Marooned on Eden

by Robert L. Forward

  "Eyes," indicated the Jolly, with the smoothly moving tip of one limb gliding up nearly to touch my own, then off to touch, equally lightly, one of the little owls!

  Cinnamon, moving with extreme slowness, stood on a nearby rock to peer deeply into one swinging nest without presuming to touch it. Her ready empathy with all living things stood her in good stead, and the Jolly never moved as she stepped down.

  "There's nothing in there but a single protruding thing, like a teat. It would just fit that opening on the back of the owl, but I don't know . . ." Here, one of the owls returned to that nest, and Cinnamon said, judging from its position, it was indeed on the teat, with its large eye regarding us from the nest opening.

  "This is much more than symbiosis!" exclaimed Nels. "That tiny thing is more like a free-flying extension of the Jolly!"

  Similarly, the long slow exploring limb, which behaves somewhat like the trunk of an elephant in its massive yet precise movement, touched my mouth, and then the opening in its body. We were unable to see within, partly because the little animals we have seen were inside, and partly because the opening itself was occupied by one of the same animals, emitting sounds more and more like our words. Curiously, there is a covering for that hole which is obviously made of some other material. It appears soft and fine, and elaborately decorated with colored threads. It hangs above the mouth most of the time, and we have no idea what its purpose is.

  From the manner in which the small animal-like creatures darted away from, and quickly back to the opening, it appeared they are not the guiding intelligence of the creature; their activities have the appearance of messengers receiving instructions, and communicating with outsiders. Their alacrity and single-mindedness indicate a great dependence on, and trust of, that central intelligence; indeed, that seems true of the owl-like creatures also. Nels especially strove to maintain a scientific position of detached observation; this was wise, as some of the rest of us tend to leap to anthropomorphic conclusions which frequently are erroneous! Our original assumption, that the owls and animals were individuals in their own right, became drastically altered, as we realized they are actually no more independent than our own eyes and hands. We struggled to understand how a structure that is so like a plant, even to the extent of using photosynthesis to some extent, can have evolved into a tool-making animal!

  The Jolly's incredible speed at assimilating and using our own speech patterns was in vivid contrast to its slowness of movement. Indeed, as the urgent questions began to fly from Jinjur and John I felt compelled to intervene.

  "Excuse me!" I said rather loudly. "We've begun in well-meaning fashion, and it's obvious there's more for us to learn here than we can possibly do in one meeting. This noble creature may be the key to the entire ecology of this world! But I am sure you see that while the intelligence is even quicker than our own, the motions are necessarily very slow, and it is the essence of diplomacy, more than etiquette, to respect that pace, particularly as we are the unwilling intruders in this country!"

  Jinjur looked thoughtfully at me, and to my relief, nodded curtly and sat down quietly; the little "eye" which had been fluttering to keep her in sight returned to its nest.

  For the next several hours we worked very hard; studying the Jolly's appearance, formulating hypotheses, framing questions, struggling to simplify the questions enough to be understood, listening to the brief answers and then discussing them quietly.

  Finally, we humans became tired and hungry. David, in particular, had been sitting crosslegged in front of the Jolly, listening intently to the whistled phrases passing between "eyes" and "hands"; he copied them, constantly correcting himself, on the little flute, and had interpreted meanings for many of the sounds. When he finally stood, it was slowly and painfully.

  "I'm not being mannerly, I'm stiff!" he grimaced.

  "And I'm hoarse," croaked Cinnamon, who had been doing most of the questioning—her level tones seem to be the most easily understood by the Jolly, and we had been passing our queries through her.

  "How shall we end the conference? Ring a bell or something?" asked John.

  "David can!" suggested Arielle. "Try first song!"

  That was a good idea—since it was undoubtedly ceremonial in nature, perhaps it would serve as temporary farewell also. Jinjur and Nels seemed about to protest at this termination of our interview; however, as they got to their feet also their expressions revealed surprise and discomfort. We have not remained immobile for so long since our arrival! While the rest of us gathered ostentatiously in a neat row, David repeated the first song we had heard from the Jolly. With some relief we heard the answering repetition, and then we all moved off at our own speed. Once again, the huge roots began their curious plodding pace, and the alien creature moved majestically into the welcoming shelter of a nearby thicket.

  Jinjur put Shirley to keep first watch, and the rest of us turned to the routine of preparing a meal.

  My own part of the job, to which I am philosophically resigned, is the ongoing collection of fuel; I have become skillful enough to have an effective routine, and one which leaves my mind free to reflect. All the new information was seething so busily in my head I paid little attention to my customary path beside the bustling stream which fell from the hills. I climbed steadily, stopping occasionally to stack pieces for my return trip downhill, or to toss large bits to float downstream for most of the distance. I was thinking so intently of the strange lifeform we were studying, that the sight in the soft earth of the brookside gave me a physical jolt. It was only my own earlier foot-print, but now I realized how "alien" it was.

  How recently I had been fully engaged in a highly technological mission, remote and detached, in sophisticated surroundings, maintained in every respect by intelligences only slightly more artificial than my own! Could there be anything more complete than this present reversal? As the days have gone by, there has been less and less hopeful talk about the possibility of our ever returning to Prometheus. I think each of us has gone round and round in our own minds, searching for a way in which that might be done, and have come up with only pessimistic conclusions. The lander under the water may still provide us with tools, possibly even some means of communicating with the ship, but the difficulties inherent in physical transportation are immense and we know them all.

  Are we prepared, or even willing, to consider living out the remainder of our lives in these primitive circumstances with only each other for company? No wonder we are so avid to explore all the intricacies of the creature we met today! How interested Katrina and George would—at this point I missed that former life with a very real pang. But each day, I realized, as I continued to muse, the faces here become more real and precious to me. I think the Christmas Bush and its imps did as much to keep us isolated from one another as they did to keep us carefree and comfortable. Since we had no need for the companionship of others, we had gradually become unmindful, even intolerant of closeness. Certainly I had!

  Now, it is becoming easy and pleasurable to talk with each other; and I have heard stories of the backgrounds of my friends I never would have imagined! How Shirley had discovered her passion for drums in early adolescence and joined an amateur band, and, with typical enthusiasm, practiced so assiduously her fingers bled daily! How Nels' meticulous laboratory drawings had led to idle sketches of fantastic creatures, and fired his imagination of other worlds. Carmen's sorrow for her mother's sorrow, when Carmen left her knowing she would never return—there were tears when she told us that, but our quiet listening soothed her, and there was new calm in her face as she sighed, still. And what a joy it is to hear a human laugh—it doesn't happen often, but when it does I hear it with such a lift of the heart! I should, I think, regret losing that, if somehow we could return to the world of James. There always seems to be much to say among us, and we are now sharing our thoughts like our labors.

  "It's funny," mused Joh, one evening. "I never bothered to really listen to Jinjur, I just obeyed orders,
and did my work, and let my imp do all the communicating. Now I find, when she hollers or whatever, both the words and the holler have meaning, sometimes contradictory." Interesting, if John really has begun to listen! "And what the odd part is, is that I get the message quicker than I did through the imp!"

  That was a real delight to hear. The easy intimacy of our communal life is becoming a bond, and our interdependence rests lightly on us all.

  I was more than ready for the meal ahead. We have been widening our exploration among possible foodstuffs, and when Arielle and Shirley take their turn as cooks the results can be delectable. Indeed, there are several culinary specialists among us. Cinnamon's way of skewering alternate chunks of fish, clam-meat, and a flavorsome small vegetable on well-soaked slivers of wood, to be grilled slowly, basted frequently with the juice freshly squeezed from the fruit we call a mango, results in a brown, crisply glazed portion, tender and succulent. With rapid and vigorous chopping, John transforms the primrose-colored flesh of the large roots we've dubbed yams into a creamy mass, smooth and mellow, which slides effortlessly down the throat, tasting faintly of sweetness. And David collects, high among the canopy, a tiny, fiery berry whose spicy heat adds welcome flavor to some of the safe but stodgy tubers we find most plentiful.

  Two of the new items today had been collected by John, who hovered over them with some concern. One of these is a dark-leafed plant which grows in profusion along the many little streambanks; the other is a thick-skinned small fruit, and he had asked both peel and flesh be cooked. He seemed to have some very definite object in mind, but was reluctant to explain, possibly for fear of influencing the tasters. I think that concern is now unnecessary; as we accumulate a wide variety of edible choices, our comments on new tastes have become remarkably candid—Richard's description of the flavor of David's little "pepper" being noteworthy.

  Accordingly, I watched curiously as the small dark leaves were gently steamed—they almost instantly darkened in color, and John looked hopeful. Arielle took a tiny taste of the stuff and looked thoughtful.

  "Strong! But not bad." She tasted again, more generously, and chewed slowly. "Tough, too," she commented. "Tastes like . . .like . . .greens."

  John was obviously delighted, to my puzzlement. "Great! Give me the rest, Arielle, and I'll run some tests. It's vitamin C I'm after," he explained then. "Good old ascorbic acid—our bodies can't make it, we didn't bring any, and without it we're in for real problems, but that leafy stuff may be an answer!"

  As he spoke I turned to watch Shirley approach the steaming fruit which was to be her portion. It smelled rather pleasant, and responded to her knife tip. She took a spoonful; instantly her expression twisted into one I would not have thought humanly possible! Without ceremony she spat the offending morsel straight into the fire and reached for the water bucket, dousing her entire face and gulping frantically.

  "No good?" asked Arielle, rather unnecessarily.

  "Sour!" gasped Shirley. "I never tasted anything so sour!" John responded with a whoop of glee.

  "Terrific! Sounds great! Here, try again!" Quickly he spooned up a tiny portion of the fruit juice, which had turned pink in the cooking, and sprinkled it with a small bit of white powder.

  "Try this!" he urged, holding it out to Shirley. She hesitated, but then complied, gingerly. Her apprehension changed to interest then, and she was quick to say, "That's much better!"

  John was still excited, but explained "Sour may mean vitamin C too, and I'll test it. It may be as close as we can come to citrus here; all I put on was sugar, but you know how little we have of that, and no way to get more. Unless we can find some of that, too."

  We shared his hopes, but I am privately dubious. My own hope is that the Jolly will be able to provide us with information we can use much more readily than this hit-or-miss technique. With this in mind I turned to see if our visitor was where we had parted from it.

  The Jolly was not visible in the gloom, but without any real worry I rose to search for it. A moment's reflection led me to the thorn thicket, and peering through the tightly interlaced branches I beheld our guest, motionless and quiet, secure within the protection of those spiky defenses. If we had landed as planned, and conducted our explorations encased in spacesuits, and flying in airplanes, we might have posed a real threat to this native. As it was, we met on much more equal terms! Rather more pleased than otherwise, I left the Jolly undisturbed. The quiet talk around the fire centered on all we had learned from our visitor, both by observation and the halting struggle of conversation.

  How achingly weary I am! It was exciting beyond belief to meet this new creature, and to try to absorb so many new ideas, but exhausting. How strange—I have given no thought to Prometheus or its crew for hours. Now that I consider the heavy clouds above us, I can only wonder when some message will come. The ship itself is invisible tonight. It is time to awaken the next watch.

  When shall I glimpse our soaring home again?

  FINDING

  Unbidden, the dream played itself out again. First the scream from Shirley: "We're spin . . ." cut off in mid-cry. Then, the interminably dry voice of James: "Engineering telemetry reports left rear rocket engine has burned through. Beagle is now sinking in Crater Lagoon . . ."

  "George! Wake up George!"

  I awoke in my dark bedroom, lit only by the soft laser lights of my imp, who was trying to comfort me as best as it could. "Your heart beat had risen to dangerous levels and I thought it best to try to wake you. Was it the same dream again?" asked the solicitous voice of James.

  "The same one I have every time I try to go to sleep these past few days. I feel so helpless and useless. I'm in charge and there is nothing I can do!"

  I wearily got out from under the tension sheet as James raised the lights in the bedroom. I was still dressed in the wrinkled coverall I had worn when I turned in. I stopped at the bathroom, avoiding the bleary-eyed and unshaven grisly-gray face in the mirror as I took care of the necessities. I was too impatient to hold still and wait while my imp gave me a shave, pulling up and snipping off each whisker in turn, so I palmed my way out the door of my apartment, dove down the central shaft, and swung out onto the control deck of Prometheus.

  The night shift crew was busy at their consoles and did not look up. Tony was managing the lightsail, keeping Prometheus balanced over the inner pole of Zuni, where the Beagle had gone down. Linda was monitoring the communications console—silent except for the occasional engineering status report from one of the orbiting commsats around Zuni. At the same time, she was continuing to use her astronomical telescope to look down at Zuni in a search for the missing spacecraft. From the image on her console screen, there was little to see except layer after layer of dark rainclouds, which had not broken since the Beagle had crashed.

  Sam was at the science console, evaluating the floods of data still pouring in from the robotic orbiters and surface vehicles scattered all throughout the Barnard planetary system. Despite the tragedy that lay below us and the desires of everyone to help, someone had to keep working at the primary reason we had been sent to this distant star—collecting scientific information about the Barnard system and transmitting it back to Earth—six light-years away.

  When Sam saw me appear he murmured to his imp, "He looks terrible, James! Tell him to go back to bed and get some sleep!"

  "Can't sleep," I replied grimly back at James. I turned to look hopefully at Linda's console screen. "Has Linda seen anything yet?" I asked James.

  Linda avoided looking at me. "Nothing but clouds," came back her reply through my imp. Then, knowing full well what the next question was, she added. "Nothing over the radio but lightning static. The cloud cover is starting to break up, however. If I could only predict the weather, I might be able to forecast when the clouds will part enough to let us get a glimpse of the crash site."

  "Weather is what I'm good at," I said, finally relieved to have something constructive to do. I swung around her console and sat myself in
front of the second science console. My fingers flew about the touchscreen, setting up the icon menu. "Bring up the weather map for Zuni, James," I ordered.

  An hour later I allowed himself a weak smile. "In about six hours there is going to be a break between two low pressure fronts. There is a good chance we will be able to see St. Vincent Island for about three hours."

  "That will be around high noon there," came Tony's response through my imp. He was looking at the three-dimensional space navigation display in front of him, which showed the placement of Prometheus with respect to Barnard, Gargantua, and its moons. The display also contained computer generated lines that outlined the invisible shadow cones of the giant planet and the moons, for knowing the position of those shadow cones was essential in piloting a spacecraft powered by sunlight. The shadow cone of Gargantua was approaching the orb of Zuni. "It's going to be dark for almost two of those three hours."

  "Damn!" I said, feeling frustrated again. I sent out orders through my imp. "Linda. James. Have the Christmas Bush get the infrared detector array ready to substitute for the visible photoelectric array in the telescope. The resolution won't be as good, but something is better than nothing."