The Year's Best SF 12 # 1994

by Gardner Dozois (ed)

  “You’ll never be charged.”

  “Of course not. So I’ll never be found innocent, either.”

  I said, “When I’m out of here, I’m going after them.” They wanted impartiality? An investigation untainted by prejudice? They’d get exactly what they paid for, this time. Minus the tunnel vision.

  Martin said softly, “Who’s going to employ you to do that?”

  I smiled, painfully. “LEI’s insurance company.”

  When they’d left, I dozed off.

  I woke suddenly, from a dream of suffocation.

  Even if I proved that the whole thing had been a marketing exercise by LEI—even if half their directors were thrown in prison, even if the company itself was liquidated—the technology would still be owned by someone.

  And one way or another, in the end, it would be sold.

  That’s what I’d missed, in my fanatical neutrality: you can’t sell a cure without a disease. So even if I was right to be neutral—even if there was no difference to fight for, no difference to betray, no difference to preserve—the best way to sell the cocoon would always be to invent one. And even if it would be no tragedy at all if there was nothing left but heterosexuality in a century’s time, the only path which could lead there would be one of lies, and wounding, and vilification.

  Would people buy that, or not?

  I was suddenly very much afraid that they would.

  SEVEN VIEWS OF OLDUVAI GORGE

  Mike Resnick

  Here’s a bittersweet vision of the Future of Humanity, which also gives us a fascinating look at our origins, our present unsettled condition, and our splendid and terrible destiny …

  Mike Resnick is one of the bestselling authors in science fiction, and one of the most prolific. His many novels include The Dark Lady, Stalking the Unicorn, Paradise, Santiago, Ivory, Soothsayer, Oracle, Lucifer Jones, Purgatory, and Inferno. His award-winning short fiction has been gathered in the collection Will the Last Person to Leave the Planet Please Shut Off the Sun?. Of late, he has become almost as prolific as an anthologist, producing, as editor, Inside the Funhouse: 17 SF stories about SF, Whatdunits, More Whatdunits, and Shaggy B.E.M. Stories, a long string of anthologies coedited with Martin H. Greenberg, Alternate Presidents, Alternate Kennedys, Alternate Warriors, Aladdin: Master of the Lamp, and Dinosaur Fantastic, among others, as well as two anthologies coedited with Gardner Dozois, Future Earths: Under African Skies and Future Earths: Under South American Skies. He won the Hugo Award in 1989 for “Kirinyaga,” one of the most controversial and talked-about stories in recent years. He won another Hugo Award in 1991 for another story in the Kirinyaga series, “The Manamouki.” His most recent books include the novel A Miracle of Rare Design, and the anthologies Alternate Outlaws and Alternate Worldcons, Deals With the Devil (coedited with Martin H. Greenberg and Loren D. Estleman), and By Any Other Fame and Sherlock Holmes in Orbit (both coedited with Martin H. Greenberg). His stories have appeared in our Sixth, Seventh, Ninth, and Eleventh Annual Collections. He lives with his wife Carol in Cincinnati, Ohio.

  The creatures came again last night.

  The moon had just slipped behind the clouds when we heard the first rustlings in the grass. Then there was a moment of utter silence, as if they knew we were listening for them, and finally there were the familiar hoots and shrieks as they raced to within fifty meters of us and, still screeching, struck postures of aggression.

  They fascinate me, for they never show themselves in the daylight, and yet they manifest none of the features of the true nocturnal animal. Their eyes are not oversized, their ears cannot move independently, they tread very heavily on their feet. They frighten most of the other members of my party, and while I am curious about them, I have yet to absorb one of them and study it.

  To tell the truth, I think my use of absorption terrifies my companions more than the creatures do, though there is no reason why it should. Although I am relatively young by my race’s standards, I am nevertheless many millennia older than any other member of my party. You would think, given their backgrounds, that they would know that any trait someone of my age possesses must by definition be a survival trait.

  Still, it bothers them. Indeed, it mystifies them, much as my memory does. Of course, theirs seem very inefficient to me. Imagine having to learn everything one knows in a single lifetime, to be totally ignorant at the moment of birth! Far better to split off from your parent with his knowledge intact in your brain, just as my parent’s knowledge came to him, and ultimately to me.

  But then, that is why we are here: not to compare similarities, but to study differences. And never was there a race so different from all his fellows as Man. He was extinct barely seventeen millennia after he strode boldly out into the galaxy from this, the planet of his birth—but during that brief interval he wrote a chapter in galactic history that will last forever. He claimed the stars for his own, colonized a million worlds, ruled his empire with an iron will. He gave no quarter during his primacy, and he asked for none during his decline and fall. Even now, some forty-eight centuries after his extinction, his accomplishments and his failures still excite the imagination.

  Which is why we are on Earth, at the very spot that was said to be Man’s true birthplace, the rocky gorge where he first crossed over the evolutionary barrier, saw the stars with fresh eyes, and vowed that they would someday be his.

  Our leader is Bellidore, an Elder of the Kragan people, orange-skinned, golden fleeced, with wise, patient ways. Bellidore is well-versed in the behavior of sentient beings, and settles our disputes before we even know that we are engaged in them.

  Then there are the Stardust Twins, glittering silver beings who answer to each other’s names and finish each other’s thoughts. They have worked on seventeen archaeological digs, but even they were surprised when Bellidore chose them for this most prestigious of all missions. They behave like life mates, though they display no sexual characteristics—but like all the others, they refuse to have physical contact with me, so I cannot assuage my curiosity.

  Also in our party is the Moriteu, who eats the dirt as if it were a delicacy, speaks to no one, and sleeps upside-down while hanging from a branch of a nearby tree. For some reason, the creatures always leave it alone. Perhaps they think it is dead, possibly they know it is asleep and that only the rays of the sun can awaken it. Whatever the reason, we would be lost without it, for only the delicate tendrils that extend from its mouth can excavate the ancient artifacts we have discovered with the proper care.

  We have four other species with us: one is an Historian, one an Exobiologist, one an Appraiser of human artifacts, and one a Mystic. (At least, I assume she is a Mystic, for I can find no pattern to her approach, but this may be due to my own shortsightedness. After all, what I do seems like magic to my companions and yet it is a rigorously-applied science.)

  And, finally, there is me. I have no name, for my people do not use names, but for the convenience of the party I have taken the name of He Who Views for the duration of the expedition. This is a double misnomer: I am not a he, for my race is not divided by gender; and I am not a viewer, but a Fourth Level Feeler. Still, I could intuit very early in the voyage that “feel” means something very different to my companions than to myself, and out of respect for their sensitivities, I chose a less accurate name.

  Every day finds us back at work, examining the various strata. There are many signs that the area once teemed with living things, that early on there was a veritable explosion of life forms in this place, but very little remains today. There are a few species of insects and birds, some small rodents, and of course the creatures who visit our camp nightly.

  Our collection has been growing slowly. It is fascinating to watch my companions perform their tasks, for in many ways they are as much of a mystery to me as my methods are to them. For example, our Exobiologist needs only to glide her tentacle across an object to tell us whether it was once living matter; the Historian, surrounded by its complex
equipment, can date any object, carbon-based or otherwise, to within a decade of its origin, regardless of its state of preservation; and even the Moriteu is a thing of beauty and fascination as it gently separates the artifacts from the strata where they have rested for so long.

  I am very glad I was chosen to come on this mission.

  * * *

  We have been here for two lunar cycles now, and the work goes slowly. The lower strata were thoroughly excavated eons ago (I have such a personal interest in learning about Man that I almost used the word plundered rather than excavated, so resentful am I at not finding more artifacts), and for reasons as yet unknown there is almost nothing in the more recent strata.

  Most of us are pleased with our results, and Bellidore is particularly elated. He says that finding five nearly intact artifacts makes the expedition an unqualified success.

  All the others have worked tirelessly since our arrival. Now it is almost time for me to perform my special function, and I am very excited. I know that my findings will be no more important that the others’, but perhaps, when we put them all together, we can finally begin to understand what it was that made Man what he was.

  * * *

  “Are you…” asked the first Stardust Twin.

  “… ready?” said the second.

  I answered that I was ready, that indeed I had been anxious for this moment.

  “May we…”

  “… observe?” they asked.

  “If you do not find it distasteful,” I replied.

  “We are …

  “… scientists,” they said. “There is…”

  “… very little…”

  “… that we cannot view…”

  “… objectively.”

  I ambulated to the table upon which the artifact rested. It was a stone, or at least that is what it appeared to be to my exterior sensory organs. It was triangular, and the edges showed signs of work.

  “How old is this?” I asked.

  “Three million…”

  “… five hundred and sixty-one thousand…”

  “… eight hundred and twelve years,” answered the Stardust Twins.

  “I see,” I said.

  “It is much…”

  “… the oldest…”

  “… of our finds.”

  I stared at it for a long time, preparing myself. Then I slowly, carefully, altered my structure and allowed my body to flow over and around the stone, engulfing it, and assimilating its history. I began to feel a delicious warmth as it became one with me, and while all my exterior senses had shut down, I knew that I was undulating and glowing with the thrill of discovery. I became one with the stone, and in that corner of my mind that is set aside for Feeling, I seemed to sense the Earth’s moon looming low and ominous just above the horizon …

  * * *

  Enkatai awoke with a start just after dawn and looked up at the moon, which was still high in the sky. After all these weeks it still seemed far too large to hang suspended in the sky, and must surely crash down onto the planet any moment. The nightmare was still strong in her mind, and she tried to imagine the comforting sight of five small, unthreatening moons leapfrogging across the silver sky of her own world. She was able to hold the vision in her mind’s eye for only a moment, and then it was lost, replaced by the reality of the huge satellite above her.

  Her companion approached her.

  “Another dream?” he asked.

  “Exactly like the last one,” she said uncomfortably. “The moon is visible in the daylight, and then we begin walking down the path…”

  He stared at her with sympathy and offered her nourishment. She accepted it gratefully, and looked off across the veldt.

  “Just two more days,” she sighed, “and then we can leave this awful place.”

  “It is not such a terrible world,” replied Bokatu. “It has many good qualities.”

  “We have wasted our time here,” she said. “It is not fit for colonization.”

  “No, it is not,” he agreed. “Our crops cannot thrive in this soil, and we have problems with the water. But we have learned many things, things that will eventually help us choose the proper world.”

  “We learned most of them the first week we were here,” said Enkatai. “The rest of the time was wasted.”

  “The ship had other worlds to explore. They could not know we would be able to eliminate this one in such a short time.”

  She shivered in the cool morning air. “I hate this place.”

  “It will someday be a fine world,” said Bokatu. “It awaits only the evolution of the brown monkeys.”

  Even as he spoke, an enormous baboon, some 350 pounds in weight, heavily muscled, with a shaggy chest and bold, curious eyes, appeared in the distance. Even walking on all fours it was a formidable figure, fully twice as large as the great spotted cats.

  “We cannot use this world,” continued Bokatu, “but someday his descendants will spread across it.”

  “They seem so placid,” commented Enkatai.

  “They are placid,” agreed Bokatu, hurling a piece of food at the baboon, which raced forward and picked it up off the ground. It sniffed at it, seemed to consider whether or not to taste it, and finally, after a moment of indecision, put it in its mouth. “But they will dominate this planet. The huge grass-eaters spend too much time feeding, and the predators sleep all the time. No, my choice is the brown monkey. They are fine, strong, intelligent animals. They have already developed thumbs, they possess a strong sense of community, and even the great cats think twice about attacking them. They are virtually without natural predators.” He nodded his head, agreeing with himself. “Yes, it is they who will dominate this world in the eons to come.”

  “No predators?” said Enkatai.

  “Oh, I suppose one falls prey to the great cats now and then, but even the cats do not attack when they are with their troop.” He looked at the baboon. “That fellow has the strength to tear all but the biggest cat to pieces.”

  “Then how do you account for what we found at the bottom of the gorge?” she persisted.

  “Their size has cost them some degree of agility. It is only natural that one occasionally falls down the slopes to its death.”

  “Occasionally?” she repeated. “I found seven skulls, each shattered as if from a blow.”

  “The force of the fall,” said Bokatu with a shrug. “Surely you don’t think the great cats brained them before killing them?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the cats,” she replied.

  “What, then?”

  “The small, tailless monkeys that live in the gorge.”

  Bokatu allowed himself the luxury of a superior smile. “Have you looked at them?” he said. “They are scarcely a quarter the size of the brown monkeys.”

  “I have looked at them,” answered Enkatai. “And they, too, have thumbs.”

  “Thumbs alone are not enough,” said Bokatu.

  “They live in the shadow of the brown monkeys, and they are still here,” she said. “That is enough.”

  “The brown monkeys are eaters of fruits and leaves. Why should they bother the tailless monkeys?”

  “They do more than not bother them,” said Enkatai. “They avoid them. That hardly seems like a species that will someday spread across the world.”

  Bokatu shook his head. “The tailless monkeys seem to be at an evolutionary dead end. Too small to hunt game, too large to feed themselves on what they can find in the gorge, too weak to compete with the brown monkeys for better territory. My guess is that they’re an earlier, more primitive species, destined for extinction.”

  “Perhaps,” said Enkatai.

  “You disagree?”

  “There is something about them…”

  “What?”

  Enkatai shrugged. “I do not know. They make me uneasy. It is something in their eyes, I think—a hint of malevolence.”

  “You are imagining things,” said Bokatu.

  “Perhaps,”
replied Enkatai again.

  “I have reports to write today,” said Bokatu. “But tomorrow I will prove it to you.”

  * * *

  The next morning Bokatu was up with the sun. He prepared their first meal of the day while Enkatai completed her prayers, then performed his own while she ate.

  “Now,” he announced, “we will go down into the gorge and capture one of the tailless monkeys.”

  “Why?”

  “To show you how easy it is. I may take it back with me as a pet. Or perhaps we shall sacrifice it in the lab and learn more about its life processes.”

  “I do not want a pet, and we are not authorized to kill any animals.”

  “As you wish,” said Bokatu. “We will let it go.”

  “Then why capture one to begin with?”

  “To show you that they are not intelligent, for if they are as bright as you think, I will not be able to capture one.” He pulled her to an upright position. “Let us begin.”

  “This is foolish,” she protested. “The ship arrives in midafternoon. Why don’t we just wait for it?”

  “We will be back in time,” he replied confidently. “How long can it take?”

  She looked at the clear blue sky, as if trying to urge the ship to appear. The moon was hanging, huge and white, just above the horizon. Finally she turned to him.

  “All right, I will come with you—but only if you promise merely to observe them, and not to try to capture one.”

  “Then you admit I’m right?”

  “Saying that you are right or wrong has nothing to do with the truth of the situation. I hope you are right, for the tailless monkeys frighten me. But I do not know you are right, and neither do you.”

  Bokatu stared at her for a long moment.

  “I agree,” he said at last.

  “You agree that you cannot know?”

  “I agree not to capture one,” he said. “Let us proceed.”

  They walked to the edge of the gorge and then began climbing down the steep embankments, steadying themselves by wrapping their limbs around trees and other outgrowths. Suddenly they heard a loud screeching.