by H. M. Hoover
She was late for dinner, and the dining room was crowded. As she stood in line at the autoserver, she could hear a dozen conversations, all discussing the starship. "Every dig I've been on," a man said, "the people who created the culture were dead. It's too bad this place isn't like that—it would make things a lot simpler."
"Maybe it could still be arranged?" quipped another, and there was easy laughter that gave Lian a sick feeling as she glanced at the faces around her. Someone rapped for attention, and Dr. Farr rose to speak. Lian took her food tray and sat down at the nearest table.
"I have several announcements to make," Dr. Farr began. "First, you will be happy to hear our two injured colleagues are now recovering. Tsri Zahr will return to camp in the morning.
"Now, I know you're all concerned about the current status of the expedition. Instead of a typical rain, we have a starship that may be a colonial habitation still in use by descendants of the colonists. The ethical question arises—what right have we to trespass?
"Klat, Tsri Zahr, and I discussed the situation with the Governor General of Balthor this afternoon. We requested that this area be designated a colonial protectorate and the inhabitants be designated colonials. Our request was granted. Until we know more about the true nature of the lumpies, there will be no official announcement. We don't want visitors. Our status remains unchanged. We will proceed as normal. Except, of course, that until it is determined otherwise, all artifacts are the property of the colonials. Objects will be removed from the site only for the purpose of cleaning and identifying." He paused and scanned the room. stAre there any questions?"
"Yes." The little professor stood up, red-faced to the top of his bald head. "How dare you make such a decision without consulting the rest of us? Don't our reputations and opinions count?" Several people applauded. The man was shaking; Lian couldn't tell if it was from true anger or the need to show Vincent that he wasn't a loser.
"No," Dr. Farr said bluntly. "This is an expedition, not a democracy. Our triumvirate is responsible for the expedition's actions as a unit. Should you as individuals disagree, I refer you to the contract you signed on joining the project."
The photographer called out, "I'm here to photo-record what the rest of you dig up. But what does this ruling make you and your staff—a bunch of glorified cleaning people?"
There was an angry murmur. The man had either touched a sore point or insulted many of those present.
Farr used his cup as a gavel. "In a sense archaeologists have always been that. We can give a fair picture of a civilization by analyzing its garbage dumps. We can reconstruct a man if we find a few of his bones. Potsherds reveal magnetic polarity as well as art form. Jewelry tells us of metalworking ability, of trade and wealth and travel.
"Admittedly, this dig is different—and far more ex
citing. Instead of total ruin we have found, in nucleus, a new life form, a working computer to tell us the history of this species, a civilization, a world, and a star system we never knew existed. Cleaning, as you put it, is a small price to pay for such a wealth of knowledge."
"And that's all we'll take back—knowledge?"
"I hope not, but if that is all we have the right to take, it should be more than enough."
Vincent smiled a too sincere smile. "Your altruism is hard to believe," he said.
"Perhaps our ideas of what constitutes wealth differ," said Dr. Farr.
"Your documentary should sell," the little professor said quickly, as if to cover the sarcasm in the photographer's remarks and mollify Dr. Farr. "There's enough material here for volumes."
At that, conversation broke out on planned books and papers. Egos and ambitions began to surface. No real mention was made of the lumpies other than as an. Inconvenience or perhaps a means to an end. As she listened, Lian realized these people were, in their own way, as self-centered as her parents. They differed only in that they lacked her parents' authority, ability, and character. The exceptions were Klat and Dr. Farr and Scotty, who seemed to be genuine scholars—and the tolats.
"Details, details. Who cares?" Lian's translator picked up the voice of a tolat hissing to a companion. She grinned to herself, half agreeing. The tolats were a pragmatic crew with no thought of self-aggrandizement. She imagined their minds as neat files of schematics, thought disciplined to linear simplicity, minds that did not dance but enjoyed a game called "Jump!" Why was it that she was beginning to like them?
As soon as she was through eating, she slipped her tray and utensils into the autocleaner and went out. The streetlights turned the camp into an island of light In endless miles of wilderness. Wherever she looked around the camp's perimeter, she could see eyes gleam-
ing back at her. They belonged to forest creatures, attracted to this artificial glow, curious and half afraid.
"Be careful," she called out to them. "Here's where the wild things are."
In the stillness of the dome, four side panels opened, their runners gritting over dusty tracks. From two of these spaces emerged blue egg-shaped auto-cleaners. Around and around the dome they circled, leaving in their wake a width of polished floor. Vent fans kicked on, then off, while other automatic units cleaned the filters, then on again. By nightfall the dome had been made spotless, the air cool and dry.
When the Counter ceased cleaning operations in order to conserve energy, it had sanitized the dome and teaching theater. It then took visual inventory of all compartments where equipment still functioned. It saw that damage and deterioration were as bad as it had projected. Worse, the Counter was not equipped to dispose of the tons of foreign debris encrusting the main halls and hatchways.
The Counter viewed the section where the people had once lived. It had not looked in there for two generations past when the hatches sealed. The walls still glowed, but no light danced. The rooms were
empty, the fountains dry, the gardens dead. The people now slept, not in their homes, but in a meditation room on the floor. Not each free and alone, but all together, these few, clustered for warmth on the cushioned pad. For lack of energy, most of what had been beautiful was gone or ruined.
The Guardian must see this. The Guardian's mind fought back; it did not sigh and resign itself to destruction. It would teach the people what the Counter could not, or so the Counter hoped.
From habit, before resting, the Counter monitored its power. For a fraction of a second (which for this unit represented a long pause), the mind was stunned by shock. The storage cells showed nineteen percent of capacity; they had shown minus one. The Counter checked and rechecked. Nothing was malfunctioning. The storage cells had recharged and were, in fact, still charging now from starlight. Something had cleaned a mainline luminoid!
The Counter considered this; the dormant portion of its mind might desiccate with a too-sudden power surge. Slowly, very slowly, it began to feed. But just enough, so it could think as it once could, the Counter told itself. Beneath the blue floor osmotic current crept, roiling, stimulating memories—it was intoxicating!
At three a.m. the dome lit up, an emerald glowing in the dark. It winked just once and then went Out—-and the Counter sobered up.
Morning was dull gray. Heavy clouds hid the mountains. Lian was wakened by wortles lighting outside her door. She got up feeling grumpy. The shower water was cold, and that did not improve her mood. The only person she met on her way to breakfast was Vincent, who smiled and said, "Good morning. Looks like rain," as he fell into step beside her.
Lian had no gift for chitchat. "You and your friends leave the lumpies alone."
For an instant his smile faded, his expression went blank and then took on an adult's superior, puzzled amusement. "I don't know what your problem is, kid," he said, "and I don't want to know. Just don't bother me with it. I don't have the time." She watched him cross the grass and enter the equipment dome.
A wortle stood forlorn in the middle of the street. "Lost the fight, didn't you?" Lian commented in passing. The bird gave her an angry glare a
nd ruffled its feathers. It looked so much the way she felt that she
laughed and immediately felt better. Any world with wortles in it could not be all bad.
It was so early there were only three tolats In the 'dining hall. Ruby lights glowed on the beverage machines. The air smelled of hot food. She pressed two buttons on the autoserver. Twenty-six seconds later a tray burped up, containing a yellow Mob of scrambled eggs, two toasts, and a smear of grape gel. Lian looked at the food and grimaced.
"Gray people returned Zorn's recorder," a tolat announced as she sat down.
"Who's Zorn?" she said, startled that a tolat would talk in the morning.
"This tolat," said the speaker, and then she noticed Its distinctive spots.
"Was the recorder O.K.? I mean undamaged?*5 "Yes.55 Zona pointed toward the west window. "Your three gray people are sitting.5'
The lumpies were huddled on the grass by the edge of the landing pad. They looked uneasy, as If they expected to be yelled at or chased at any moment. She was surprised to see them there; of all the lumpies only Billy came into the camp when he brought the beetles for Buford.
As the tolat watched, apparently fascinated, Lian made a sandwich of her food, tossed the tray Into the autocleaner, mumbled, "Thank you, Zorn,55 and ran outside, still chewing. When they saw her, the lumpies got to their feet, all relieved smiles and finger wavings. "What are you doing here so early?5'
For a moment she thought Cuddles was going to speak again. But either habit or fear was still too strong, because after a glance at the camp, Cuddles shook his head, and pointed in the direction of the site.
The four of them set off down the red dirt road. The lumpies seemed to be in a hurry and padded along on all fours. Lian had to run to keep up. "Is this necessary?" she panted after the first half mile and stopped to catch her breath. "Is anything wrong? They smiled at her again, and from sheer frustration
part of her bad mood reappeared. "You can talk! I know you can talk. Has anyone tried to hurt you?"
The three exchanged glances, and then Poonie pointed to his right side. Lian saw a round spot of what looked like blue-green ink. "What is that?" Poonie touched the spot on Lian's arm where the computer had taken samples. "The black hole pulled you in?" Then, seeing the other two were similarly wounded, she thought she understood. As timid as they were, they must have been terrified by the experience. "All of you?" They nodded. "What were you doing in the dome so early?"
Poonie said something in three soft notes, and Lian got a mental picture of doors opening. But not normal doors. Her confusion must have shown, because Poonie repeated the image.
"Not doors . . ." she said, sounding like someone playing charades. "Not doors . . . hatches opening?" Another nod. "The power cells are charging now that some of the surface is clean and the sealed hatches work?" The nods were more vigorous. "That's wonderful! Are any of the archaeologists in the hallways?"
They shook their heads. Lian hesitated, wondering If she should go back and share this news with Dr. Farr. It was his expedition, his discovery in a way. If he hadn't come here—Cuddles caught hold of her left hand and smiled up at her, and she remembered it was the lumpies' starship. "Let's go," she said.
The halls were dark and deserted when they got there. Lian thought they were going to the dome, but her guides stopped in a nondescript area and Naldo pressed a switch she couldn't even see for grime.
The hatch responded slowly. If the sun didn't shine today, how long would power last in the auxiliary equipment? She followed them in and nervously watched the hatch close behind them.
There was light inside, faint, but enough to see that the chamber was carpeted. Floor and walls were water-stained and dirty, the carpeting worn through around the door. In the distance she could hear sounds like
choir members vocalizing, warming up, repeating phrases over and over.
It was easy to follow the path treed over the years, plain to see which hatches had opened after the flood. Only two. One from the main corridor into this hall; one from this hall Into a dim, iow-cailinged room with a camera eye gleaming in a comer. In there were all the other lumpies, looking right at home. She stepped In hesitantly, feeling she was an intruder. The floor was cushion-soft; she knelt to touch it. It felt like old velvet, shabby but warm and smelling of wild mustard. "You sleep here?" Lian asked, and Poonie nodded.
They must have been waiting for her, because no sooner had she arrived than they all began to file out. Cuddles led the way along the dingy passage to a large bulkhead hatch and pressed the switch. A crack appeared and the door slid open into a wide peach-colored hall.
Lian stared. There was a tashness to this place, a beauty she found hard to accept. Like the anteroom, It was completely sheathed in what looked like, but was not, deep silk-velvet pile that glowed with light. She thought the tolats would know where the light came from, but until they explained away the magic, she could enjoy it. Sculpture broke the monotony of plain walls. In an alcove to the left, where the passage curved, a massive gold ball floated In unexplained suspension. To the right was an elevator bank and a wide spiral ramp leading down Into darkness.
She would see the ship again many tunes and In far greater detail, but never again would it have the same effect on her as it did that day, that first time, when she saw only what the Counter wanted them to see.
It was a little frightening, like walking through a huge deserted palace with no windows. The ship was alien and very luxurious. It was designed for large creatures, but its basic features were familiar to Lian. She had traveled Earth's deep space cruisers. Like this ship,' they were self-contained bio-structures, worlds of their own.
She did not understand how the lumpies knew where they were going. They appeared more excited than nervous, and they seemed to be hunting for something in particular or some place. She heard the question, "Eteral?" repeated over and over with each large hatch that opened. And each time they looked disappointed.
There were things, the purpose of which she could only guess, products of a technology totally alien— bizarre library stacks, enormous fermentation tanks, strange machines. She saw what she was pretty sure were squat surface vehicles, balloon wheeled, burly, utilitarian. They looked new, as did what appeared to be an amphibious craft. Beyond one massive windowed balcony yawned a black cavern, and on its floor was a shuttle ship and two egg-shaped craft. It was the ship's hangar, and she wanted to see more of it, but the lumpies hurried on. They found compartments full of tools, both crated and uncrated, large drone robots and smaller multipurpose units, all with hands like metallic anemones. All looked operable.
She watched the lumpies studying, touching, fitting their hands to tools, their bodies to furnishings. They moved from one thing to the next, like children delighted but bewildered by too many birthday gifts. But eventually, no matter how fascinating the find, she would hear one of them call a reminding "Eteral?" and they would go on.
Then, along a service hall, a hatch no one had touched snapped open as if a spring had given way. They jumped, then quickly touched to reassure each other; the place was old. There was no light inside that door. A sickeningly sweet smell oozed out into the velvet hall. The lumpies backed away, their nostrils flaring as they analyzed the scent. Light from the corridor winked off a jewel lying in the darkness. Someone moved, light changed, and other jewels winked.
"Eteral?"
There was dread in the whisper, like an unspoken prayer that the answer would remain no. But they were afraid to look. Lian pulled free of Poonie's hand and
went to Investigate. When she flicked on the torch, someone cried out. Then silence.
It was a lounge, more lush than most, and unlike the others, this one was not empty. On the floor and draped across the furnishings were articulated bones, skeletons, and mummified remains.
She played the light over the walls, looking for high-water marks, thinking they had drowned in here. There was no sign of flooding. No one lay near the exit. Some lay t
ogether, but not in violent poses. There was no sign of panic, no suggestion that they had died trying to escape. The large, round skulls bore no fractures. Other bones appeared sturdy, unbroken.
Without warning, the hatch banged shut with a force that shuddered through the body of the ship. For a moment Lian thought she was going to be sick with terror. It was illogical; they were dead . . . the ship was . . . She rubbed her face to touch reality, felt cold sweat on her hands, and rubbed both palms dry on her sleeves. She forced herself calmly to clip the torch back onto her belt, straighten her jacket, and take a deep breath.
She turned and saw the lumpies staring at her as if she were mad. Then Poonie could stand it no longer and grabbed her hand.
It was a rout. Lian was not sure if the fear was hers alone or if it suddenly gripped them all. But they ran, all sixty-four of them, until that room was far behind. When they finally stopped, she leaned against the wall to rest and let her heart slow down. Small lumpies sank to the floor and sat exhausted. All around was the sound of deep breathing. Then someone called out, "Eteral!" and she looked up.
Just beyond their resting place the corridor widened and sloped down to an enormous ramp. Naldo stood down there, pointing to a place beyond.
They hurried through an open arch and stopped still, dwarfed by a vast twilight space half a mile long and vaulting to a solar-shuttered ceiling. For minutes no one moved, stunned by awe or disappointment or both.
It had been a garden. The grass was brown and dusty, the trees dead, the flower beds brittle stalks. Along the walls on all sides, ramps led up to balconied apartment tiers that once overlooked the central green. A breeze from somewhere brushed her hair and passed. Leaves still clinging to the trees rustled. The lumpies sniffed; the air was fresh, and they relaxed with little sighs of relief.
"They lived here during the trip out?" Her voice was an alien intrusion in this old silence.
