“Can you extrapolate their success rate?” Wicca Eighth asked gently.
“The known percentage of worlds colonized by the inefficient method of seeding versus the number sent out is five million, eight hundred fortyeight thousand, one hundred three. Which suggests that of the two hundred one planets in the program of which we know nothing, approximately twelve of them ought to have been successful. Given any standard probability error rate, we can assume that no more than six were successfully seeded,” Ay’r continued. “I assume that Pelagia is one of these six.”
“Correct. And furthermore, it is, We believe, the planet upon which your father, Ferrex Baldwin Sanqq’, has resided for the past two hundred years.”
Before Ay’r could register more than surprise, Wicca Eighth continued. “Would you like to visit Pelagia? I believe that as a Species Ethnologist you will be intensely interested. Not to mention the fact that you will see your only living parent for the first time in your young adulthood.”
“Yes, of course I would.”
“That, then, is the purpose of this meeting: to outfit yourself and your companions to go to Pelagia.”
“Are You saying, Ma’am, that You know where it is?” Ay’r had to ask.
“Given the fact that We possess all of the Aldebaran Five’s records on where they sent their seedlings, We have a general idea.”
“But no more than that?”
Wicca Eighth looked at Alli Clark, who now spoke.
“The area of the outer spiral arm to which this particular Seeding Unit was sent happens to be even more than usually unstable. A rather large and quite active dust cloud stretches across a sector five hundred by two hundred light-years. Several young red giant stars in the area experienced supernovas within recorded history. The side effects of these enormous events would continue to affect all smaller local stellar systems in ways we cannot be certain of. In addition, the formation of new suns in the sector is also highly probable. Last, the motion of stellar systems we have been able to monitor appears abnormal – not only around the arm itself, but also in reference to the rest of the galaxy. Some move faster, some slower.”
He decided to cut through her logorrhea: “Have you located a planet?”
“We think we have. According to the records of the Aldebaran Five, this planet was named Pelagia because it possessed a great deal of water upon it. So much that it registered easily even at a great distance, and even given the smallness of the planet. A virtual mirror of the star. You know, of course, what percentage of planets ever discovered possess water?”
“A tiny percentage.” He tried to recall the exact figure.
“A cruelly tiny percentage. And generally all previously colonized by Delphinids.”
“And you have located a water world in this large, disturbed sector?”
“Yes. However, the ratio of water to land we have found is not the sixteen to one noted in the records of the Aldebaran Five, but more like one hundred to one.”
“As great as that on New Venice,” Wicca Eighth felt the need to remark.
“It may not be the seeded planet,” Ay’r said.
“Or it may be, and somehow or other the water has increased,” Alli Clark said. “In fact, that observation was made from over several thousand light-years distant. The water might have increased since then.”
“Which occurs on so few planets that it would be quite a find,” Ay’r commented.
“A boon for two of the Three Species,” Wicca Eighth commented.
Ay’r added, “Which would explain why the Matriarchal Council is willing to outfit an expensive exploration team for a mere Species Ethnologist to locate his wayward father?”
Wicca Eighth smiled. “We’re pleased that you are able to look at the larger view and so understand Our motives in this matter. However, be assured that all the standard rules of exploration decided upon by the Three Species at the Council of Formalhaut remain securely in place. If this planet is Pelagia and seeding has been successful, We will require an accredited Species Ethnologist – yourself, Ser Sanqq’ – to study it, and to advise Us on the appropriate future steps toward research and development.”
“I am to assume the two are not necessarily exclusive?”
“Not if the Seedlings are land-based creatures," Alli Clark said. “Most of our research would be maritime. Given the tiny amount of land versus ocean, they need never know we’re there.”
“And if the Seedling race is not land based?”
“Unlikely. The Seeding was fully Humeoid. Careful probing of our Delphinid friends show that they are completely unaware of Pelagia.”
“Yet I’ve encountered considerable physical adaptation among Seedling races,” he argued. “The N’Kiddim for example –”
“Are land based,” Alli Clark said quickly, “and despite their extra limbs, are otherwise internally similar to yourself.”
She hadn’t said similar to herself, which meant that she was insulting him by comparing him to primitive people. Well, he had been waiting for exactly such an attitude. Ay’r responded by saying, “I assume that you are to be my companion on this jaunt?”
“Alli-Lul Clark is the Matriarchal Council’s expert on marine world ecologies.” Wicca Eighth presented her credentials. “Despite her relative youth, she has received the Poseidon Prize as well as the Universal Nobel Prize in Marine Biology and Botany.”
“I’m conversant with all galactic maritime life,” the younger woman spoke for herself now. “In addition I received my doctorate in hydrophysics theory at New Venice University. I speak all known variants of Delphinid, including their argots and antiquities.”
Ay’r wondered if she spoke Xell-I’s brand of Delphinid bed talk. Unlikely.
“You will also be joined by Ser P’al,” Wicca Eighth said.
“A Cyber Psychologist? Do You expect to find a Cyber society on Pelagia? Given the humidity of the place,” Alli Clark commented acidly, “they must have all rusted away centuries ago.”
“What exactly has been the influence of the guardian Cybers on the Seeded Worlds?” Wicca-Eighth asked Ay’r.
“In about half of the cases, they were forgotten. Among the others they were deified. Among the N’Kiddim, for example, they are referred to as the Wooden Gods. Wooden, because no natural metals have been mined or forged by the people, and the term differentiates the Cybers’ material from the flesh of the people. No larger Cybers exist among them, but thousands of smaller, virtually mindless machines still wander about in a desolate area of the planet, kept by the N’Kiddim as a preserve, of sorts. It’s believed that a Maxwell 4500 with corroded chips in it failed to destroy them before its own demise. As a result, upon initiation, a young male N’Kiddim journeys to that preserve, ‘murders’ one of the tiny Cybers, dismantles it, and brings back a piece as proof. A primitive rite,” Ay’r apologized for it to the Matriarch.
“No more primitive than many so-called civilized activities among males,” Alli Clark commented.
The Matriarch ignored their bickering. “It is precisely that type of Cyber influence upon the Seedlings themselves that interests Ser P’al and Ourself. Rites, legends, songs. He wishes to study all of that.”
“And Mer Clark” – Ay’r was using the Marine Ecologist’s formal title and, by doing so, aging her a few hundred years – “I assume, wishes to study the water and why it has increased so abundantly over the past thousand years?”
“Exactly,” Alli Clark said.
“Which is fine with me, so long as there is no interference with my own tasks.” Ay’r stated his conditions. The Matriarch smiled, which he took for assent. “And in turn I’ll not interfere with Mer Clark nor Ser P’al. I assume none of us will be equipped with Cybers?”
“None. We will provide you with Our latest force-fields, both defensive and offensive, and whatever other supplies you need.” Wicca Eighth added, “If there are no further questions and no reason to delay, you will leave at Reg. rise tomorrow.”
Ay’r bent to kiss the spot before her navel.
“One matter more,” Wicca Eighth said. “If your father is alive, he is to return to Regulus Prime with you. We wish to meet him.”
“May I tell him that will be temporary?”
“Naturally.”
“One question remains,” Ay’r asked. “Why was I paged via my mother, when You knew she was long dead?”
A moment of hesitation from the Matriarch, then, “We were unaware that was how you were contacted. How extremely embarrassing for you. Accept Our deepest apologies.”
She smiled again. But, for the first time, Ay’r felt that she was hiding something from him. He assumed that the MC Psych.s had devised the communication precisely so he couldn't ignore it. Either the Matriarch had just told him a mistruth, or she actually hadn’t known the nature of the message, and so might not actually be completely in charge. Alli Clark was certainly capable of having done it.
“Well, it certainly got me here,” Ay’r added, hoping to clear the air.
“Yes, it certainly did,” the Matriarch replied. “And I think that eventually the Three Species will all gain by that.”
Chapter Two
An hour after dropping into a perfect orbit around Vulpulcella VI, Captain North-Taylor Diad discovered he had a problem.
Actually, it was a certain second-class Environmental Engineer who discovered the problem. Captain Diad was on the orbit-to-planet comm. channel at the time, attempting to wangle something out of Vulpul.’s Port Mistress.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” she was saying in the holo, while touching up her eye makeup.
Captain Diad liked the way she spoke. Even with his cortical connection for Universal Gal. Lex., which made all languages and comm.ects sound alike, Su’lla Pons sounded exotic. He vaguely remembered her telling him on an early freight stop that she had been born and brought up on some Stelezine mining colony somewhere way the hell over in the Dexter Norma Arm.
“There’s an excellent Ares Recreational Center here.” Su’lla went on blithely, “All the other commercial craft orbiting seemed to find it more than satisfactory.”
“When have we ever been like any other commercial craft?” Captain Diad asked.
He had projected a full holo of himself standing so she could take a look at him. His uniform: an obviously dress-leave outfit complete with bars, the sculptured codpiece accentuating his cosmetic Desmer job. Subtlety wasn’t something Diad could afford on short notice.
Su’lla was having trouble with the Prokaryote eye shadow, which refused to glow the right shade of green: she prodded the bacterial coloring with a bit of spit on a pin: the salt would irritate it. She took a full up-and-down look at him before resuming her primping.
Despite his 300 and more years, the Captain knew he looked pretty terrific, all part of the business he was in – required of any male who represented Hesperia.
“All the more reason for limited access to the population,” Su’lla said. “This is a nice quiet planet, Captain. A family planet. A crew like yours could easily run amok here. I’m not taking the blame for that.”
“But an Ares Rec. Center is a like a week’s sleep!”
“There are escorts of all genders of all three species for your pleasure at the Rec. Center,” she quoted the brochure. The little beasties around her eyes were finally glowing correctly. She shook the double knots of her hair and smiled at him through fashionably silvered teeth. “Not to mention dozens of interesting places for –”
“Look, Su’lla,” he dropped his voice, getting personal. “We’re not talking about the crew. The transport leaders will go where they’re told. But ... I need something a little more ... comfortable. You’ve got what? A wife, a couple of husbands, a few kids at home?”
“That’s right. So?”
“So, how about taking me and a few of my mates back to the family for a home-cooked meal and a few hours of polymorpho-amoro.”
“I’d love to, Northie, but –”
“Protocols do allow senior officers and port staff to mix,” he reminded her – although he didn’t go on to remind her that didn’t include port staff families.
“I know, but... well, hold on. Let me comm. my place and ask whoever’s there ... No Delph.s!” she warned. “Or, you know, other things!”
“Fine with me. We’re just two horny Hume males!”
“Horny Hesperian males!” she corrected.
Which they both knew was the nub of the problem. Citizens of the “Floating City” tended to be as independent as Hesperia itself was. To believe themselves exempt from all Matriarchal Council laws. Not to mention Woman-Ruled-World customs and mores. Hesperian crews had been known to trash more than one starport. Even so, with their widespread experience (who else went all over the known galaxy? Not even Matriarchal Security!) and their laxness about contraband and morals, Hesperians tended to be exciting company.
“You wouldn’t happen to have anything amusing in your top pockets?” she asked, then added, “Your log says you were just at Achernar. I hear their plankton brandy’s supposed to be pretty interesting.”
“We’ll each bring a vial!” he promised.
“Well ... maybe.”
“Dial your spouses. I’ll wait.”
It was while he was waiting, giving half of the “high-sign” to his First Mate, that the double-red flashed and Captain Diad had the misfortune of overhearing the Mate say, “What are you talking about?”
The Captain put the in-craft conversation up so he could hear. It was the Env. Engineer who was saying, “Fifteen minutes after we settled in orbit, vents thirteen hundred through thirteen hundred and fourteen opened up and remained open for close to twenty minutes Sol Rad.”
“So?” the Mate was asking.
“So? It’s not in our computer’s orbit sequence.”
“We were probably just outgassing noxious buildup,” the Mate said.
“Not from those vents we weren’t.”
Captain Diad called up a holo of the Env. Engineer and tapped his board to get a read on the young man. It said virtually nothing. Vla’Di’mir Jones. Citizen of Hesperia. Third voyage. First time on a Plastro-Beryllium hauler. Top-notch entry grades into the Commercial Service. References included some big names at the main office of O’Kell UnLimited.
“You’re sure it’s not in the sequence?” the Mate was asking.
“It was in this one,” Di’mir said, “It’s not supposed to be.”
Captain Diad could see that the Mate was thinking the same thing he was: ore theft. Everyone knew what the stuff was worth. And ever since it began to be mined and shipped, someone was trying to break through their elaborate fences and tap some illegally.
“No sign that anything large or solid was vented,” Di’mir said, answering their question. And increasing the mystery.
“Those vents are – what – repair section?” the Captain asked his Mate.
“Repair and refitting.”
“No Humes, no Arth.s, no Delph.s can get anywhere near that section,” Di’mir added. “Only Cybers.”
“I’ll check the orbital sequencing we got from back home,” the Mate finally said. All of them knew how expensive that would be. “Maybe someone there had a reason for out-of-sequence venting and forgot to tell us.”
“This falls under my jurisdiction,” Di’mir added. “Mind if I explore those vents?”
“Be my guest.”
“I mean, actually go and look at them.”
A self-starter. Captain Diad liked this post-neo.’s initiative.
“I’ll override from here for one hour Sol Rad. Give me your molecular print,” the Mate said.
“Captain should already have it on the readout he’s been checking.”
Captain Diad laughed at the post-neo.’s sassiness and signed off. The holo of the young Env. Engineer was replaced by that of the Port Mistress.
“I hope you two are hungry!” she pealed out the words.
An hour lat
er, Diad got a call he didn’t expect.
“I think we’d better call back to the City office,” Di’mir said.
Captain Diad gave a gloomy grimace and settled back into Sulla’s sensorium as though refusing to budge, emergency holo-comm. or not.
“And why would that be?
“A life-form seems to have been what was vented. In vast quantities,” the Mate explained.
“What kind of life-form?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Microscopic. Viral. Strangest stuff I ever saw.”
“In his wide experience!” the Mate commented, from his end of the sensor-bath. The last thing any of them wanted was their pleasure time at Su’lla’s interrupted.
“You test it on small mammalian life-forms?” Captain asked.
“On curl-vole and water-pig cells.”
“And?”
“Some sort of reaction took place. Then nothing. There was a major irritation in the vole cells. Then it went latent. I tried speeding it up, but got nothing.”
“You’re sure that viral stuff was vented?” the Mate asked.
“The ones I discovered were stuck right there, and in arrow-skid formations, typical of remnants of venting.”
“How did they get there?” the Captain asked.
“I also checked that area through and through,” the Mate said. “Ship’s Mind says no one’s been anywhere near that section since we took off. For that matter, no one’s been in the area at any time during or between the last six hauls we made.”
“I took the liberty of checking that section’s own memory banks,” the Env. Engineer validated, “No one’s been here but the Cyber repairers and their repairees.”
Dryland's End Page 6
