Survival--A Novel

by Ben Bova

  “We may have to,” Ignatiev reminded her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The days rolled by. Gita’s modest exobiology team grew, little by little, with newcomers sent down from the orbiting Intrepid. The machines created an extensive biology laboratory for them.

  “It’s a wonderful facility,” she told Ignatiev over dinner, in his quarters. “We can study specimens down to their molecular levels without killing them. Without harming them at all.”

  He asked, “Is that beyond the capabilities you had back on Earth?”

  “Not really,” Gita replied as she speared a few leaves of salad. “I think the machines are giving us the same level of technology that we were accustomed to on Earth. I suspect they’ve gone far beyond us.”

  Ignatiev chewed thoughtfully on a crust of bread for a moment. Then, “Have you asked the avatar about it?”

  “It gets rather evasive. I think it’s observing us, testing us to see how far we can advance our understanding of these alien species.”

  “Perhaps you’ve been enrolled in a school, without being told so.”

  Gita’s eyes widened with surprise. “You think they’re trying to teach us?”

  “I think they’re trying to determine how much we can absorb. How much we can learn.”

  “Are they doing that with our other groups?” she wondered.

  Ignatiev nodded slowly. “The geologists have been taken on field excursions, up on the surface. The engineers and communications specialists are happily poking into the machines’ technology—although they’ve complained to me that the machines have drawn specific limits as to what they’ll show us.”

  “A school,” Gita mused. “We’re all being put through a school. Why?”

  “To see how much we can learn. To find the limits of our understanding.”

  “But why?” Gita repeated. “What is their motivation for all this?”

  “Good question,” said Ignatiev. And he realized that the machines’ avatar did not appear and try to explain.

  * * *

  The two of them talked far into the night, leaving the kitchen to sit side by side on the comfortable old couch. Even as he chatted with Gita, though, Ignatiev realized that the machines could read his innermost thoughts—even his subconscious ramblings. It made him angry. They can see how I feel about her, he knew. He felt embarrassed, exposed, awkward as a teenager.

  Gita sensed his emotional turmoil.

  “Are you all right, Alex?” she asked.

  “Yes! Of course.”

  “You looked … different, strange. As if your thoughts were drifting away.”

  “I … eh…” he stammered. Then he heard himself confess, “I was thinking about you.”

  “About me? And that made you angry?”

  “Angry at myself.”

  “Yourself? But why?”

  He blurted, “Because I love you, Gita. I’m an old fool, I know, but I love you.”

  For several lifelong moments she stared at him wordlessly. He tried to read the expression on her face. Not shock. Not disdain. Not …

  Gita leaned toward him and pressed her lips against his. “And I love you, Alex. I’ve loved you for many weeks.”

  “You have?” The words came out as a surprised squeak.

  “Yes.”

  “I mean … despite the ALS and everything?”

  “Couldn’t you tell?”

  He shook his head. “I told you I was an old fool.”

  “No,” said Gita. “You are a sweet, sensitive man.”

  “And you are an angel.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Entirely.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She felt soft and yielding. The room seemed filled with dizzying fragrance.

  I must be dreaming, Ignatiev said to himself. This must be a dream.

  Yet he rose to his feet and lifted Gita to stand beside him. With their arms entwined they walked slowly toward the bedroom, like Adam and Eve in a strange world not of their making.

  But before they reached the bedroom, Ignatiev—red-faced with mortification—confessed, “I … uh, that is … I may need some help. You know…”

  Gita nodded solemnly and made her own confession. “I’m not a virgin, Alex.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “You?”

  “Almost. It’s been a long time.”

  She broke into a sweet little laugh. To Ignatiev it sounded like the tinkling of temple bells.

  His heart thundering inside him, he led Gita into his bedroom.

  BOOK THREE

  How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Time became a blur. Ignatiev tried hard to focus on the work at hand, but his thoughts always returned to Gita. The warmth of her. The sweetness of her. Her beautiful smile. Her dancing eyes.

  He told her about his illness. “Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,” he explained. “My nerves don’t always carry my brain’s orders to my muscular system.”

  “It must be awful,” she sympathized.

  “Hundreds of years of medical research,” he complained, “but hardly any progress at all on ALS. One doctor told me it’s evolution’s way of getting you to die.”

  “No!” Gita blurted. “There must be something…” But her voice wound down to silence.

  Ignatiev smiled grimly. “It killed a famous athlete back on Earth. That’s why it’s called Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

  She gripped his hand tightly. “We’ll face it together, Alex. You’re not alone anymore.”

  He smiled and gently kissed her.

  Yet he knew he was using her, using their newfound relationship, their bond of love, to build a wall against the machines. Read my thoughts, will they? he grumbled to himself. Anytime he found himself thinking about breaking free of the machines’ captivity he deliberately focused on Gita and hoped that that would submerge his vague, half-formed plans for escaping from the machines’ imprisonment.

  “You seem to be quite happy these days,” said the avatar to him.

  Ignatiev was at his desk, reviewing the reports from his various departments when the humanlike figure appeared in the middle of the tight little chamber he used as his den.

  “As happy as a prisoner could be,” he said as he looked up from the reports Aida was projecting on his holographic display.

  The avatar shook its head. “Professor, we have explained our reasons for holding you incommunicado—”

  “Yes, yes,” Ignatiev interrupted, desperately hoping that the machines couldn’t penetrate his mental subterfuge and get at his deeper thoughts.

  “We have built you a permanent residence center,” the avatar said, “a little humanlike city.”

  “Up on the surface.”

  “Yes.”

  “So that the death wave can wipe us out when it arrives.”

  “No!” The avatar seemed genuinely alarmed. “Your city will be large enough to house your entire complement from your starship. You will be able to live in complete comfort, just as you did on Earth.”

  “Until the death wave hits,” Ignatiev replied angrily. Anger is good, he told himself. Use it to hide your deeper thoughts.

  “That will not happen for another two hundred of your years. Most of the people with you today will have died of natural causes by then.”

  “Unless you help them to extend their lifespans. Which you won’t do, will you?”

  The avatar fell silent for several heartbeats. At last it answered, “That is a decision we have not made as yet.”

  “And why not?”

  “We need to observe you further. There is much about your existence that we do not yet fully understand.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as why you, Professor Ignatiev, are trying to hide your thoughts from us.”

  A hit! Ignatiev thought, suddenly alarmed. A palpable hit.

  But he quickly temporized, “On Earth, a person d
oes not go about describing the intimate details of his love life. Such information is considered private.”

  “It embarrasses you?”

  “Of course it does. And it makes me angry.”

  Again the avatar hesitated before replying. Then, “We are puzzled by your emotional reaction.”

  Ignatiev almost smiled. “We are organic creatures, not machines.”

  “Driven by your emotions.”

  “To some extent, yes.”

  “We would say that you are driven almost completely by emotions. That makes it difficult to communicate effectively.”

  As long as you can’t get at my deeper motivations, Ignatiev thought, wondering how effectively he was masking his thoughts.

  * * *

  Okpara Mandabe at last came down from Intrepid to visit the exobio team that Gita had assembled. Not that he left the orbiting starship; he allowed the machines to transport his presence among the dozen and a half men and women who were preparing to explore the natural biosphere on Oh-Four’s surface.

  He’s trying to maintain his position of authority, Ignatiev thought as he greeted the exobiology department’s chief. Mandabe had chosen to meet the exploration team in the conference room that the machines had carved out for their human guests. Ignatiev almost laughed at the symbolism. After traveling two thousand light-years, the head exobiologist chooses to meet the exploration team in a conference chamber: not in the field, not even in the machines’ biosphere facility. In a conference room.

  And not in person, either. He’s still sitting safe and snug aboard Intrepid while his digital facsimile appears down here.

  Even so, Mandabe looked uncomfortable. His dark face was set in a troubled scowl as he sat at the head of the conference table and listened to the individual reports from the team. Gita sat at his right, quiet and still. Ignatiev had taken a chair at the foot of the table.

  There he is, Ignatiev said to himself as he studied Mandabe’s unhappy face. As far as chess pieces go, he’s not a queen, but a king. The most important piece on the board, but a weakling with hardly any power. He’s perfect for the role.

  Hans Pfisterman, a strapping South African with pale blond hair that he had allowed to grow down to his collar, was explaining his primatology report: “My three-man subgroup will map out the territorial range of the top predator—”

  “That six-legged beast that tried to attack Dr. Nawalapitiya,” Mandabe interrupted.

  At the far end of the table, Ignatiev smiled knowingly. Mandabe’s got to show he knows what they’re talking about. Got to set out his territorial markers.

  “Yessir,” said the younger man. “We call it a tigercat. Up on the surface there won’t be any energy screens to protect us from attack. We’ll have to be pretty cautious.”

  “I should think,” Mandabe said, hunching forward and clasping his hands on the tabletop, “that one of your priorities should be to determine how large an electric charge you’ll need on your pistols to stop one of those brutes from attacking you.”

  “Yessir,” the youngster said again. “That’s item two-point-one in the report I filed last week on our expedition plan.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mandabe said, his natural scowl deepening. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

  Move right ahead, Ignatiev thought. You’ve established your authority. You’ve shown the kid that you’re in charge, you’re the boss. And maybe you’ve even skimmed through his report.

  Then he glanced at Gita, sitting at Mandabe’s right. She looked calm, untroubled, the beginnings of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. She sees that Mandabe’s playing the alpha primate game. And she’s playing the other side of it. Let him have his hour of glory, then, once he goes back to Intrepid, she can get back to running the show down here.

  Ignatiev wanted to grin at her, but he held himself back. She knows how to play the game, he told himself. I wonder if the machines realize what’s going on here.

  I wonder if they realize what I intend to do once we get out into the natural biosphere?

  He immediately clamped down on that thought. Or tried to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The meeting ended at last. Ignatiev counted the three hours they had spent around the conference table as wasted time; nothing had really been accomplished, except for massaging Mandabe’s ego. Mandabe returned to Intrepid immediately; no formalities, he said his good-byes and disappeared like a haunted spirit.

  But the team had dinner together without him, and the jokes that went around the table were mostly at Mandabe’s expense.

  Ignatiev cut their merrymaking short, though.

  “He’s been a leading figure in your field since before most of you were born,” he told the team sternly. “He’s earned the right to be a little pompous.”

  “As long as he doesn’t get in our way,” said Ulani Chung, the long-legged, dark-haired Polynesian biochemist.

  Gita kept her silence, but Ignatiev thought she looked relieved that Mandabe’s visit was over.

  * * *

  Once dinner was ended, the team members headed for their quarters. Ignatiev and Gita strolled leisurely along the blank-walled corridor until they reached his door.

  Once safely inside, Ignatiev pulled her to him and kissed her soundly.

  “You were magnificent,” he told her.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Nodding, he went on, “That’s right. And I know how hard that must have been for you. But you let Mandabe go through the motions of being in charge. He went back to Intrepid feeling he has nothing to fear from you.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t,” she said, suddenly looking tired of the whole charade.

  With a low chuckle, Ignatiev said, “And Samson had nothing to fear from Delilah.”

  Gita smiled wanly. “I’m not going to shave his head.”

  “You won’t have to. Tomorrow, when we go out to the surface, you’ll be in charge and Mandabe will be glad to have it so. He thinks he’s running the show—”

  “Isn’t he?” Gita challenged. “He can replace me anytime he wants to.”

  “And see your whole team go on strike?”

  Her eyes widened. “You think they’d do that?”

  “You’re their leader. Not Mandabe. If he tried to replace you they’d rebel.”

  Gita shook her head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “It won’t,” Ignatiev said, with slightly more confidence than he actually felt.

  * * *

  Ignatiev was just about to follow Gita into the bedroom when Aida’s softly soothing voice announced, “Captain Thornton would like to speak with you, Professor.”

  “Thornton? Of course.”

  With that, Intrepid’s captain appeared in the sitting room’s three-dimensional display, above the crackling fireplace.

  “Captain,” said Ignatiev. “Welcome.”

  Thornton was a rugged-looking blond with long stringy hair falling to his broad shoulders, a thick beard, and piercing ice-blue eyes. A perfect Viking, Ignatiev thought: he would fit right in with Leif Erikson and Eric the Red.

  “Thank you,” said the captain, in a high tenor voice that Ignatiev thought ruined his Viking image. “I’ll only take a moment of your time. I want to ask you if you’re going to need a couple of my crewmen on this excursion your exobiologists are going to take.”

  Ignatiev felt his brows hike up. “A couple of your crewmen?”

  “Guards,” Thornton explained. “I suppose it’s going to be dangerous out there in the wild.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So? Do you want a couple of guards to go with your people?”

  With a shake of his head Ignatiev replied, “I don’t think that will be necessary. The team will be armed with stun pistols. And the machines will be watching over us, I’m sure.”

  Thornton’s craggy face contracted into a frown. “You’re sure? Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I think we’ll be all right, thanks all th
e same.”

  Clearly displeased, Thornton said, “It’s your funeral.”

  “A pleasant thought,” said Ignatiev.

  “Well, good luck anyway.” Glancing around the sitting room, the captain said, “I’d better be getting back to my duties.”

  “Thank you for the offer,” Ignatiev said.

  “If you change your mind, call me.” Thornton’s image winked out.

  Ignatiev stood there, thinking, If Mandabe knew that the captain had come to me instead of him he’d have another temper tantrum.

  * * *

  The next morning the nine-person team (plus Ignatiev) met at the main entrance of their village, a sizable double-doored foyer. Each of them wore a gossamer excursion suit over their normal clothes, and a fishbowl helmet. Each of them had an electric stun pistol strapped to his or her hip, and carried a backpack of supplies—except for Ignatiev.

  Grinning, Raj Jackson asked, “No backpack for you, Professor?”

  “Age has its compensations,” said one of the others.

  “Rank hath its privileges.”

  Gita said firmly, “Professor Ignatiev is our guest. Let’s show him some respect.”

  “Not too much, though,” Ignatiev bantered.

  Suddenly the machines’ avatar appeared among them, like a light abruptly turning on, dressed in its usual collared uniform—emerald green this time.

  “Are you ready to go outside?” it asked.

  Gita nodded inside her helmet. “Yes. We have checked out our suits. Everything is in order.”

  The double doors slid open noiselessly. “Then let us be on our way.”

  They crowded through the open doorway. The doors slid shut behind them, making Ignatiev think of a curtain drawing closed, shutting off the past—and perhaps the future.

  Ignatiev noticed that the humans kept a respectful half meter between themselves and the machines’ envoy, even though they crowded close to one another. No one spoke a word as they stood out in the open, atop the broad, flat roof of the machines’ city. They’re a little nervous, Ignatiev realized. And why not? They’re going into the unknown.

  That’s what science is all about, he reminded himself: pushing into unknown territory. Yes, but this particular unknown territory has things in it that can kill you.