He switched to camera two, and watched as the houses fell, his old house crushed beneath the falling debris.
He switched to camera three. The buildings were already tumbling, two silver flyers hovering over them. The screen went blank.
Tiel sat with Man Mountain on the sofa, huddling next to him, hiding her face in his chest.
“We’ve got to move soon; we can try going west,” Eggar said.
“I want to settle down,” Tiel whimpered.
“But we always go south,” Man Mountain said.
“We’d better start packing,” Eggar said, still staring at the screen.
“We always went south,” Man Mountain said. “Ever since I was little.”
Eggar sat by the screen and heard the soft hum of a flyer passing overhead. The unnatural ones were nearing the end of their work, he thought. Soon there would be no place left. In the rock garden, there is room for polished stone and silver ornaments only, and no place for grasshoppers.
<
* * * *
IF THE STARS ARE GODS
by Cordon Eklund and Gregory Benford
Gordon Eklund is a full-time science fiction writer, author of three novels, including Beyond the Resurrection; Gregory Benford is a professor of physics in southern California and recently published his second novel, Jupiter Project. When they collaborate, there’s a great deal of talent at work. Here is a thought-provoking novella about mankind’s first contact with creatures from the stars ... a story with a number of intriguing aspects, including the fact that its protagonist is not the young, physically vigorous hero of so many sf tales; instead he is middle-aged, with a full lifetime of sometimes bitter experience already behind him. How his greater maturity affects his reactions to alien beings lends surprising depth to this story.
* * * *
A dog cannot be a hypocrite, but neither can he be sincere.
-LUDWIG Wittgenstein
It was deceptively huge and massive, this alien starship, and somehow seemed as if it belonged almost anywhere else in the universe but here.
Reynolds stepped carefully down the narrow corridor of the ship, still replaying in his mind’s eye the approach to the air lock, the act of being swallowed. The ceilings were high, the light poor, the walls made of some dull, burnished metal.
These aspects and others flitted through his mind as he walked. Reynolds was a man who appreciated the fine interlacing pleasures of careful thought, but more than that, thinking so closely of these things kept his mind occupied and drove away the smell. It clung to him like Pacific fog. Vintage manure, Reynolds had decided the moment he passed through the air lock. Turning, he had glared at Kelly firmly encased inside her suit. He told her about the smell. ‘Everybody stinks,’ she had said, evenly, perhaps joking, perhaps not, and pushed him away in the light centrifugal gravity. Away, into a maze of tight passages that would lead him eventually to look the first certified intelligent alien beings straight in the eye. If they happened to have eyes, that is.
It amused him that this privilege should be his. More rightly, the honor should have gone to another, someone younger whose tiny paragraph in the future histories of the human race had not already been enacted. At fifty-eight, Reynolds had long since lived a full and intricate lifetime. Too full, he sometimes thought, for any one man. So then, what about this day now? What about today? It did nothing really, only succeeded in forcing the fullness of his lifetime past the point of all reasonableness into a realm of positive absurdity.
The corridor branched again. He wondered precisely where he was inside the sculpted and twisted skin of the ship. He had tried to memorize everything he saw but there was nothing, absolutely nothing but metal with thin seams, places where he had to stoop or crawl, and the same awful smell. He realized now what it was about the ship that had bothered him the first time he had seen it, through a telescope from the moon. It reminded him, both in size and shape, of a building where he had once lived not so many years ago, during the brief term of his most recent retirement, 1987 and ‘88, in Sao Paulo, Brazil: a huge ultramodern lifting apartment complex of a distinctly radical design. There was nothing like it on Earth, the advertising posters had proclaimed; and seeing it, hating it instantly, he had agreed. Now here was something else truly like it, but not on Earth.
The building had certainly not resembled a starship but then, neither did this thing. At one end was an intricately designed portion, a cylinder with interesting modifications. Then came a long, plain tube and at the end of that something truly absurd: a cone, opening outward away from the rest of the ship and absolutely empty. Absurd, until you realized what it was.
The starship’s propulsion source was, literally, hydrogen bombs. The central tube evidently held a vast number of fusion devices. One by one the bombs were released, drifted to the mouth of the cone and were detonated. The cone was a huge shock absorber; the kick from the bomb pushed the ship forward. A Rube Goldberg star drive.
Directly ahead of him, the corridor neatly stopped and split, like the twin prongs of a roasting fork. It jogged his memory: roasting fork, yes, from the days when he still ate meat. Turning left, he followed the proper prong. His directions had been quite clear.
He still felt very ill at ease. Maybe it was the way he was dressed that made everything seem so totally wrong. It didn’t seem quite right, walking through an alien maze in his shirtsleeves and plain trousers. Pedestrian.
But the air was breathable, as promised. Did they breathe this particular oxygen-nitrogen balance, too? And like the smell?
Ahead, the corridor parted, branching once more. The odor was horribly powerful at this spot, and he ducked his head low, almost choking, and dashed through a round opening.
This was a big room. Like the corridor, the ceiling was a good seven meters above the floor, but the walls were subdued pastel shades of red, orange and yellow. The colors were mixed on all the walls in random, patternless designs. It was very pretty, Reynolds thought, and not at all strange. Also, standing neatly balanced near the back wall, there were two aliens.
When he saw the creatures, Reynolds stopped and stood tall. Raising his eyes, he stretched to reach the level of their eyes. While he did this, he also reacted. His first reaction was shock. This gave way to the tickling sensation of surprise. Then pleasure and relief. He liked the looks of these two creatures. They were certainly far kinder toward the eyes than what he had expected to find.
Stepping forward, Reynolds stood before both aliens, shifting his gaze from one to the other. Which was the leader? Or were both leaders? Or neither? He decided to wait. But neither alien made a sound or a move. So Reynolds kept waiting.
What had he expected to find? Men? Something like a man, that is, with two arms and two legs and a properly positioned head, with a nose, two eyes and a pair of floppy ears? This was what Kelly had expected him to find-she would be disappointed now-but Reynolds had never believed it for a moment. Kelly thought anything that spoke English had to be a man, but Reynolds was more imaginative. He knew better; he had not expected to find a man, not even a man with four arms and three legs and fourteen fingers or five ears. What he had expected to find was something truly alien. A blob, if worst came to worst, but at best something more like a shark or snake or wolf than a man. As soon as Kelly had told him that the aliens wanted to meet him-’Your man who best knows your star’-he had known this.
Now he said, ‘I am the man you wished to see. The one who knows the stars.’
As he spoke, he carefully shared his gaze with both aliens, still searching for a leader, favoring neither over the other. One-the smaller one-twitched a nostril when Reynolds said, ‘... the stars’; the other remained motionless.
There was one Earth animal that did resemble these creatures, and this was why Reynolds felt happy and relieved. The aliens were sufficiently alien, yes. And they were surely not men. But neither did they resemble blobs or wolves or sharks or snakes They were giraffes. Nice, kind, friendly, ple
asant, smiling, silent giraffes. There were some differences, of course. The aliens’ skin was a rainbow collage of pastel purples, greens, reds and yellows, similar in its random design to the colorfully painted walls. Their trunks stood higher off the ground, their necks were stouter than that of a normal giraffe. They did not have tails. Nor hooves. Instead, at the bottom of each of their four legs, they had five blunt short fingers and a single wide thick offsetting thumb.
‘My name is Bradley Reynolds,’ he said. ‘I know the stars.’ Despite himself, their continued silence made him nervous. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
The shorter alien bowed its neck toward him. Then, in a shrill high-pitched voice that reminded him of a child, it said, ‘No. ‘ An excited nervous child. ‘That is no,’ it said.
‘This?’ Reynolds lifted his hand, having almost forgotten what was in it. Kelly had ordered him to carry the tape recorder, but now he could truthfully say, ‘I haven’t activated it yet.’
‘Break it, please,’ the alien said.
Reynolds did not protest or argue. He let the machine fall to the floor. Then he jumped, landing on the tape recorder with both feet. The light aluminum case split wide open like the hide of a squashed apple. Once more, Reynolds jumped. Then, standing calmly, he kicked the broken bits of glass and metal toward an unoccupied comer of the room. ‘All right?’ he asked.
Now for the first time the second alien moved. Its nostrils twitched daintily, then its legs shifted, lifting and falling. ‘Welcome,’ it said, abruptly, stopping all motion. ‘My name is Jonathon. ‘
‘Your name?’ asked Reynolds.
‘And this is Richard.’
‘Oh,’ said Reynolds, not contradicting. He understood now. Having learned the language of man, these creatures had learned his names as well.
‘We wish to know your star,’ Jonathon said respectfully. His voice was a duplicate of the other’s. Did the fact that he had not spoken until after the destruction of the tape recorder indicate that he was the leader of the two? Reynolds almost laughed, listening to the words of his own thoughts. Not he, he reminded himself: it.
‘I am willing to tell you whatever you wish to know,’ Reynolds said.
‘You are a ... priest ... a reverend of the sun?’
‘An astronomer,’ Reynolds corrected.
‘We would like to know everything you know. And then we would like to visit and converse with your star. ‘
‘Of course. I will gladly help you in any way I can.’ Kelly had cautioned him in advance that the aliens were interested in the sun, so none of this came as any surprise to him. But nobody knew what it was in particular that they wanted to know, or why, and Kelly hoped that he might be able to find out. At the moment he could think of only two possible conversational avenues to take; both were questions. He tried the first. ‘What is it you wish to know? Is our star greatly different from others of its type? If it is, we are unaware of this fact.’
‘No two stars are the same,’ the alien said. This was Jonathon again. Its voice began to rise in excitement. ‘What is it? Do you not wish to speak here? Is our craft an unsatisfactory place?’
‘No, this is fine,’ Reynolds said, wondering if it was wise to continue concealing his puzzlement. ‘I will tell you what I know. Later, I can bring books.’
‘No!’ The alien did not shout, but from the way its legs quivered and nostrils trembled, Reynolds gathered he had said something very improper indeed.
‘I will tell you,’ he said. ‘In my own words.’
Jonathon stood quietly rigid. ‘Fine.’
Now it was time for Reynolds to ask his second question. He let it fall within the long silence which had followed Jonathon’s last statement. ‘Why do you wish to know about our star?’
‘It is the reason why we have come here. On our travels, we have visited many stars. But it is yours we have sought the longest. It is so powerful. And benevolent. A rare combination, as you must know.’
‘Very rare,’ Reynolds said, thinking that this wasn’t making any sense. But then, why should it? At least he had learned something of the nature of the aliens’ mission, and that alone was more than anyone else had managed to learn during the months the aliens had slowly approached the moon, exploding their hydrogen bombs to decelerate.
A sudden burst of confidence surprised Reynolds. He had not felt this sure of himself in years, and just like before, there was no logical reason for his certainty. ‘Would you be willing to answer some questions for me? About your star?’
‘Certainly, Bradley Reynolds.’
‘Can you tell me our name for your star? Its coordinates?’.
‘No,’ Jonathon said, dipping its neck. ‘I cannot.’ It blinked its right eye in a furious fashion. ‘Our galaxy is not one. It is a galaxy too distant for your instruments.’
‘I see,’ said Reynolds, because he could not very well c the alien a liar, even if it was. But Jonathon’s hesitancy to reveal the location of its homeworld was not unexpected; Reynolds: would have acted the same in similar circumstances.
Richard spoke. ‘May I pay obeisance?’
Jonathon, turning to Richard, spoke in a series of shrill ching noises. Then Richard replied in kind.
Turning back to Reynolds, Richard again asked, ‘May I pay obeisance?’
Reynolds could only say, ‘Yes.’ Why not?
Richard acted immediately. Its legs abruptly shot out from beneath its trunk at an angle no giraffe could have managed:’ Richard sat on its belly, legs spread, and its neck came down, the snout gently scraping the floor.
‘Thank you,’ Reynolds said, bowing slightly at the waist… ‘But there is much we can learn from you, too.’ He spoke to hide his embarrassment, directing his words at Jonathon while hoping that they might serve to bring Richard back to its feet as well. When this failed to work, Reynolds launched into the speech he had been sent here to deliver. Knowing what he had t say, he ran through the words as hurriedly as possible. ‘We are backward people. Compared to you, we are children in the universe. Our travels have carried us no farther than our sister planets, while you have seen stars whose light takes years to reach your home. We realize you have much to teach us, and we approach you as pupils before a grand philosopher. We are gratified at the chance to share our meager knowledge with you and wish only to be granted the privilege of listening to you in return.’
‘You wish to know deeply of our star?’ Jonathon asked.
‘Of many things,’ Reynolds said. ‘Your spacecraft, for instance. It is far beyond our meager knowledge.’
Jonathon began to blink its right eye furiously. As it spoke, the speed of the blinking increased. ‘You wish to know that?’
‘Yes, if you are willing to share your knowledge. We, too, would like to visit the stars.’
Its eye moved faster than ever now. It said, ‘Sadly, there is nothing we can tell you of this ship. Unfortunately, we know nothing ourselves.’
‘Nothing?’
‘The ship was a gift.’
‘You mean that you did not make it yourself. No. But you must have mechanics, individuals capable of repairing the craft in the event of some emergency. ‘
‘But that has never happened. I do not think the ship could fail.’
‘Would you explain?’
‘Our race, our world, was once visited by another race of creatures. It was they who presented us with this ship. They had come to us from a distant star in order to make this gift. In return, we have used the ship only to increase the wisdom of our people
‘What can you tell me about this other race?’ Reynolds asked.
‘Very little, I am afraid. They came from a most ancient star near the true center of the universe.’
‘And were they like you? Physically?’
‘No, more like you. Like people. But-please-may we be excused to converse about that which is essential. Our time is short. ‘
Reynolds nodded, and the moment he did, Jonathon ceased to blink. Reynolds gathe
red that it had grown tired of lying, which wasn’t surprising; Jonathon was a poor liar. Not only were the lies incredible in themselves, but every time it told a lie it blinked like a madman with an ash in his eye.
‘If I tell you about our star,’ Jonathon said, ‘will you consent to tell of yours in return?’ The alien tilted its head forward, long neck swaying gently from side to side. It was plain that Jonathon attached great significance to Reynolds’ reply.
So Reynolds said, ‘Yes, gladly,’ though he found he could not conceive of any information about the sun which might come as a surprise to these creatures. Still, he had been sent here to discover as much about the aliens as possible without revealing anything important about mankind. This sharing of information about stars seemed a safe enough course to pursue.
Universe 4 - [Anthology] Page 16
