Cast Under an Alien Sun (Destiny's Crucible)

by Olan Thorensen

  “I cannot give you that information.”

  “You don’t know, or you won’t tell?”

  “I cannot give you that information.”

  Joe ground his teeth. He wasn’t in the best frame of mind for sophisticated reasoning, which was fortunate, since there seemed to be only one option.

  “Let me guess. If I can’t stay on this ship, I can’t return to Earth, there are other planets with humans, and since you’re interested in my survival, the only option would be to take me to one of these planets inhabited by humans.”

  “Partly correct. That is one of the two options. The other one is you can choose to terminate your existence.”

  Joe sat transfixed. “You mean, like, be killed?”

  “You would cease to be. There would be no discomfort, I assure you.”

  “Well, thanks. I appreciate the shit out of that.”

  “I am sorry, Joe, but I am still not clear on the relevance to feces.”

  “It’s an obscure English language reference. I cannot give you the information to explain it.”

  Two can play at this silly game.

  “Wait a minute,” Joe said then. “I thought you couldn’t give me information, but you just did, about other planets having humans.”

  “As I said before, you need this information to recognize your two options and to make an informed decision. Will you need time to decide?”

  “If you return me to Earth, I would swear not to tell anyone about what happened here—so your secret would be safe.”

  “I believe if you considered this logically, you would see the fallacy in this assurance.”

  While Joe wanted to argue, he couldn’t give any assurances that they—whoever they were—would have any reason to trust.

  “Besides, it is unlikely that anyone would believe you.”

  Joe bit his lip, eyes darting about. It was time to grasp at straws. “If no one believes me, why not let me return to Earth?”

  “There is the low probability you would be believed or your account would be on a permanent record that someday could correlate with additional information.”

  “I’ll never see my family or friends again,” Joe said in desperation, “never have my life back!”

  “That is unfortunate.”

  He blinked back tears. “Please, I beg you, take me home.”

  “That is not an opt—”

  “I promise to keep this to myself!”

  “There is no point in continuing this exchange. There will be no more discussion. You are required to choose one of the two options.”

  As if about to fall into a pit, Joe grasped for reasons to delay the decision. “You haven’t given me enough details. This limited information would contradict the obligation for my survival. I need to know more about the planet to decide whether I prefer that over termination.”

  The silence encouraged Joe to think they were considering his complaint—he hoped. Then the voice returned.

  “I will answer relevant and allowed questions.”

  For several days, as Joe considered his sleep/wake cycle, he asked questions, and the voice mainly wouldn’t answer. Joe soon became tired of thinking of whatever he was communicating with as “the voice.” He debated within himself, aloud at times, about what name to bestow, and he settled on Harlie—the friendly AI of a science fiction novel by author David Gerrod. For the alien whatever they were, it was more difficult, because he knew nothing about them, neither their appearance, type of environment, origin, nor intentions. Harlie claimed his creators were only observing humans. That’s what Joe would call them. Watchers who were benignly studying humans. He hoped.

  Talking to Harlie kept Joe’s mind temporarily occupied. Whenever the voice didn’t respond, or Joe didn’t want to talk, he fell into despondent moods, even though he suspected that they continued to dampen his emotions.

  Periodically, a slot would open to a cavity containing cream-colored food cubes. They might be keeping him alive, but otherwise the fare reminded him of papier-mâché in early grade school. Cups of metallic-tasting water were available on request from the same slot, and with instructions from the voice on the functions of several levers, Joe used a corner of the room for “waste disposal.”

  While Joe’s efforts to wheedle more information out of Harlie about the Watchers failed, he had more success with the proposed destination.

  “Joe, I am allowed to show you an image of the planet.”

  A white wall instantly displayed a planet against a black background. After a few seconds, the orb rotated to show the entire surface, and superimposed lines indicated the equator. Resolution was sharp, though no fine details were discernible. In the first view, major land masses covered 40-50 percent of the surface, with a large continent in the northern hemisphere, three smaller in the southern, and islands were scattered around the larger masses. However, once the planet rotated, Joe could see the opposite side was devoid of land except for scattered islands. Ice and snow extended farther toward the equator than on Earth, and he couldn’t see if the white covered land or water.

  When the viewed returned to the planet half with most land, and stopped, Joe could see mountain ranges and the largest rivers and lakes. The land was shades of brown and a darker green than on Earth. Cloud cover was similar to that shown on satellite views of Earth, and several low-pressure whorls suggested the planet’s version of hurricanes.

  There was no sign of human artifacts. Then again, would he have seen anything on Earth from space before megacities arose? He remembered the astronauts said the only single structure they could identify was the Great Wall. Wait . . . were there some pinpricks of light just inside the night portion? Several of them on the coast near the equator. Cities?

  While Joseph studied the image, Harlie droned a commentary.

  “There are significant human populations on all the major land masses and larger islands. The social and political systems are unknown at present, other than there seem to be a variety. The level of technology resembles Earth at approximately the years 1650 to 1750.”

  Joe flashed on images of Stone Age humans, tribal societies, the Roman Empire, medieval Europe, Mongol hordes, and other times and places on Earth he wouldn’t have wanted to find himself. However, by around 1700 there were also reasonable civilizations.

  His positive attitude dissipated when he remembered that in 1700 on Earth, plenty of Stone Age and tribal places existed, along with more advanced cultures in which he wouldn’t have lasted long.

  “Where would you leave me on this planet? Is there any way for me to know more about the local conditions and have a choice where I end up?”

  “No to both of your questions,” said Harlie. “However, I am allowed to give you basic information about the planet itself. The planet is cooler than Earth, has a 329-day year, a day equivalent to 23 hours, and gravity 1.18 times Earth’s, due to the planet’s larger diameter and mass.”

  Making a rough calculation, Joe figured a year on this planet would be almost nine-tenths of an Earth year, 20 years equivalent to nearly 18 on Earth, and so on. More disturbing was gravity. His 175 pounds on Earth would translate into 206 on this planet.

  “It’s hard enough that I’ll be dumped into a foreign society where I’ll know absolutely nothing, not even languages, but to make matters worse, I’ll weigh more and be more physically stressed. I admit to not being much of an athletic specimen, but this’ll decrease my chances of survival.”

  “Do not be concerned. We made minor adjustments to your body to account for the increased mass.”

  “Adjustments?” Joe frowned. “What kind of ‘minor’ adjustments?”

  “We altered your physiology by increasing the efficiency of your cells’ energy-producing organelles.”

  “Energy organelles? You mean the mitochondria?”

  “Yes, the mitochondria. The increase in efficiency should result in more muscle mass and faster reflexes.”

  “I’m not sure I’m reassured by
the ‘should’ part. How does it work?”

  “Basic Earth physiology is relatively simple, and it only required replacing a few genes.”

  “You mean, like, actually replacing genes? Everywhere?”

  “In most of your cells. Not every cell had the relevant genes replaced, but enough of them to have the same effect as a total replacement. The nuclear genome was too complex to modify in the short time available. Fortunately, the smaller DNA content of your energy-producing sub-cellular organelles was easier to change.”

  Joe didn’t like the sound of this. Humans had nowhere near this technology, so how confident should he be that some alien race could do it in such a short time?

  Which brought forth another question. “Say, just how long has it been since you crashed into my airliner?”

  “Two of your years,” Harlie replied.

  “Jesus! Two years!”

  “Yes. It took time to fully analyze your biochemistry, physiology, and genome structure. Since you were our first physical specimen of Earth biology, the repairs to your injuries were carried out with caution. The actual gene replacement took only a few hours.”

  Two years. Two years! Everyone he knew believed he’d been dead for two whole years. As far as they were concerned, time had passed and they’d moved on without him. Julie? Where was she? What about the baby? Was there even a baby?

  One shock after another, and Joe stayed surprised at how he continued to accept everything with relative equanimity. But after the previous revelations, what were a few more? It must be the drugs or whatever they’re doing to me that keeps me semi-sane.

  “All right, so let’s say I’ll be strong enough to compensate for the increased gravity. What about diseases to which my immune system won’t have any resistance?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And what about me giving them diseases? I may have latent viruses and bacteria that will find a virgin field—a whole population without resistance. I could accidently kill most of the people on the planet!” Joe thought about the devastation of the American Indians by diseases brought in by the first Europeans.

  “That is not a problem. As part of repairing your body, it was necessary to preserve your parts from external contamination. Microscopic elements were designed for your basic physiology and biochemistry to exclude foreign entities and were injected into you. You will neither transmit any microorganisms to other humans nor be subject to external microorganisms.”

  Two simultaneous concerns intertwined in Joe’s mind. He wasn’t sure if he wanted more details of his “parts” that they had to preserve, because they invoked scenes from grotesque movies. Then there were these “elements” they’d put into him.

  “Are these like the predicted nanomachines—microscopic machines that could be put into a person to remove arterial plaques?”

  “I know nothing of your species’ predictions. Such elements, or nanomachines, as you call them, are a normal step in technological development.”

  “What exactly do these elements do?”

  “They recognize and destroy anything not belonging to your body. This includes bacteria, viruses, fungi, or any other organism types, as well as any cells of your body that escape the normal limits on proliferation. The only negative aspect is that you cannot receive transplants from other humans or animals.”

  “So,” Joe said cautiously, “if I understand correctly, I will not get sick, will not get cancer, but cannot have organ transplants?”

  “Correct.”

  Well, he thought, it wasn’t like there would be any heart transplants with the level of medical technology on the planet, so it was a pretty good trade-off. No illness and no cancer. Joe hated to admit it, but given what had happened, they seemed to be making a genuine effort to do right by him, apart from his never seeing Earth again.

  “So maybe I’ll have a chance to survive. What about the humans on this planet? Am I correct that whoever made you doesn’t want it known that they exist and are observing humans as you do Earth? If that’s the case, won’t putting me there risk revealing your existence?”

  “It is estimated that the probability you will impact the civilizations is close enough to zero to be considered nonexistent. It would be like adding a drop of water to an ocean.”

  Bastards! I just disappear, and whatever obligation they feel is satisfied.

  Over the next days—sleep cycles—he and the Harlie danced around the topic of where Joe might be “dumped.” Joe’s questions became more and more repetitious, and in one session he was about to ask another question when Harlie announced, “It is time for your decision. Do you wish to be terminated or be put on the other planet?”

  “Wait a minute! I have more questions I need answered.”

  “There are no more questions for which you need answers, only questions to which you want answers.”

  “What if I’m not ready to make the decision?”

  “It is estimated that there is a ninety-three percent probability your decision will not change by any amount of additional information. Nor would additional information increase your survival probability. Therefore, it is necessary for you to decide.”

  “And if I don’t decide?”

  “Then our obligation to you is ended. If you refuse to decide, the decision will be made by a random procedure.”

  “Meaning you’ll flip a coin to see if I live or die?”

  “If I understand the reference—yes.”

  Christ!

  “Then I choose the planet. How long will it be before we—” Joe slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 3: Planet Anyar

  Preddi City, Island of Caedellium

  Lieutenant Bortor Nestor stopped at the office door of General Okan Akuyun, commander of all Narthani forces and civilians on the island of Caedellium. The young officer ran one hand over his uniform to check buttons and smooth wrinkles. Satisfied, he raised a hand to knock, gauged the appropriate firmness expected by General Akuyun, and executed three firm raps.

  “Come in,” said a baritone voice.

  Nestor opened the door and walked to attention in front of the general’s desk. On first impression, Okan Akuyun appeared stern and humorless—a carefully crafted facade. As a young officer, he determined that a serious demeanor served well in rising through the Narthani hierarchy. He was uncertain whether it had helped, but it was an ingrained part of his public persona.

  “A message from Admiral Kalcan, General,” said the young officer, holding out a folded and sealed single sheet.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Akuyun. He took the message, broke the seal, and his eyes scanned the sheet. “That’ll be all, Lieutenant. There’s no return message.”

  Nestor slapped a right fist to his left shoulder, spun, and exited.

  Akuyun read the sheet again, slower this time, absentmindedly running a hand from scalp to chin. Of average height and with a lean frame and face, he wore his hair cropped. Just noticeable were the patches of gray appropriate for his fifty-two years.

  Although he was smooth shaven himself, many Narthani men sported mustaches, though nothing resembling a beard. No Narthani remembered that their distant nomadic ancestors had suffered facial fungal infections when they came roaring out of the harsh northern wastelands and mountains of the Melosian continent to capture more hospitable lands from weaker tribes. The beards, practical in their cold ancestral homelands, became breeding grounds for germs when the Narthani reached the warmer and more humid central latitudes. Shaving the beards solved the problem. Now, the Narthani considered beards a feature of lesser peoples; it was typical of their arrogance to ignore a history not fitting their self-image of inherent superiority.

  Okan Akuyun rose and walked to his office window. In the glass, he saw two faint reflections: his own face, and the six-foot-square wall map hanging behind his desk. He knew every detail of the map. The Caedellium Archipelago consisted of one large island, two smaller islands to the northwest, and several islets off the main island’s coasts. T
hat large island, Caedellium, measured five hundred by four hundred miles and was politically divided among twenty-one provinces ruled by clans steadfast in guarding their independence. A total island population estimated at 800,000 seemed to the Narthani ridiculously under-populated for the richness of the land.

  Through the window glass and past the reflections, Akuyun surveyed parts of Preddi City, the original capitol of Preddi Province, and the main trading port for Caedellium. The city’s population of 35,000 was 9,000 more than when the Narthani first arrived and when the majority of the population were members of the Preddi Clan. Now, only 3,000 to 4,000 clansmen remained. The replacements were Narthani civilian settlers and tradesmen and their families, members of the military accompanied by a few families of the higher ranks, and slaves from conquered lands.

  His eyes moved past the busy square and street in front of his headquarters and on to the main object of his attention: the harbor of Preddi City. He drew a deep breath, suppressing the excitement surging through him. Troop transports and cargo ships filled the harbor. A row of protective frigates anchored farther offshore, their sails furled, the closed gun ports for their single deck of 30-pounder cannon visible from his office. No larger escorts were deemed necessary because Caedellium had no warships and was not allied with any major power.

  Akuyun’s mission was to bring the isolation of this resource-rich land to an end. He watched with satisfaction as the first two of the newly arrived troop transports disembarked lines of men down gangplanks to form units on the dock, their dark blue pants and maroon coats identifying them as Narthani infantry. Even from this distance and through his closed window, he could faintly hear officers shouting at their men, boots drumming against wood, the clanking of weapons against metal canteens. All of these sounds rose above the background of thousands of men whispering, cursing, grunting, complaining, and talking with the next men in line. Cannons, ammunition, tools, more settlers, slaves, general supplies, and the heavy cavalry’s horses waited offshore in cargo freighters.