lack of definition about them, no jawline, no clearly defined throat, no ears. She tried to persuade herself they were not really repulsive, but her instincts responded differently.

  She came to a full stop in front of a transit vehicle, a bus, just starting a turn. The bus jammed on its brakes, and the creatures inside lurched toward the front.

  Matt pulled in behind her, back about twenty meters, and the landers simply floated in midair, defying gravity.

  A truck banged into a car.

  Something jangled. How about that? They even had horns.

  Everything was coming to a dead stop.

  “Okay, Matt,” she said, “let’s move on.”

  THEY CRUISED AROUND the city, creating mayhem. “What would your Academy people have said about this?” asked Matt, as they floated over a broad avenue.

  “They wouldn’t have approved.”

  “It’s in a good cause.”

  “I know. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “Who would have denied permission?”

  “I would.”

  Phyl broke in: “You’ve made the newscasts.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “‘Unknown objects create havoc in Baltimore.’ ‘Airborne objects float over Baker Street.’ ‘Apparitions cause traffic jam.’”

  “You’re making up the proper nouns.”

  “I have to.”

  “At least you could have picked a West Coast city.”

  “I’ll try to get it right next time, Ms. Hutchins.”

  “You think that’ll do it?” asked Matt.

  “That should be sufficient. Let’s go home.”

  MR. SMITH PICKED up on the first ring. “Was that you in Seattle last night?”

  Phyl had apparently taken the hint. “Yes. That was us.”

  “All right. You made your point. I’ll talk to you.”

  “How do we find you?”

  “I live on the outskirts of Denver.”

  “Describe the place. We have no familiarity with your world other than what we can see.”

  “It’s on the same continent as Seattle. Proceed—” Here the translation garbled.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. We don’t understand your directional terms.”

  “Proceed toward the sunrise. Two-thirds of the distance across the continent. And a little bit down—”

  “Pardon me. Which way is down?”

  Pause. “Toward the (something)—”

  “Are you referring to the line around the center of the planet? Probably the hottest area?”

  “Yes.”

  And so it went. It took a while, but they figured it out. Look for a wide river. Follow the river in the direction of the equator. Pass a city in which the tallest building is shaped, at the top, like a needle. Beyond, east of the city, the river forks. Follow the side that angles back in the direction of Seattle. Find a smaller city nearby. On the far side of the city—

  Here, Hutch interrupted him: “Is it remote? Do you have neighbors?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you suggest a place where we could have some privacy?”

  “Not anyplace that might have a runway.”

  “We don’t need a runway.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot.”

  “Well?”

  “I think I can arrange something.”

  MATT WANTED TO go down with the mission. “It’s my turn,” he persisted.

  This was a big moment, and he intended to be there when it happened. He didn’t say that, but she knew that was the point. And he also probably thought that if trouble developed—after all, who knew what would really be waiting for them?—it would be better for all if he were there. Hutch, after all, wasn’t young, and she was also a woman.

  “Okay, Matt. It’s all yours. You’ll be taking both Antonio and Rudy with you. How about Jon?”

  “Of course,” Jon said. “I wouldn’t miss this.”

  “Be careful,” she told Matt. “Keep the circuits open. And use Mac’s lander.”

  “Sure. But what difference does it make?”

  “If I have to come after you, I won’t want to spend time chasing down a lander.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to have to come bail us out.”

  “Neither do I. But we should consider the possibility that this might not turn out the way we want it to.”

  “Okay. I can’t argue with that.”

  “You’ll have weapons with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s something else we might set up. As a precaution.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your lander doesn’t have a mounted projector, does it?”

  “No.”

  “Neither does ours. Okay, Matt, I want you to pull a projector from storage. If you don’t have one, use the one from the VR tank.”

  “To do what?”

  “Put it on the hull. And there’s a sequence from Battle Cry that I want you to have available.”

  “From what?”

  “From Battle Cry. It’s probably in your library. Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll send it over. Just in case.”

  “You worry too much, Hutch.”

  ANTONIO’S NOTES

  Biggest day of my life…

  —Sunday, December 23

  chapter 26

  MR. SMITH HAD access to a lodge in an isolated area. It was located on a lakefront amid dense forest and low, rolling hills. Matt descended until the glare from a distant city had disappeared below the horizon, and the world grew dark. There were few artificial lights in evidence, a couple off to the west, another on a hilltop below him, and a campfire a kilometer or two to the north.

  They’d been directed to watch for the lake, a long narrow curving body of water, of which the northern tip arced east, and the southern, west. It had surprised Matt how difficult it was to describe the shape when the two speakers had no common images. No letter ‘S.’ No way to determine what serpentine meant. And no way to measure distance. How long was a kilometer? It was the distance Matt could walk in about twelve minutes, but how long would Mr. Smith need?

  It would have helped if visual communication had been possible. The satellites that had been placed around the Orion Arm by Mr. Smith’s ancestors transmitted both audio and visual signals. But, unless there was more going on here than Smith knew, the visual component was lost.

  “There’s the lake,” said Jon.

  It didn’t much fit the description, but it was the only lake in sight. And there was a single cluster of lights. Otherwise, the entire region was dark.

  The lodge had two stories and was made of logs. Smoke drifted out of a chimney, and lights were on in every window. An outside lamp illuminated the deck. Their first impression was that it would not have been out of place in Minnesota. But as they drew closer, they saw it would have been too small, the deck too confined, the ceilings too low to be comfortable for human beings.

  “It has a dock,” said Jon. And a shed with a boat rack, holding something that looked like a small canoe.

  There was no place to set down except at the lakefront. Matt would have preferred something a bit less exposed, but he saw no option unless they were prepared to walk two or three kilometers. That wasn’t a good idea. Better to keep the lander nearby in case they had to leave in a hurry.

  He descended directly in front of the lodge. Lights were on inside, but curtains had been drawn across the windows. He could see movement inside.

  Matt slipped a laser into his belt, and they activated their e-suits.

  Hutch’s voice came from the Preston: “Everything looks quiet in the area, Matt.”

  The front door opened. Something stood in the light, peering out.

  Hutch’s hobgoblin. She had it exactly right. It squinted in the lander’s lights, and M
att shut them down. Its head was bald, and the features were scrunched as if someone had squeezed them from forehead to chin. But that was an exaggeration because it didn’t really have a chin. It was there, but not so much that you’d notice.

  The thing wore dark baggy pants and a loose-fitting jacket. A triangular cap was folded over its skull. Altogether, it was a ridiculous-looking creature, save that it bore itself with a casual demeanor that suggested a few aliens on the lawn was not something to get excited about.

  “Hutch,” he said into his commlink. “We’re down. And we have someone waiting for us.”

  “I see him, Matt. Okay. You’re tied into Phyl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck.”

  He ran a check with the AI. Phyl would listen on his channel for Matt’s comments, would translate the comments for the alien, and would then translate the alien’s response. Simple enough.

  He opened the hatch, climbed onto the ladder, and watched the creature’s eyes go wide as it took him in. It backed off a step or two.

  Matt spoke into his commlink. “Mr. Smith?”

  Phyl said something that Matt couldn’t make out. The creature responded with a hiss and some gurgles. Phyl translated: “Yes, I am Mr. Smith. Are you Priscilla?”

  The open door behind the creature revealed a room that appeared to be empty. But he saw immediately they would have trouble using the furniture or standing up straight.

  “No. My name is Matt. These are Jon, Rudy, and Antonio.”

  The hobgoblin closed its eyes and inclined its head. “I am fortunate to meet you.” It stepped out onto the deck.

  “And it is good,” said Matt, “to meet you.” The language had no rhythm. It consisted of grunts and clacks and hisses. He could see the creature was reluctant to get too close to them, yet its mouth hung open in a very humanlike response.

  Mr. Smith’s eyes had gone very wide. It stared at Matt. And at the lander. And at Jon. Then at the sky. And at Rudy and Antonio. And finally, it turned its attention back to Matt. It made a gurgling sound that Phyl could not translate. Then, in a sudden burst, it moved past them and hurried to the lander.

  It touched the vehicle, making more unintelligible sounds, and drew its finger across the hull. (Matt noticed it had six digits.) “Beautiful,” it said finally. “You have a remarkable aesthetic.”

  “Thank you,” said Rudy.

  When it had finished admiring the vehicle, it asked to be taken for a ride. There wasn’t room for five and Matt didn’t want to leave anyone alone on the shoreline, so he said it could be arranged at a future time.

  Mr. Smith inclined its head again. “May I ask where is Priscilla Hutchins?”

  “She remained behind.”

  “I am sorry I offended her.”

  “I think there’s a misunderstanding. You did not offend her.”

  “Why else would she not come?”

  “We couldn’t all come.”

  “Please convey my apologies.”

  Matt decided there was no point debating the issue. “I will tell her you were concerned. She will be pleased to hear it.”

  “Very good. Who is speaking for you?” It would of course have been impossible for the creature not to notice that the dialogue and the lip movements weren’t synchronized.

  “An artificial intelligence,” said Matt.

  “Explain, please.”

  He did. As best he could.

  “Remarkable. I have heard of such things, in theory. But I have never believed they were actually possible.” It stroked the lander’s tread one final time, then led the way back to the front door, standing aside so they could enter. “I am sorry about the accommodations.”

  “It’s okay.” Matt ducked his head and entered.

  “Your machine,” it said, “what sustains it?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It floats in the air. It negates gravity.”

  “Yes. In a way.”

  “How do you do that?”

  Matt looked at Jon. Did he want to elaborate? Jon shrugged. “Not my field.”

  “I have no idea,” Matt said. “We push a button, the gravity goes away.”

  “It is hard to believe.”

  “You don’t have the capability?”

  “No. Our experts say it can’t be done.” Inside, only Rudy and Antonio could stand up straight. Antonio’s skull brushed the ceiling. “Where are you from?” it asked.

  How to explain? Mr. Smith might know about the speed of light, but what would a year mean? “Far away,” Rudy said, taking charge. “We live out close to the rim of the galaxy. Relatively speaking.”

  Phyl broke in: “Try to keep it simple, Rudy.”

  “Yes. That would be quite far. I’m surprised anyone would undertake a journey of that nature. Why have you done it?”

  Rudy exchanged puzzled glances with Matt. “You mean why did we come here?”

  “I mean why would you agree to sit in the interior of a closed space for”—Phyllis hesitated, trying to find the right term—“eons?”

  “Eons?” Rudy cleared his throat. Chuckled. “The flight lasted only a few weeks.”

  “Rudy,” said Phyl, “I have no equivalent for weeks. No way to render the time.”

  “Damn it, Phyl. Tell him the sun rose twenty-three times, his sun—have I got that right?—how long is the day out here?—well what the hell, make it twenty-three.”

  Phyl relayed the question and Mr. Smith looked at Rudy. Its eyes grew larger, and its nose caught the light and seemed to glisten.

  Matt was already uncomfortable standing bent over. The chairs wouldn’t accommodate him. Unexpectedly, Mr. Smith snorted.

  “I think that is laughter,” said Phyl.

  “On this most significant occasion, I am a poor host. I had not expected you to be so large. In fact, I hadn’t expected you at all.” It snorted again.

  Odd sense of humor, thought Matt. “You thought it was a hoax,” he said.

  “I’m not sure what I thought.” He turned back to Rudy. It was no longer possible to think of Mr. Smith as an it. “Did I understand correctly? You came here from the edge of the galaxy? In twenty-three days?”

  “Yes. Although our home world is not all the way out on the rim.”

  “Nevertheless. I don’t know much about such things, but I am aware it’s a long flight.”

  Antonio asked permission to take pictures.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Smith.

  The imagers on their harnesses were transmitting everything back to Hutch. But Antonio had specialized equipment, and wanted specific angles, so he began taking pictures of the alien, and of the room.

  Jon lowered himself onto the floor, beside a radiator, and Matt followed. The furniture looked comfortable. Thick cushions. A sofa and two armchairs. A device that was probably a radio receiver was set on a corner table. The walls were paneled, light-stained, and smelled vaguely of cedar. A set of stairs rose to the second floor. Two electric lamps provided light. On the whole, the place felt warm and cozy.

  A doorway opened onto a dining area. Mr. Smith glanced in that direction. “May I get you some refreshments?”

  “No, thank you,” said Rudy. “No offense, but we’re not sure your food would be safe for us.”

  “Ah. Yes, I should have realized. I suspect there would be no problem, but it is best to take no chance.” He sat down on the floor beside Jon. “May I ask why you picked me? I mean, of all the people in the world, why did you call me?”

  “Because we wanted to speak with a scientist. We overheard you on a radio broadcast.”

  The alien had short stubby digits. Six on each hand. (It was actually more like a claw.) He pressed the digits together in a very human gesture. “I see. You’re talking about the public relations push for my group of people come together for profit.” Phyl’s voice changed, apparently dissatisfied with her translation. She tried again: “The effort to collect customers for my business.”

  “Yes.”
>
  “But I am not a scientist. What made you think that?”

  “We understood you to be a physicist.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I help people take care of their physical well-being. I am a”—the flow of conversation stopped while Phyl considered what term to use—“a health guru.”

  “This is turning into a pretty good story,” said Antonio.

  A gust of wind rattled the trees. “How old,” asked Rudy, “is the culture? Your civilization?”

  Mr. Smith thought about it. “I don’t think I understand the question.”

  “You have an organized society.”

  “Of course.”

  “How long has it been here?”

  “It’s always been here.”

  Rudy glanced at Matt. Where do we begin with this guy? “We know there was a high-tech society on this world a long time ago. And there is still one. More or less. But you do not seem to have what they had. There’s no evidence of a space program. You do not transmit visuals. Power is supplied by landline. What happened?”

  “You asked several questions. Let me tell you first that one of the (not translatable) ships is out there. Orbiting (not translatable).”

  Phyl broke in. “Give me a second to talk to him.” Moments later, she was back. “The ship is very old. Thousands of years, but it’s from this world. It’s in orbit around one of the gas giants.”

  “We don’t know what happened to it.” Mr. Smith looked away from them. “But it’s there. If we ever get a space program together, we’ll probably go out and take a look at it. But I can’t really see that happening.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because technology is dangerous.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It can provide horrendous weapons to idiots.”

  “Well,” said Antonio, “you have a point there.”

  “There are subtle things. It can tweak a gene and make everyone happy.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Think what happens to a society if everyone is happy. All the time.” He paused. Removed his jacket, revealing a knit white shirt, open at the neck. “The higher the level of technology, the more vulnerable a civilization becomes. Shut down a system here, or there, and the whole thing collapses. We have seen it.