by Ben Bova
As if Gita could read his expression, she said calmly, “Activate your sensors.”
“Activate your sensors,” said Pfisterman, with a derisive grin. “That way, even if you get yourself killed, we’ll be able to find your body.”
The woman standing beside him hissed at him.
They walked slowly, almost reluctantly, to the edge of the rooftop and stared out at a riot of greenery waving in a gentle breeze.
With an ushering gesture, the avatar said, “Here we are.”
Gita nodded. “Let’s go.”
They began to file down a stairway toward the floor of the forest. Somehow Ignatiev got the impression the stairs had not been there earlier.
The forest was eerily quiet, except for the soft sighing of the trees as a gentle breeze swept past. Peering past the majestic boles of the soaring giants, Ignatiev could make out the hazy blue bulk of distant mountains, seemingly floating in midair, looking bare and cold above the lush jungle greenery. Thin clouds scudded by and somewhere in the distance an animal sang out a low, mournful moan.
The ten of them—plus the avatar—had fallen into a silence that was part wonderment, part tension, as they pushed their way through the hip-high foliage. There were no paved paths through the undergrowth. The team plowed ahead uncertainly, Gita in the lead. Ignatiev noted that the humans left bent and broken undergrowth in their paths, but the avatar passed through the foliage like a phantom.
Squinting up into the bright morning sunlight, he saw a formation of the leather-winged reptilians gliding up among the treetops in a vee formation.
He smiled to himself. Aerodynamics is the same here as on Earth, he told himself.
A scaly, bright red lizardlike creature scampered up one of the sturdy tree trunks, stopped to stare at the intruding humans, and chittered at them scoldingly.
“He doesn’t like the sight of us,” one of the men said.
“We’re invading his turf.”
“How do you know it’s a male?” asked one of the women.
The animal suddenly turned an even brighter green and dashed farther up the trunk, to disappear among the leaves of a drooping branch.
“It must be a male,” said the woman. “It makes a big noise, then runs away.”
* * *
Ignatiev walked along with the group, feeling a slight dull pain in his legs. It was so mild that he almost thought it might be his imagination. No, he told himself. It’s the ALS reminding you that it’s in your body.
He marveled at the creatures that teemed through the forest. Hard-shelled little beetlelike things scampered across the mossy ground. Birds fluttered through the air. Just like home, Ignatiev thought.
But then he saw a slimy mass of color oozing between the trees, engulfing leaves and branches and anything perched upon them, leaving a smoking scar on the tree trunks as it passed.
The others saw it too. And froze.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s like a giant amoeba!”
Gita pointed. “It leaves a trail of desolation behind it.”
“It’s heading toward us!”
Several of the team had already pulled their stun pistols from their holsters.
“Hold your fire,” Gita commanded. “Let’s just get out of its way.”
She led them off at an angle to the amoeboid’s slimy track. Ignatiev saw a small furry six-legged animal slink up carefully to the amoeboid’s advancing edge. It sniffed at the slimy creature curiously, but before it could turn away from it, the amoeba-like organism spread pseudopods around it and engulfed it in its oozing mass. The animal shrieked and struggled briefly, then began to dissolve inside the creature’s semitransparent mass.
“Look at that,” said Raj Jackson, fascinated despite himself.
“Ugh!” groaned the woman closest to Ignatiev.
“Move along,” Gita commanded, “unless you want to get digested, too.”
The exploration team hurried away from the amoeboid, but Pfisterman stopped, turned, and aimed his pistol at it.
“No sense firing,” the machines’ avatar warned. “You would merely annoy it—and turn its attention toward you.”
Pfisterman wavered, turned questioningly toward Gita.
“Put the gun away and let’s get as much distance between us and that … that thing as we can,” Gita said.
As they hurried onward through the forest, the avatar explained, “That organism is the top predator in this biosphere. Forget that big brute you encountered back at the facility a few days ago.”
“It devours everything in its path,” Ignatiev said, puffing with exertion as he hurried to keep up with the others.
“Indeed it does,” said the avatar. “It exudes a scent that many of the smaller animals find attractive.”
Gita said, “And when they come close enough, it engulfs them.”
“Quite so.”
Raj Jackson, pushing through the waist-high foliage at Gita’s side, asked, “Can you track them, so you don’t get in their way?”
The avatar replied, “We could if we needed to. But we seldom come up here to the surface, so we have little need to do so. We keep this part of the biosphere under continuous remote observation, of course.”
“Only this part?” Ignatiev asked.
“Yes. This sampling gives us an adequate understanding of what is going on throughout the biosphere.”
They were climbing a small hill, Ignatiev realized. No wonder my legs ache, he said to himself. Looking back, he could see the swath of devastation left by the amoeboid’s track through the forest.
“Soon it will all grow back,” the avatar assured him. “This biosphere is self-supporting. A natural habitat.”
“Global in scope?” Gita asked. Ignatiev realized she was puffing too, and felt somewhat better about it.
“The habitat spans the temperate region of our planet,” the avatar replied. “The polar regions have their own biospheres, of course. Different climate, different plants and animals.”
Once they reached the crest of the hill Gita called a halt to their march.
“We’ll take a short break for lunch, then we’ll split up into three-person teams so we can cover more ground.”
“Like we planned,” said Ulani Chung. She was slim and dark-eyed. Ignatiev realized that Raj Jackson somehow always seemed to be at her side.
“Exactly,” Gita replied.
The avatar said, “I will leave you now. But if you need help simply call on your communicators. We will come immediately.”
“That’s good to know,” said Gita.
The woman beside her said, “Especially if we run into one of those amoeba things.” She shuddered visibly.
“Not to worry,” said the avatar. “Their ranges are very large. You won’t find another one in this area.”
“Good.”
With that, the avatar winked out. Ignatiev said to himself, Good-bye, little tsarovitch.
The team unfurled a micromesh tent and spread it on the ground, then filled it with breathable air from the tanks of their backpacks. The tubular tent rose and stiffened until it formed a temporary habitat where they could unfasten their helmets and eat a cold meal in something approaching comfort.
Sitting beside Gita on the tent’s fabric floor, Ignatiev asked, “Am I supposed to stay with you this afternoon?”
She swallowed a bite of the sandwich she was holding, then answered, “Yes. Of course.”
“Can I wander off on my own?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then you’ll have to come with me.”
“With you?” Gita asked. “Where? What do you have in mind?”
“Freedom,” said Ignatiev.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gita stared at Ignatiev uncertainly for a long, silent moment. Then she turned toward the others squatting on the tent’s floor and called, “Hans, can you come over here, please?”
Pfisterman got up from where he’d been squatting—next to J
ackson and the exotic-looking Ulani Chung, Ignatiev noticed—and scuttled over to sit at Gita’s side.
She told the South African, “Professor Ignatiev and I are going to take a little unscheduled excursion together. Can you lead your subgroup without me?”
Surprised, Pfisterman blurted, “Unscheduled excursion?”
“Just for a few hours or so,” Gita said.
Ignatiev saw sudden understanding blossom in Pfisterman’s pale eyes. He thinks we want to be alone. Romance. With a mental shrug, the professor said to himself, Who cares what he thinks, as long as Gita and I can be alone?
With a slow grin, Pfisterman nodded and said, “Certainly. I can handle it. I know the excursion protocol inside out.”
“Good,” said Gita, in a strictly professional tone. “Remember, see everything, touch nothing.”
“And get it all down on the sensors,” Pfisterman added.
The little group finished their brief lunch, then replaced their helmets, got out of the tent, pumped its air back into the tanks on their backs, folded the ultrathin fabric, and stored it into one of the rucksacks. Then they gathered themselves into the mini-teams that they had prearranged for the afternoon’s tasks. Pfisterman’s team included only himself and Ulani Chung. He looked happy about that, Ignatiev thought. Raj Jackson seemed much less than pleased.
Gita reminded them that they would meet at this spot one hour before local sunset, then sent them off with, “See as much as you can and record it all. Good luck.”
The team broke up into the subgroups and started off in different directions. Ignatiev heard a man’s voice say, “I hope we don’t run across that amoeboid again.”
“Amen to that,” answered another voice.
Louts, Ignatiev thought. The amoeboid was the most interesting species they’d found, so far.
“So where are we going?” Gita asked him, while the subgroups dispersed in their chosen directions.
Glancing at the keyboard panel strapped to the left wrist of his suit, Ignatiev pointed with his right hand and answered, “Due north.”
They began trudging down the hillside, side by side.
“Alex, what are you trying to accomplish?” Gita asked.
“Exploration,” he replied, not trusting himself to even think of anything more.
“But why just the two of us? Why not—”
“Actually, I had thought that I’d go this way alone,” he said, “but I’m happy that you decided to come along with me.”
With a wry smile Gita murmured, “Wither thou goest…” Ignatiev thought she sounded reasonably pleased about it. But curious.
They pushed through the foliage, hip-deep at times. Gita had all her suit’s sensors recording everything. She even stopped to take pictures of Ignatiev standing beside one of the massive tree trunks. Animals skittered and scattered around them. As they broke past the heavy foliage and entered a sizable meadow of low grass, a lumbering turtlelike creature slowly crossed their path.
Then one of the six-legged tigercats emerged from the heavy foliage and growled at them. They both froze. Slowly, cautiously, Gita pulled her pistol from its holster.
She started, “If it makes a move toward us—”
The tigercat bunched its muscles. Ignatiev saw that it was going to leap at them. Stepping in front of Gita, he pawed at his own pistol, got it halfway out of its holster as the beast leaped, roaring a bloodcurdling scream that froze everything in the forest.
Ignatiev saw the massive blur of fur and fangs leaping directly at him. He had no time to react, no time to pull his gun or aim it, no time to do anything as the full impact of the charging animal hit him squarely and knocked him over onto his back.
His vision blurred, but he could feel the weight of the animal pinning him down, sense its fangs snapping at him. He felt the thin fabric of his protective suit ripping as the brute’s razor-sharp claws tightened around his body.
Ignatiev knew he was going to die.
Suddenly the tigercat shrieked and released its grip on him. Ignatiev sucked in a painful breath while the beast went howling off into the underbrush.
Gita stood above him like a fierce goddess, pistol in hand, her face a mask of hatred.
Then she looked down at Ignatiev and dropped to her knees beside him. Her visage melting into concern, she pleaded, “Are you all right?”
He managed to nod. “I think so.”
Gita wrapped her arms around his battered body. Her helmet’s hard surface hurt his chest, and the air tanks strapped to his back felt like solid rocks, but he grinned at her.
“You saved me,” he managed to grunt.
“You’re all right,” she breathed, staring at him. “You’re all right.”
Ignatiev wanted to smile at the incongruity of it. “The hero is supposed to save the fair maiden,” he muttered.
Gita broke into a wild, relieved, uncontrolled laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She wouldn’t allow Ignatiev to get up off his back.
“You stay there,” Gita commanded, “while I check you out.”
Ignatiev was perfectly happy to lie quietly on the soft grass, even though the air tanks on his back made it far from comfortable. Gita pulled a scanner from one of the pouches on her belt and ran it over the length of his body.
“Heart rate is high,” she muttered as she stared at the scanner’s screen, “but blood pressure is good, and so is breathing function. No broken bones, apparently.”
“I’ll live, then?” he asked, trying to make it funny. His words came out as a labored croak.
She pushed him over onto his stomach and examined the air tanks. “Dented,” she muttered, “but intact. No leaks.”
“I’ll live,” he repeated.
“It tore your suit,” she said. “Local microbes might cause infection.”
Rolling onto one side, Ignatiev huffed, “The local microbes are alien … not adapted to human biochemistry. No danger of infection.”
“That’s the theory, I know,” said Gita. She shrugged the backpack off her shoulders and rummaged through it. “Still, I want to get your suit repaired as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
All business, Gita covered the rips in Ignatiev’s suit with self-sealing tape, mumbling, “It didn’t slash your flesh—”
“You drove it away before it could do any real damage.”
“There still might be broken bones. Or sprains, contusions.”
“I don’t think so.” And he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Every muscle in his torso groaned in protest but he said to her, “See? I’m still in one piece.”
“It’s not a joke, Alex. That animal could have torn you apart.”
“But it didn’t. You saved me.”
Suddenly she wrapped her arms around him again and pressed her helmeted head against his chest. Ignatiev winced with a twinge of pain, but he said nothing. He enfolded Gita in his arms.
“My avenging angel,” he murmured.
He heard her sobbing. “You could have been killed. I could have lost you.”
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s all over now.”
They disengaged at last and Ignatiev climbed slowly to his feet. His entire body seemed to burn with a dull pain, but he hid it from Gita.
“How do you feel?” she asked, getting up beside him.
“A little stiff. I could use a shot of vodka.”
She laughed. “We’ll have to get home for that.”
“No,” he said. “It’s still early. Let’s push a little farther.”
“Why? What are you looking for?”
“The limits to the machines’ control. I want to see how far their power extends.”
Gita turned from him to sweep her eyes across the green landscape: grass and shrubs and undergrowth as far as the horizon; the giant trees rising to the sky; the distant mountains of bare rock.
Abruptly, she raised her left arm and touched the stud on her wrist panel
that the avatar said would summon help.
Nothing happened.
Gita pressed the button again. Again no reaction.
She looked up at Ignatiev. “It looks like you’ve achieved your goal. The machines are not in control of this area, so far from their city.”
Ignatiev felt a tiny glow of victory. “We’ve done it! We’ve gone past their area of control.”
“So what happens now?” Gita asked.
“We call Aida and summon a shuttlecraft to pick us up and take us back to Intrepid.”
With that, Ignatiev called out aloud, “Aida!”
The artificial intelligence’s synthesized voice immediately answered, “Yes, Dr. Ignatiev?”
“We need a shuttle to pick us up.”
Without a shred of emotion, the AI answered, “I’m sorry, Dr. Ignatiev, but all our shuttlecraft have been inactivated.”
“Inactivated? How? Since when?”
“For the past week,” Aida responded. “The engineers are trying to reactivate them, but they’ve been unsuccessful so far.”
“You mean we can’t get back to Intrepid?”
“Not physically. Not unless the machines allow you to,” said Aida.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“We’re stuck here,” Gita said, her voice low with defeat, frustration.
Ignatiev huffed. “They don’t need to control the whole planet’s surface. They’ve separated us from Intrepid.”
“Can we talk to the ship, at least?” she wondered.
Aida replied, “All communications channels are blocked at this time, I’m afraid.”
No, Ignatiev thought. Aida doesn’t feel fear; that’s just a phrase she uses to make us feel more comfortable with her. We’re the ones who should feel afraid: cut off from the rest of our people, alone on an alien world, totally dependent on these damnable machines.
“We are not acting out of malice.”
Ignatiev turned at the sound of the softly reasonable voice. There stood the machines’ avatar, in its immaculate quasi-military garb.
“You’ve been observing us all the time,” Ignatiev said.
“Of course. We do not want you to hurt yourselves.”
