She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. "I've hardly been here a month. You certainly can't expect any revelations that quickly."
Petr Jenowitz merely grimaced. "We were given six solar months to determine the suitability of this planet. Your department is the only one that has not made significant progress."
She stifled a laugh. Her "department" consisted entirely of herself, the corporation not willing to invest any more than necessary in a venture that might prove fruitless. "Determining whether the air is breathable or the water potable is a much easier task than discovering intelligent life forms. Especially since nearly anything can be intelligent."
"Surely you've made some progress."
"Some. At least I've identified quite a few forms that are not intelligent."
"Excellent. Keep me appraised." He rose and picked up his tray. "If you'll excuse me, I do have to talk with our engineering group."
She shrugged as he left. She understood he was under a great deal of pressure from the corporation to provide a positive report. This assignment could make or break his career. Of course, she mused as she returned to her own meal, it could do the same to hers.
A chorus of squeaks, growls and chirps greeted Casian as she entered her lab. It housed her latest collection of native live. It was more by necessity than anything else; the larger carnivores she had observed lived in resolute solitude, as did the birds and very few primates. Socialization and species interaction had long proven to be a prerequisite for intelligence and learning and, what she had discovered thus far, these creatures acted mostly by instinct. Still she dutifully attempted a few tests on the small furry primate in the chance its ability to grip objects might be a sign of increased brain power. After half an hour, however, she stopped in frustration. The creature refused to imitate any of her gestures and seemed only concerned with the native fruit she gave it.
A few cages away, a large insect clamored over a ball. Nearby was an aquarium filled with several species of fish. She shook her head as she glanced at them. If they were intelligent she would never know because it had taken years to make breakthroughs with Terran dolphins and she only had months.
She walked past several more cages and paused in front of a small herbivore. It looked a bit like a deer, although smaller and shaggier, and everyone at the camp called it that. It stared back at her, openly curious and not at all afraid. Casian had seen them frequently in the woods near the camp, gathered in small herds. In her studies, herbivores rarely were promising choices, their chief concerns in life eating what was readily available and avoiding being eaten. This specimen she had collected three days previous and, until now, ignored except for requisite feeding. "So, how are we today?" she greeted it.
The creature shook its head and snorted.
"This shouldn't take too long," she said as she pulled up a chair and sat across from it. She reached through the bars and set three large cards on the concrete floor, one a circle, one a rectangle and one a triangle, each a different color. Although she doubted the colors would matter much; she was quite certain the creature was color blind. She watched as the animal sniffed each card in turn and half-expected it to eat one. Instead it returned its attention to her. "Okay, class, listen up." She held up a card with a triangle, pointed to it and then the matching card on the floor. Then she did the same with the other two shapes. "Okay, get the idea?"
The animal merely looked at her.
"Not much of a conversationalist, are you? Here we go." And she held up the card with the circle.
The creature looked at her, the card, then the ones on the floor. And placed a foreleg on the card with the circle.
Casian nearly dropped her cards as a tingle of excitement ran through her. Just chance, she thought as she caught her breath. This time she tried the triangle, and the animal responded correctly again. She quickly conducted the test more than a dozen times, even adding several additional shapes. The creature never missed.
It could just be the colors, she thought as she set down the cards. But even that wouldn't matter. "Let's try this." She held up one finger, then tapped her foot one time. She held up one finger again and the creature responded correctly. "Try two," and she tapped her foot twice. Again the creature copied her. Next she held up all five fingers but didn't tap her foot. The animal tapped its hoof five times.
"Enough for today," she said and nearly staggered as she made her way to her desk. She sat and stared at her computer. Yes, she knew one could argue. The animal had done nothing more than what a Terran horse could be trained to do. But this animal had needed no training, did not require food or punishment to perform. It had wanted to respond to her.
"How intelligent are you, my friend?" she whispered as she watched it in its cage. It seemed to know she was observing because it stopped eating and looked at her, its ears cocked forward, its tail erect. Casian sat back and considered the possibilities. Problem-solving, that would be the first battery of tests she would run. The standard battery of O'Hara/Diego short-term memory evaluations. Beyond that...
She quivered at the possibilities. How did this species communicate amongst itself? Could it be taught to communicate with humans? Discovering an intelligent alien race. Casian, you've done your momma proud.
But, she brought herself back to reality, not her employer. If future testing bore out what she was beginning to expect, to pray for, then this planet could be declared off-limits. "So, girl, what are you going to do?" she whispered. In the morning, she knew, she would have to inform Jenowitz. The news would not make his day.
As she expected, her report was greeted with cold skepticism. "You really think those 'deer' are intelligent?" The commander blew angrily into his coffee.
"My initial tests are very promising. Quite stunning, actually."
"The corporation will require much more convincing proof than what you have told me so far." He pointed at the offending manuscript. "What I see are parlor tricks a mouse could do."
"Not tricks I assure you."
Jenowitz pushed his breakfast away. "This planet offers great potential. I won't risk it over one talented animal."
She remained nonplused. "You know the Federation mandate. Do you or the corporation plan to defy it?"
"Of course not." He sighed. "How soon will you have a definitive report?"
"I would hope within a few more months."
"You realize that we can't approach the Federation for an extension. We could lose our exclusivity arrangement if we delay beyond the regulations."
"I understand your concerns. And I share them." Which, she realized, was the truth.
"In that case I am putting any further development on hold. I won't spend any more of the company's funds on a venture that may become a dry hole." He stared at her. "You better be right."
I am, she thought. "I'll get to work immediately. If you'll excuse me." She took her tray and headed back to the laboratory.
Casian stepped away from the cage and smiled as she studied the results of the test. True, they were conducted under less-than-ideal lab conditions, but the results were stunning. Symbol recognition, short-term memory, basic problem-solving... each and every standardized test had been passed with flying colors. She glanced over at the deer, which was now contentedly enjoying a well-earned drink of water. Unfortunate, she thought, that it could not manipulate objects with its paws. Or, from what she could tell, communicate with a verbal language.
Still the possibilities fascinated and excited her. What kind of civilization could these creatures create? Where would the physical limitations they were burdened with take them, or how far? Unfortunate, she thought, that the Federation prevented them from assisting directly with the native's development. Prosthetic limbs, robots... the possibilities were endless on how their physical limitations could be overcome.
Enough testing, she decided and set the results on her desk. Time for direct observation. Grabbing her computer pad and some of the native fruit to eat, she headed for the nearb
y forest. It didn't take her long to find a family of the deer grazing in a clearing. It surprised her that they were all roughly the same size; unless the young grew very rapidly, this group all appeared to be adults. Perhaps the young were hidden elsewhere, she decided. A common practice for many animals.
They continued to graze unmindful of her presence. She tried to look for signs of socialization and interaction, but right now their sole interest was in feeding. That was fine with her. She sat down next to a tree and watched and waited.
She had almost fallen asleep when an animal's cry roused her. It was a cry of pain and very close. Another successful hunt? she wondered as she roused herself to investigate. She looked at the herd but they ignored it. Since it's not you, you don't care, right? The keening guided her to another clearing. She stopped in disgust when she saw the cause: a deer was being attacked by the weasels. It was lying helplessly on its side as the tiny creatures crawled over it, slashing at it with their tiny claws and teeth. The deer, still alive, cried out and shuddered.
Casian cried out as well. Then she turned and staggered from the clearing.
"You are absolutely sure?" Jenowitz tapped the report on his desk. "Your opinion was much different yesterday."
Casian sat stiffly across from him. She was still unnerved by what she had discovered and she had been up half the night finishing her report. Now she was exhausted. And deeply depressed. "My opinion of the deer hasn't changed. My opinion on how to use this planet has."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"The deer are intelligent. But they'll never have the opportunity to develop it."
"Why?"
"I came across a deer giving birth yesterday. Their offspring are the weasels, vicious, nearly mindless creatures who will eat nearly everything, including their parents. Including the parent they destroy when they are born. Obviously at some point the infants mature enough to reach a stage where they are transformed into the deer, like a tadpole into a frog. But when doesn't matter. Because of their life cycle, there is no hope the deer can pass down from generation to generation whatever they learn, or ever develop beyond what they are now."
"In that case I will forward your report to the Federation and the corporation. They will be pleased. Thank you, Miss Porteau." He rose. "And I'm sorry."
So am I, Casian thought as she left his office. So am I.
THE MAN WHO TUNED THE GLACIER
"And you are convinced that this, indeed, is our final destination?" I swirled the sundew in my goblet and watched as patterns of light formed and dispersed according to the immutable laws of physics. The question, of course, was rhetorical.
Grenya pirouetted like a butterfly trapped in an updraft, then reached over and pinched my cheek. "Yes, oh yes my dearest. I can feel it already. The rhythm, the electricity, the pull of creative gravity. There I shall be fertilized and from my womb will burst forth my masterpiece." She patted her stomach. "My seed is straining to be planted within Paglinowski's icy soil!"
I winced at the biological inaccuracy of her metaphor but refrained from correcting her. For the most part Grenya was tolerable in conversation, enthusiastic and experienced in bed. Still naive enough to be amusing, and normally an appreciative if not well-versed audience. I could probably tolerate her a few more months before passing the threshold of boredom.
Tolerating Paglinowski's Planet, now that was a cat of a different color. The name was intolerable enough: why the discoverer has total liberty when christening his world is incomprehensible. Where is the poetry in "Paglinowski" or "L-35" or "Bagels" (named after a woman's dog if you can believe it)? The classic characters of mythology, historic figures, some outstanding characteristic of the planet itself--those and those alone should serve as the dictionary for planetary designations. Although if I were renaming Paglinowski's Planet, I confess I would choose something most mundane, like "Icecube" or "Pass-Me-By." Something more in keeping with the attractions the world offered.
Grenya must have seen me frown because she draped her arms around me and nibbled on my ear. "Oh, dearest, you are so kind to me, so thoughtful and patient. This time I promise. I know that here I shall create my final, grand masterpiece. You will be so proud, my mentor and patron!"
I had heard that before, of course. First was Circe and the universe's highest waterfall--"I will dance beneath the Waters of Life and compose my reflections upon the Rainbow of Diana," she had prophesied. Then came Samson with its dunes and salt pillars and dried-up seas. Some sort of religious epic she prattled about. Finally we had visited good 'ol Terra; "My gypsy blood; I am part gypsy you know. I must bow to the callings of my soul."
Naturally she had produced nothing of artistic merit. I expected her latest masterpiece would be stillborn on Paglinowski as well. Her talents lay between her thighs, not her ears. Yet I have tolerated all with indomitable patience. I have the wherewithal; after all, I am hailed by all save the basest philistines as the poet laureate of the galaxy. And our little sojourn, now reaching its third Solar year, had given me time to complete my history of the exploration of the universe. All written in iambic pentameter.
Yet even indomitable patience has its limits. And I was sure Paglinowski's Planet would severely try mine. A world discovered by a merchant with a defective computer who turned left at the 4,397'th star instead of right. And what a find it was! Ice, ice and more ice. No flora, no fauna (except of the microscopic kind). No valuable minerals.
Paglinowski was understandably disheartened. History is littered with now-famous names who made their fortunes by unlocking the secrets of some brave new world. All Paglinowski could see was ice. Ice that just happened to be the purest, clearest ice available anywhere in the universe.
I must accept the blame--or credit if you'll be so kind--for what happened later. I have devoted my life and considerable talents to reviving the classic expressions of the written word. The many forms of poetry--blank verse, haiku, found verse, limericks. The short story, the libretto, the two-act play. Graffiti. My popularity has inspired those of far lesser ability to explore other archaic art forms. Now there is a Renaissance in tapestry, etchings, macramé, quilting, candlemaking and batik. Grenya had chosen ballet. My opinion is that most lost art forms deserve to be so and most of what has been produced is drivel. Including, and especially, ice sculpture.
The fad did make Paglinowski's Planet suddenly valuable, however. I believe ice must be one of the easiest materials for the unimaginative to work with. Once enclosed within a stasis field, the resulting messterpiece can last an eternity. With the purity of its ice beyond dispute, the single natural resource of Paglinowski became much in demand. Of course by then Paglinowski had sold all commercial rights to another firm. I imagine he spends most of his time in some hideaway on Smith's Sanctuary drinking too much and bemoaning his luck.
"How long before we arrive?" Grenya asked, always the impatient child.
I roused myself from my reverie. "About three days I would guess."
She smiled and reached for my crotch. "Then we have some time for a little relaxation. You do look so tired, my sweet."
I will cede Grenya this; she knows how to extricate me from my more morose moods.
Paglinowski's Planet doesn't look like much from above. Mostly frozen rock and water, with just a stretch across the equator remaining ice-free. Thus far it had resisted all attempts at supporting life and I felt it would be equally successful in resisting Grenya's creative spasms. Not surprisingly there were few residents, a small mandatory Space Corps defensive space station (it had to be a punishment assignment) and the even smaller contingent of ice miners on the surface. I trusted Grenya would find--and lose--her muse soon. My supply of sundew would not keep me amused long.
Grenya, of course, was all atwitter when we approached within viewing distance. "It's beautiful," she breathed, ignoring the evidence before us. She began to shake like some forlorn puppy. "I can feel it calling me already! Oh, darling," she turned in my arms and kissed me. "Here
indeed is the inspiration I've been searching for!"
I merely nodded and turned toward the controls. I had heard the same drivel at Samson, Circe and so many others so I doubted her enthusiasm would last the week. Instead I said, "We should notify the Corps. No doubt they are curious."
"Of course," she replied mindlessly, her gaze still on the ice and rock below us. "How soon can we land?"
"That's up to them." I sat down at the communications console. My yacht is built for space travel, not landings. It would be the responsibility of the Corps to shuttle us to the planet proper. I expected no difficulty in negotiating for such a boon.
The commander was delighted and surprised to receive my call. Doubtless his enthusiasm was genuine, considering how popular Paglinowski is among the tourist trade. His voice betrayed his youth and it would be interesting to learn what indiscretion forced this assignment. I accepted his dinner invitation with feigned grace and turned off the transmitter. "Dust off your dancing shoes, dear; we have a ball to attend."
She left the viewscreen reluctantly.
The station was final evidence on just how valuable Paglinowski's Planet is. There were no luxurious lounges, no observatory or shops or relaxation areas for visiting VIP's. The bathroom on my yacht offers more amenities. The man who greeted us was in his early thirties, with doubling chin and watery brown eyes and whining nasal voice. His admiration was painful to behold. "Mr. Habersham," he pumped my hand in a moist grip, "I can't begin to tell you how great a pleasure this is to meet you. I've admired your work for some time."
"Yes," I answered absently and extricated my hand. I wiped it on my slacks as I pointed to Grenya. "This is my companion, Grenya."
His eyes widened as he stared at her and I really couldn't blame him. She is beautiful; why else would I tolerate her? She had chosen a red tunic cut low to reveal her left breast. She had also shaved her head for this occasion--an unwarranted bow to convention, I felt.
Before & Beyond Page 14
