by Isaac Asimov
“I’m not sure,” she said. “My father used to have a saying, before he went daft. He’d say, ‘The kin live for the Hunt.’ Not for hunting; for the Hunt. He meant the old, formal word for the fighting pack.”
WhiteTail edged back from the railing and dropped down to all fours. Cocking her head a little, she whined as if deeply disturbed. “Mavvy, everything in our lives is centered on the pack, and the pack is based on the Hunt. If we no longer need to hunt, what happens to the pack?” She turned and poked a paw at the slidewalk endlessly rolling past the edge of the platform they stood on. “How much riding on that thing will it take before we’re too soft and weak to do anything except live here?”
Maverick dropped down to all fours and joined her, but when he tried to wrap a comforting tail around her shoulders, she shrugged it off and sidled away. “Mavvy,” she said, a desperate light in her eyes, “I saw a fat youngling this morning. Can you imagine that?” She shook her head, returned to the railing, and looked out at the city. “Surely too much Heaven is just as damning as life in Hell.”
Maverick rejoined her at the railing. “You really should talk to your father about this,” he said softly. “You’re asking questions that are out of my depth. All I can tell you is that I believe — I’m as mystified as you are, but I believe-and that’s enough for me.”
WhiteTail looked him straight in the eyes. “What do you believe?”
“Why, I believe that SilverSides kept her promise. I believe that this was given to us, to free us from the pain and drudgery of our old lives. We may still be a little bewildered, and maybe some of us are misusing the gift, but I believe that SilverSides will appear soon and make everything clear.”
WhiteTail’s eyes narrowed. “But you do believe that this place was created as a reward for the faithful?” Maverick nodded. WhiteTail leapt to her hind feet and pointed at something in the street below. “Then what are they doing here?”
Maverick’s eyes followed where WhiteTail was pointing. At least thirty young males were marching four abreast down the middle of the street, ears flat, hackles raised, fangs bared in menacing snarls. A playing youngling made the mistake of darting into the street and got cuffed head-over-haunches back to the curb by one of the leaders.
“Who are they?” Maverick asked, his hackles rising.
“One Eye and his pack,” WhiteTail growled. “Very mean; we’ve been fighting border skirmishes with them for years.”
Maverick fought his hackles down and whined nervously. “Maybe the missionaries persuaded him to —”
“What missionaries?” WhiteTail snapped. “My father spent three days talking about sending missionaries to the other packs, but by the time he was done talking, everyone was too well fed and comfortable to go!”
Maverick could only whimper anxiously.
WhiteTail pointed into the street again. “Look, there’s going to be a fight!” A ragged mob of converts was collecting in front of the automat, and someone from LifeCrier’s inner circle was desperately trying to organize them into a Hunt. For a moment the invaders slowed to a stiff-legged gait, arched their backs to make themselves appear larger, and sidled toward the defenders with loud, bloodthirsty snarls. Among the defenders, a few in the back deserted, and the formation started to crumble. With a triumphant howl in BeastTongue, One Eye charged.
With a completely different howl, he dug in his claws and skidded to a stop, just inches short of the legs of the enormous black WalkingStone that had stepped out of the shadows and into his path.
“You shall not fight in this city!” The WalkingStone’s voice was like thunder. One Eye scuttled back a few trots and seemed to gather courage once he was back with his pack. He issued orders to his lieutenants with a snarling voice and sharp, chopping gestures; several of the larger males slipped out of the pack and began sidling indirectly toward the WalkingStone, as if to flank it.
“You are welcome to live in the place that has been prepared for you,” the WalkingStone said, “but you shall not fight in this city!” On cue, eight more WalkingStones stepped out of the shadows, surrounding One Eye.
The pack broke and ran.
“Well,” Maverick said with a smug smile, “do you still doubt that SilverSides watches over us?”
“SilverSides schmilversides,” WhiteTail snarled. “So far all I’ve seen is WalkingStones behaving the way WalkingStones have always behaved. I’ll believe in SilverSides when I smell her fur.” She was still glaring at Maverick when a rumble of thunder rolled out of the clear blue sky and echoed down the empty streets. Startled, both Maverick and WhiteTail jerked their heads up to see the strange, winged shape descending on a tail of flame.
“WhiteTail?” Maverick asked, his voice squeaking like a trapped grasshider. “It looks like you’re about to get your chance.”
Chapter 20
LANDFALL
FAT GRAY FINGERS skittered across the control panel and came to rest on the vernier controls. A long black claw ticked nervously on a chrome button.
“Altitude five hundred meters,” the ship said pleasantly. “Descent rate two meters per second.”
“Ventr’l thrust’rs up point two,” Wolruf whispered into the command pickup.
“Are you sure that’s all right with Master Derec?”
Wolruf snapped her head around to glare at Derec, who was studying a secondary viewscreen. Derec, aware of a sudden burning sensation in his ears, looked up and registered the question. “Uh, yes, ship, that’s fine.”
“Complying. Altitude four hundred and fifty meters. Descent rate one meter per second.”
Derec realized that Wolruf was still glaring at him and spoke up again. “Ship? Stop questioning Wolruf’s orders.”
“But, Master Derec,” the ship objected politely, “Wolruf is not human and therefore has no Second Law authority.”
Avery nudged Derec with his elbow and tried to draw his attention back to the viewscreen. Derec stole a glance at the screen and then looked up again. “Ship, I don’t have time to argue about this now. You are to consider Wolruf as human.”
“Very well,” the ship answered, with just the slightest hint of petulance. “I will accept Wolruf’s commands for the time being. However, I would appreciate being given the opportunity to discuss this at length after we land.”
Derec noticed that Wolruf was still glaring at him. He gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best I can do for now.” Wolruf snarled something untranslatable in her native language and turned back to the control panel
“Altitude four hundred meters. Descent rate —”
“Shut up,” Wolruf growled. The ship shut up.
Avery tugged on Derec’s elbow and tried to draw his attention to the secondary view screen again. “Look. There’s more arriving.”
Derec turned and looked at the screen. “More? But where are they coming from?”
Avery leaned in close and studied the image. “There.” He slapped a finger on the screen. “The tunnel transit station.”
Derec leaned back and scratched his chin. “How could they survive in there? The transit platforms hit speeds of a hundred kilometers per hour. If the natives are running through the tunnels, the system must be out of commission.”
Avery looked at Derec, one eyebrow arched. “Or else the natives have learned to ride the platforms.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. For one thing, the natives are pretechnological. For another, the platforms are designed for bipeds, and besides, they’re robotic. They wouldn’t obey orders from —” Derec froze as he felt Wolruf’s glare on the back of his neck.
“Look there.” Avery darted a hand out and touched another part of the viewscreen. “That’s a groundcar. Screen, magnification thirty.”
“Complying,” the screen said in a tiny, insect-like voice. An instant later the point Avery had touched was the center of a telephoto view. Something that was obviously a large groundcar was slowly picking its way through the fringes of the crowd. The gr
oundcar’s windows were open; a half-dozen furry heads were sticking out the windows, mouths open, long pink tongues rolled out in what looked like happy grins.
“Magnification normal.” Avery turned to Derec, a glum expression on his face. “I saw it, and I still don’t believe it.” He paused as he noticed that Derec was sitting rigid with his eyes wide open, blankly staring into space. “Derec?”
“I’m getting a commlink call from Spaceport Control,” Derec said, his face still blank. “They’re asking us-no, they’re ordering us to hover while they ask the citizens to clear the landing area.” He blinked, focused his eyes again, and looked at Avery. “Citizens. Spaceport Control distinctly said ‘citizens.’”
Avery’s expression turned dark and unreadable. He glanced at the viewscreen and then back at Derec again. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to hear Central’s explanation.” He raised his voice. “Okay, Wolruf, you heard the robot. Bring us to a hover.”
Wolruf growled something more in her native tongue and then slapped her hands down on the controls. “Alt’tude holding a’ two-fifty,” she read off her instruments. “Vernier thrust’rs compensating f’r wind drift.”
The intercom squawked on. “What’s happening?” Ariel asked. “Why aren’t we landing?”
Derec thought about telling her, then decided she’d be better off seeing it for herself. “Come up to the bridge. And while you’re at it, find Adam and get him up here, too.”
With the ship reconfigured for atmospheric entry, the bridge was now in the nose of the ship, and most of the interior chambers had been reconfigured into wing surface. It took Ariel only a moment to find Adam and bring him forward. Derec’s second request for permission to land had just been denied when the bridge doors hissed open and Ariel and Adam stepped onto the bridge, followed by Mandelbrot, Eve, and Lucius II. At the moment Adam was patterning himself after Derec, while Eve and Lucius II looked like silver copies of Ariel and Avery, respectively.
“Okay, where’s the excitement?” the real Ariel asked.
“There,” Derec answered, as he pointed straight down. “It seems there’s a welcoming committee.” He turned to the main viewscreen and raised his voice. “Ventral optics on main viewer.” A moment later, the main viewscreen showed the packed crowd of kin on the spaceport tarmac. A few security robots were wading through the crowd but not having much luck dispersing it.
Ariel took a hesitant step forward. “What the blazes —? Wolves? Dogs? What are they?”
“The natives,” Derec said. “The last time I saw them, they were chipping flints and weaving baskets. Now they’re driving up to the spaceport in groundcars.” He turned to Adam and speared him with a questioning stare. “Adam, you were the last one to talk to them. Do you have any idea what’s going on down there?”
Adam reached out to touch the viewscreen, a confused expression on his face. “Friend Derec, I have absolutely no idea what the natives are up to.” He cracked into a smile and shuddered with pleasure. “But whatever it is, I find it very... exciting.”
“Spaceport Control insists on calling them citizens. Does that suggest anything to you?”
Adam looked at Derec. “May I contact the spaceport directly?” He looked first to Derec, then Avery, and then Ariel. The three humans looked at each other and nodded. “Very well. I am activating my commlink.” Closing his eyes, Adam stood transfixed.
For a few moments, he was silent. Then his silver lips parted, and he twitched slightly. “1 see,” he whispered. “Tell him...”
“Derec!” Avery whispered urgently. “Tap in!” Derec invoked his internal commlink and tried to listen to Adam’s conversation with Spaceport Control, but the exchange had already ended. He looked at Avery and shook his head.
Adam’s whole body began to shudder. He flung his arms wide, collapsed to the deck, and began writhing slowly. Ariel started to step forward to help him, but Mandelbrot restrained her.
“Let go, Mandelbrot!” Mandelbrot released Ariel’s arm but continued to put himself between her and Adam. “Get out of the way. Can’t you see that he needs help?”
“No, Mistress Ariel. If Adam is indeed having a brain seizure, he may be unaware of the world outside himself. He might be capable of inadvertently violating the First Law. I cannot allow you to take that risk.”
Ariel gave the other robots a pleading look. “Eve? Lucius? Can you help him?”
Lucius II had assumed his full Avery aspect, complete with the lab coat and wire bristle moustache, and he stood stroking his chin and examining Adam.
Silently, Adam arched his back as though in great pain. His features, until now a passable likeness of Derec, had lost definition.
“No, Friend Ariel,” Lucius II announced, “we cannot help him. He appears to be undergoing an involuntary shape change. Look at his limbs.”
Ariel looked where Lucius had pointed. Unmistakably, Adam’s arms and legs were getting shorter and thinner. At the same time, his fingers and toes were elongating and turning into hocks and pasterns.
Adam slowly convulsed again. The transformation would have been a horrible sight had the humans never seen one of the amorphous robots go through it before. As it was, Derec found it quite unsettling to see himself-or an image of himself-slowly being reshaped, apparently against its will, into another, alien, species.
Adam began shivering as a long, whip-like tail extruded from his hips. Then, with one last mighty convulsion, his silver skin erupted into a thick blanket of wiry silver fur.
“ARROOOOO!” The howl was deafening in the close confines of the bridge. Adam’s eyes opened; in a flash he rolled over, sprang to his feet, and got a wall behind his back. “Spaceport Control!” he snarled in HuntTongue. “Tell them SilverSides has returned!”
“Toolbox!” Avery hissed urgently at a utility robot, staring wide-eyed at the snarling monster that Adam had become. “One centimeter welding laser-and hurry!” For a moment they were all frozen in place — human, robot, and robot kin — trying to gauge each other’s intent. Mandelbrot was having perhaps the worst time of it, since invoking his personal defense subroutines had unleashed a flood of Capek memories.
Then Adam/SilverSides relaxed his hackles, closed his mouth, and assumed a relaxed stance. “Friends,” he said in perfectly normal Standard, “forgive me. I was momentarily disoriented by my transformation.” He paused and inspected his chest and forelegs. “In this shape the natives-the kin, that is their preferred term-know me as SilverSides. I am a female of some standing in their community.” He/she turned to Derec. “Contact Spaceport Control again. I believe you will find landing permission forthcoming.”
Derec looked to Avery; Avery nodded. He invoked his internal commlink and this time found Spaceport Control absolutely eager for them to land. He patched into the main viewscreen optic feed and found that the kin were clearing the tarmac as fast as their four legs could carry them.
Avery gave Derec a grim wink and lifted his hand out of his coat pocket long enough for Derec to catch a glimpse of the black, flashlight-sized welding laser that Avery had aimed at Adam/SilverSides.
Derec nodded to Wolruf. “Okay, Wolruf, set us down.”
SilverSides apparently was unaware of the laser. She favored Derec with a wolfish smile, then turned to the other amorphous robots. “Eve? Lucius II? We have a few minutes yet before we land. If you will open your commlink direct-memory access channels, I will download the grammar and lexicon of the native language.”
Mandelbrot tentatively raised a hand. “Friend Adam, may I share in this data transmission?”
SilverSides seemed surprised by Mandelbrot’s effrontery, but her expression quickly turned to a tolerant smile. “Friend Mandelbrot, I sincerely doubt that your brain is capable of using this information. However, you are welcome to make the attempt.” If Mandelbrot had a reaction to this insult, he didn’t show it. Instead, he joined the other three robots as they locked their joints rigidly at attention and switched over to DMA mode. F
our pairs of eyes dimmed as the download commenced.
Avery, fondling the welding laser in his pocket, studied Adam/SilverSides until the last glimmer of awareness faded from the robot’s eyes. Turning to Derec, he said, “Son? Has Adam ever insulted Mandelbrot’s intelligence before?”
Derec shook his head. “Not since we left this planet before.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed, and he resumed studying the robot. Then, with a snort of disgust, he left the laser in his pocket and went back to watching the main viewscreen.
Chapter 21
ADVENT
MAVERICK MUSCLED THROUGH the crowd on the edge of the tarmac, trying his best to keep track of WhiteTail. “There he is!” she shouted, somewhere up ahead. He bounced up to his hind feet-a devilishly tricky way to stand in a crowd-and caught a glimpse of her.
“WhiteTail!”
She looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with him just as someone lurched into Maverick’s weak leg and sent him staggering. “Over there!” she shouted, pointing with her tail. He caught his balance, looked in the direction she was pointing, and spotted LifeCrier at the leading edge of the crowd.
“I see him! Try to — oof!” Someone jostled his leg again, and this time he fell down. The large, muscular female that he landed on reacted with a growl, a snap, and the first words of a challenge in HuntTongue.
Then she saw the amulet that hung around Maverick’s neck and backed down with a snarling submission just two hairs shy of being a challenge itself. He accepted it before she had a chance to change her mind and darted off through a gap that opened in the crowd.
By the time he’d worked his way over to join WhiteTail at LifeCrier’s side, the flying thing had started descending again. The great whistling roar of its flight grew louder, and gusts of hot wind swept over the crowd, filling the air with the reek of lightning and brimstone.
