First Contact - Digital Science Fiction Anthology 1

by Ian Creasey

Operating the robot remotely is very hard. There is no off-time. I sleep when you do, and an alarm wakes me when you are awake. When I need to use the bathroom, I must wait until one of the other girls with a sleeping client can take over for me for a few minutes.

  I do not mean to say that I am unhappy caring for you. I think of my mother, whose work had been very much like mine. She’s in bed back home, cared for by my cousins. I am doing for you what I wish I could be doing for her.

  It is bittersweet for me to watch your life in America, seeing those wide streets and quiet neighborhoods through the camera. I enjoy my walks with you.

  It is forbidden to let you know of my existence. I will be fined and fired if you choose to report it. I pray that you will keep this our secret and allow me to care for you.

  Tom calls and reveals that he has been getting copies of my bank statements. It was a necessary precaution, he explains, back when I was in the hospital.

  “I need some privacy,” I say to Manuela. She scoots quickly out of the room.

  “Dad, I saw in last month’s statement a transfer to Western Union. Can you explain? Ellen and I are concerned.”

  The money was sent to a former student of mine, who’s spending the summer traveling in Mexico. I asked him to look up La Gloria, and if he can locate Manuela’s family, to give the money to them.

  “Who should I say the money is from?” he had asked.

  “El Norte,” I had said. “Tell them it’s money that is owed to them.”

  I imagine Manuela’s family trying to come up with explanations. Perhaps Manuela’s father sent the money, and is trying to send it without giving himself away to the authorities. Perhaps the American government is returning to us money for the property we lost.

  “I sent some money to a friend in Mexico,” I tell my son.

  “What friend?”

  “You don’t know her.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “Through the Internet.” It’s as close to the truth as anything.

  Tom is quiet. He’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind.

  “There are a lot of scams on the Internet, Dad,” he says. I can tell he’s working hard to keep his voice calm.

  “Yes, that’s true,” I say.

  Manuela returns for my bath. Now that I know the truth, I do feel some embarrassment. But I let her undress me and carry me into the tub, her movements as steady and gentle as ever.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You are welcome.” The mechanical voice is silent a while. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  I look into the cameras. The diaphragms open and close, slowly, like a blink.

  *The image-orientation CAPTCHA Reverse Turing Test is described by Rich Gossweiler, Maryam Kamvar, and Shumeet Baluja in “What’s Up CAPTCHA? A CAPTCHA Based on Image Orientation,” first published in Proceedings of the 18th International Conference on World Wide Web (Madrid, Spain, April 20 - 24, 2009). The quote is taken from that paper, which can be viewed at: www.richgossweiler.com/projects/rotcaptcha/rotcaptcha.pdf

  Masks

  By Jennifer R. Povey

  It had been an especially good day. For one thing, her basket was filled with fruit. For another, there had been no sign of the Furs. Jane slipped back within the perimeter. She closed and secured all three locks. Soon there would probably be four.

  That was what it took, these days, to keep them out. It was a losing battle, and she knew it. Sixteen years old and looking more like twelve, the thin girl made her way toward the center of the compound.

  For once, she had gotten to the fruit before they did. Size was an advantage. Maybe she did so well because she was not, after all, much taller than they were. She could climb almost as well, and she was smart. Although some in the settlement questioned that.

  She was tired of the attitudes of the people in the compound. There were even a couple of old timers who thought they should just let the Furs win. Let them have the world. Simply not have any children, and fade away.

  Jane snorted. The world didn’t belong to people who were willing to give it up. Sure, they could fade away, but that just made space for those who would fight.

  Supposedly, further north, there were still human cities from which the Furs had been expelled. Every so often, somebody would go off looking for them. They never came back.

  “Jane!” The voice broke into her thoughts.

  “I have fruit!” she called back.

  That was a small victory. The only crop raising they could do was within the perimeter, under constant watch. They had managed to make ammo ... for old black powder muskets. Technology was fading away. The only consolation was that the Furs did not seem to be doing much better.

  “Great. See many of them?”

  “Not this time. Maybe they found a good cache somewhere else, I don’t know.”

  She was one of the few who would go out on her own, but it seemed more effective. The Furs noticed her less, perhaps, and with her small size ...

  Who knew how the Furs really thought? They were not like humans. They were the next dominant species, everyone agreed on that. It was the chances of human survival that people differed on. That and its desirability.

  Jane shook her head. She took the fruit to the central kitchen. She was not going to give up. She was not going to surrender.

  She also knew that humans could not destroy the Furs – at least not easily. Had the creatures been captured soon, when there were still very few of them, then sure, they could have been eliminated.

  Now, they were simply ... the Furs. Dangerous, lethal ... but she could not really blame them for that. It was not like humans would not shoot them given a chance. It was not like the two species were not at war.

  It rained the next day. Not a nice, gentle rain, but a harsh one that rattled off of the roofs. Jane lay on her cot, not wanting to go out in it, knowing she would have to eventually. Envying the enemy. They had fur.

  She knew how it had started, and she knew how it would end. Realism mingled with despair.

  So stupid. Let’s try to increase human intelligence, they had said. Let’s test it on animals. They had decided testing it on apes was too dangerous. Apes could leapfrog past humans too easily. So they had picked something close to the primates but not too close. Or so they thought.

  Too late now, of course. The first thing the Furs had done when they escaped was destroy the formula. The second thing they had done was kill the scientists.

  Jane stood up and walked to the door of her hut. She looked out at the mud and filth. This was not how humanity had lived before the Furs. All they had now was survival.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped out into the rain. It was, at least, not a cold rain. Nobody else was moving. She checked the roof. Most Furs were too heavy to jump onto roofs, but there were exceptions.

  They had gotten bigger, and their growth had slowed. They had become more like humans in ways other than intelligence, walking on hind legs and reaching almost the size of their creators. For now, though, they did not seem to be in the camp.

  They, too, were probably hiding from the rain. She made it to the kitchen, ducking under the eaves. The only person there was old Petra, who was apparently trying to make stew in these conditions.

  “Thanks.” Jane meant as much for braving the rain as for the stew.

  They did not dare try to go back into the city. Rumor had it the Furs had booby-trapped the place thoroughly. It was a long trek, and going there would be dangerous ... way too many chances of getting killed.

  She wondered. If she left, would she want to come back – if she could find a real town, a real house, a real ... but how could it be? The Furs had cut communication lines, had taken over the farms. There was no way for a city to survive. Maybe a few isolated people, with roof gardens and hydroponics. People with self-sufficiency.

  They almost had that here, but not quite. They still had to get out and about. The gardens were not enough. People were go
ing hungry.

  “Do we have any meat?” Jane asked.

  Petra shook her head. “Not unless you go find some.”

  She meant the generic you, not Jane specifically.

  “Every time I set out traps, they get destroyed, and the bait vanishes.”

  “Why do they hate us so much?” Petra mused. “We made them.”

  “That doesn’t mean they should put us up as gods,” Jane said, reaching for a stew bowl. “I suppose they think they can do a better job than us. Or they think it’s us or them.”

  Maybe it was. Maybe there was no room for two intelligent species on the planet. Jane ladled herself out stew that was mostly potato broth.

  “They should live and let live,” said Petra.

  “Why, when we won’t?”

  Jane ducked out the door. At least the rain had eased. Maybe she should ... no, she was no good with a sling. She would leave that to those who were. She was no good at fighting Furs or hunting.

  She was good at avoiding them and finding stuff. So that was what she did. She began to trudge toward the gate, bent on another expedition. She was intercepted before she could get there by – oh hell, Tony.

  Tony wore an ancient, ragged cowboy hat nobody could get him to throw away. He hit on every female of marriageable age and occasionally a few who were not considered such. Like Jane. She wished she was good with a sling for a different reason. She’d love to knock his hat clean off his head, especially as she had once glimpsed the expanse of pate that lay underneath. Lacking a toupee, he wore a hat. Denying that was the reason, he pretended he was some kind of frontiersman.

  Tony was the kind of useless piece of deadwood they kept around only because nobody could bring themselves to throw him out. He would die if they did, so they kept him. Much to Jane’s disgust.

  “Hey, Janey girl,” he said, with a familiar leer.

  She ignored him, stepping out through the gate. He was too much of a coward to physically intercept her. He knew she carried a knife. He knew she would use it if she felt she needed to.

  Did she need to? No. She was past him. She was out and free.

  It was odd how she always felt far more alive on the outside. Part of her just wanted to leave, to go. Find another settlement. It might not be a bad idea. She had heard the word inbreeding a number of times. It was spoken of as a bad thing.

  Maybe she should go to the city. It was probably the encounter with Tony that had her feeling like this. Tony already had one wife, but he saw no reason not to try and claim a second. And they had more women than men.

  He wanted her, she knew that. Never mind that she was young enough to be his daughter and two years younger than most of the girls who had gotten married.

  Well, Dawn had been seventeen. Niceties like that were not something they could afford any more. She wanted to walk and keep on walking. It was not rational, and she knew it.

  She forced herself to discipline, circling right toward a place where she had previously found wild bees. Honey would make her popular indeed. If she could beat the Furs to it. Honey ... the thought of it made her mouth water.

  Then she saw them. A team of two. One of the Furs poked at the hive, while the other stood guard.

  By the time she came upon them, she was almost face to face with the female. She could see the small teats within her fur ... nothing like what adorned human women.

  For a long moment, the only question was who was more afraid of whom. Jane was reaching for her knife. So was the other female.

  Jane started to back away. If she didn’t look like she was competing for the honey, they might not pursue her. The Fur female, though, was approaching. Closing.

  Jane did not want to fight. Were she able to kill the Fur quickly, she would, but a fight like this would be difficult.

  The Fur bluffed at her, knife drawn, and Jane backed further away, being careful not to smile. She was certainly not taking on two of them. They could have the honey ... this time.

  Eventually, the Fur seemed to back down. Jane kept retreating until she was out of sight, then fled. She was, she knew, lucky to be alive. Lucky to be able to escape this situation.

  Every time she saw one of them, she had a mixed reaction. They were not so different, and they were utterly different. They were destruction. Looking at a being that was not human but in all ways her equal was a queer feeling.

  Jane was not about to go back to the settlement empty-handed, and it might not have been long enough for Tony to tire of waiting for her. So she continued her foraging, away from the Furs and the honey. The rest of the pack was not likely to be far away.

  If she mentioned the encounter in camp, then it would be more ammunition for those who thought foragers should only go out in pairs. The last time she had taken anyone with her, she had ended up with a Fur knife in her shoulder.

  She would continue going alone, and they would not stop her. They could not. Nor would she let them tell her to have as many children as possible in the hope that some survived.

  Tell her, no. She might decide to do it anyway, except she knew the end result. She would not be her any more, but rather some worn-out thing that was known only as mother. It was already happening to some of the older women. Trying to keep up with the Furs, who routinely had twins.

  It was the next morning that Jane left the compound, knowing this time she would not return. Breakfast had been the last straw.

  “We really can’t let girls wait until eighteen anymore.”

  Jane scowled across the table at the older woman. Too old to have children herself, too old to end up worn out. Jane didn’t say anything, knowing the statement was aimed at her, but not wanting to admit she knew.

  Sure, she was putting it off. It was as much because she did not like any of the men available as anything else.

  “We don’t have to be total savages,” cut in Charles Tanner.

  “We have to survive, and that means getting the population up.” Margaret, the older woman, narrowed her eyes at Charles. “There are two young women, both sixteen, who are more than ready to contribute to that and who aren’t.”

  “I refuse to be part of us moving to forced marriage,” Tanner said softly.

  “Who said anything about forced? I am simply reminding people of their duty.”

  It would become forced before long. Margaret was the kind of personality who got what she wanted.

  Duty. Jane had a duty. Yet she was not going to spend nights with any of the men here. Especially not Tony. Forced marriage would come. She would rather die at the hands of the Furs than spend one night with him.

  After breakfast, she told them she was going foraging and slipped out of the gate. There was nothing she could take with her except some food, her knife and sling, her flint and steel, and her heavy coat. Fortunately it was cool enough that she could get away with wearing it. She hid the other things within its pockets or hung them from her belt. It was important not to take anything vital to the settlement, like its only compass.

  Her route, she supposed, must take her toward the city. Stupid, really. She had never believed people were living there. She was one of those who assumed it was dead concrete. Right now, though, part of her wanted to know for sure, and another part just could think of no place else to go.

  How many days away the city was, who knew? She had seen remains of the old road during her forages. This road was overgrown with vegetation, but if she followed it, heading north, in time it would get her there.

  It was good that she’d left. The settlement was doomed, anyway. Tanner had said that without outside congress, they could not survive past the fifth generation. So she was doing the right thing for them as well as for herself. Find more people, connect them. If she survived.

  Summer was ahead. If she did not find humans before the days darkened again, she would go back. They would let her in, because they would need her. She would bring something to make sure of it. And stories.

  Jane headed further into the woods. The
n she found it: the ribbon of cracked grey among the trees. She climbed down from the bank onto the remnant of road.

  The Furs, apparently, had no use for it. Either that or they couldn’t maintain it. Roads led to cities. The Furs had taken the cities, but then had done nothing with them.

  Maybe cities were not in their nature. Those feral roots ... Surely they were smart enough to manage technology, but it seemed to not agree with them. All progress humans had made in the centuries before the takeover, the Furs had destroyed in a few short generations.

  The road’s surface was dark grey except where plants twisted up through it. A hawk glided overhead, taking advantage of the extra heat rising from the pavement. The hawk would take advantage of her, too, if she died.

  Her thoughts now turned to the journey ahead. How many days? she wondered. Could she survive in the wild until she found the city? What if no humans were there when she arrived? Would the Furs find and kill her in the meantime?

  She walked around a tree that had managed to take root on the surface of the pavement. Nothing more than a sapling. A survivor, just as she was.

  She followed the road all morning and afternoon, stopping for edible greens when she noticed them. The more substantial food in her pockets she’d save for as long as she could. No telling how many days it might take to get where she was going.

  Jane stopped abruptly. A black snake was sunning on the road. She was lucky she had seen it before stepping on its tail. As she gave it a wide berth, the Furs were suddenly there. Not just one or two, but an entire pack of them. Most had guns, secured to makeshift belts. They were only a little shorter than she was. Their furred bodies and exotic tails surrounded her.

  Jane lifted her hands but knew surrender was a waste of time. They would kill her for the crime of being human. Her life did not so much flash before her eyes as flow around her for a moment. She was about to die, and she knew it. There was no escaping it.

  Then she realized they had not gunned her down. Experimentally, she took a step forward.

  They blocked her path. She could hear words between them, but could not understand what they were saying. She never had managed to pick up more of their language than a word here and there.