by H. M. Hoover
"Eteral," Poonie said, and nodded as if that word explained it all.
From a balcony mount, a camera eye came on. Within seconds lights went on in some of the apartments. The computer was tracking them! That it could still do that impressed Lian. It also made her uneasy
How much control did it still have? Did it decide which hatch would open and which would not? While she was puzzling over this, the lumpies began to climb the ramps.
If she had been alone, Lian would simply have walked into the first lighted place she found open. But she saw the lumpies stop to peer at what looked like nameplates on the doors, then they called out words. In response only one or two of them would enter that door ... as if the place had once belonged to them. But if they had never been in here—
"You have family names!" Her remark struck her as stupid, and she felt herself blushing. A nearby lumpie gave her a compassionate look; the others around her fust smiled.
She saw Billy and a small lumpie cross the park and climb to where another waited to enter a glowing door. "It must be sort of like going home," she said and turned. She stood alone, her trio nowhere in sight. Everyone else was searching for his own special place, and for the first time with them, she felt left out.
She shrugged and meandered up along the ramp, looking at the spots of light, trying to imagine what this place had been like when it was alive.
Where had they gone? Had they been outdoors the day the flood rushed down the valley? Did they all drown, or were they shut out when the hatches sealed in a final unexpected exile?
There was room here for hundreds of lumpies, maybe more, she thought. Now there were sixty-three.
The moongate door of an apartment lit as she passed. She checked; there was no one else about. The door split in half and slid open. Suspicious now, she looked for one of the computer's camera eyes and found it. The door was meant for her. She walked back, ill at ease but curious. What was Eteral to her?
One glance inside and she thought of the photographer and his kind. There was so much here that they could steal. The room was spacious but cluttered with belongings. It looked as if the occupants had just
stepped out and might return at any moment—until you saw the dust. She edged inside, feeling like an intruder in a stranger's home.
There was no furniture as such; floor and wall space were contoured into resting places. Anything not electronic was carpeted in the glowing stuff she'd seen throughout the ship. Sculpture and artwork delineated areas. One wall contained a viewscreen. In a ledge below the screen there was a bowllike depression full of beautiful glass marbles.
To keep from thinking much too much, she picked a dusty red marble from the bowl and polished it. As it warmed between her. fingers, it began to sing, a faint sweet song somehow off-key. A book? She put it back, knowing if she did not do so quickly she would keep it, and it was not hers. And yet it seemed to be.
Through a low arch was ... a bathroom? It contained a sunken oval vat the size of a small swimming pool, nacre-surfaced and iridescent. The hall was plainly a photo gallery. What must have been family, friends, and pets smiled out at her from the sunshine of a world long gone. Was this what the computer wanted her to see? She studied them a long time and turned away, saddened.
These things had belonged to vital, intelligent creatures. Now all were artifacts, museum pieces to' be analyzed by strangers. Their very discovery would limit their existence. That seemed wrong to her, this meddling in past lives one could never understand and only coarsen by interpretation.
In the last room everything was small. Built-in shelves held toys, small lumpie dolls, spacecraft, mounted leaves and insects, and strange stuffed toy animals. Lian stood in the doorway, imagining the child who had lived here, who had tried to bring its small world along. Suddenly it all became very personal. It was as if she were seeing her own room and all the precious possessions she couldn't leave behind.
"Did they tell you that you weren't going back?'
she whispered to the child across the years, remembering, never quite forgiving the fact that no one had told her. "Did you ever quit saying, 'Let's go home now'? Or did you just whisper it inside yourself, too, when you finally figured out the truth and knew there was no hope?" And then she began to cry as a child cries, in great heartbroken sobs for which there is no comfort.
Afterward, when she could think again about that morning, about that child's room, she knew it had all in some way shifted time for her and ended her own childhood. When she entered here she had walked back into the past, her own as well as theirs, had seen it whole, unalterable, and gained understanding. By the time she could return to Earth a generation of Earth time would have passed. What she longed for would be gone. Things might remain, a house and garden, artifacts, but all who lived within that human past lived now only in her mind. Like the lumpies, she had to start from now, to keep and to use what was good from the past, and forget about the rest.
She absentmindedly searched her pockets for a tissue and blew her nose, thinking that perhaps her choice of astrophysics had been her way of becoming a lumpie —of pretending to be what she was not in order to1 avoid—
There was a muffled thumping, and she started from her thoughts, then tiptoed down the hall. In the outer lounge stood Cuddles and Poonie, wide-eyed with worry. Naldo appeared in the entrance and gestured with both hands, then saw her. The relief that lit their faces was touching.
"Where were you?" each said in their language, and then everyone was smiling. The rest of the group was outside waiting, restless and eager to leave.
They walked the length of the sere and dusty garden. One by one the lights went out behind them. The smaller lumpies walked together now, detouring here and there, still curious, still excited. But the adults walked alone, reflectively. Like herself, Lian thought,
they Had been shaken by this place. She wondered what it was they had expected "Eteral" to be. And why?
The doorway out opened for them and automatically closed in their wake. The computer was still watching. Two passageways, another hatch, and they emerged into the hallway near the dome.
The Counter evaluated its efforts. It had provided access, atmosphere, and illumination. It had monitored its people and the Guardian. Energy draw: four percent with cells recharging. The minds had responded with interest, some historical recognition of equipment and places and the desire to learn. Enough power now existed to operate the training centers.
Considering the shock experiment: the people had reacted as expected, with unease and aversion. But, the Counter noted, the Guardian had thought of the pleasure the alien-with-white-fur-on-its-head would derive from seeing this tomb. It was this type of knowledge the Counter sought. There was no accounting for alien tastes.
If the Guardian's supposition was correct, perhaps the existence as well as the contents of this tomb could be used as a gift. Such a gift might serve two purposes: it would satisfy alien anatomical research curiosity without subjecting the living to danger; it would also clear out debris. The Counter had never condoned those deaths; if death had been the objective, much effort could have been spared by merely remaining on their home world.
The next move must be calculated. Note that the Guardian learned quickly and was worthy of some degree of trust. Note that its people feared humans more than other aliens. Note that the Guardian feared some humans for the people's sake. . . .
Like the lumpies, Lian had had enough of en-closed spaces. She was on her way out when Scotty called from the dome. "Lian, is that you?"
"No."
"Can you come in here and listen to this? Bring your friends."
Only the trio would come with her. The others wandered away down the corridor.
Scotty, Zorn, and other tolats had set up shop to translate in the dome itself. Lian saw a folding table and a chair for Scotty, a portable terminal and other equipment.
"You're going to work in here?"
"We thought we'd try it. The lumpies never
come into camp, except Billy, so we'd never hear them if they did talk," Scotty explained. "And I thought maybe playing this recording might inspire them or their computer to help us."
"Also it is raining. Roof of our workshop drips," said Zorn. "Tolats do not like wet equipment."
"No. I imagine not." Lian's mind was not quite witK them as she looked up at the rain-streaked glass overhead. The sight of clouds and living trees moving in the wind outside made her feel better.
"I'm sorry," said Scotty. "Did I intrude? Were you going someplace with the group?"
"We were going out for air. We've been exploring."
"I guessed that. You're all grubby as miners. Find anything interesting?"
"Talk later," suggested Zorn. "Tsri Scott said you heard gray people speak and maybe understand. Listen." He turned on the recorder. The lumpies smiled at the sound of their own voices and sat down to listen. Lian joined them. "Can you slow it down?" she said. "As slow as possible without distortion."
"Who knows distortion?" said Zorn, but did as she asked. The voices deepened but became no more intelligible to her.
"Is that gray Cuddles' voice?"
Before Lian could answer, Cuddles smiled and nodded.
"What is gray Cuddles saying?"
"I don't know," Lian admitted. "Scotty, how long will it take you if you have to translate the hard way —word for word?"
"The hard way?" Scotty grinned. "A year, perhaps longer. I'm not sure of one printed symbol so far—"
"Display screen," Zorn interrupted. His gripper claw pointed to the Counter, where the panel was sliding open.
"Lis-son!" The hidden amplifiers boomed the sibilant word, and everybody jumped at the volume. "lis-son!" it repeated. "I will talk and you can all smile. . . As it spoke, those odd, sporelike characters appeared on the screen, and Scotty's forehead furrowed in attention. "Are those words—printed words—or an image of the sound?" she wondered aloud to herself.
"It's repeating something I said—" Lian started to explain when the word, "Lis-son," boomed again. She obediently shut up.
Several tolats edged closer to the golden machine and peered at it as if searching for its mouth. The other staff members came hurrying into the dome. They were followed by lumpies and Dr. Farr, struggling to get through the sudden crush at the gate. "You're going to have to lower your speakers," the man said. "You're deafening the entire—
"Lis-son!" the Counter repeated. "I—will—translate!" Camera eyes focused on Lian and on the crowded ramp. The volume lowered. "I—-will—translate!"
Dr. Farr stopped short. A tolat had to jump over him to avoid a direct crash. The man's face went pale.
The Counter spoke in singing tones and the lumpies answered. Then Naldo held out his hand to Zorn, took the recorder, and pressed the proper buttons.
At first haltingly and then with greater confidences, the Counter translated into Lian's language and in tones oddly close to her voice the recording Cuddles had made when the trio had borrowed the recorder.
"... I am the prime historian and retain the images, old and vivid, perspectives down remembered corridors of time. . . . We are Toapa from a world that circled Ohran."
Cuddles told of a time in flight, long before any of this generation was born. Just how long ago he could not say, but it was remembered as peaceful and safe.
"The peace ended with the landing on this world."
The Counter brought the great ship down with almost pinpoint accuracy, but even so, its bulk grazed the river and plowed across the valley. Its jets denuded and pulverized a wide strip of land between the river and the landing site. Its great mass depressed the soil and rock beneath it.
The rainy season came. Water draining from the mountains swelled the river. It overflowed at its weakest point and made a channel of that strip. A wall of rushing water, mud, and tree trunks swirled down upon them. The main hatch was open and twisted off.
Water poured into the ship. Many drowned or were swept away to die.
"Illness came, and bidernecks, and despair."
Cuddles was not sure, but he thought the flood came many times in those early years.
Before the flood the people used the planet's surface as a park, a place to play, to escape the confines of the ship. They did not want to believe they would have to live out there, to take care of themselves. But they began to try because they had no choice. They planted orchards from the ship's dying gardens. They computer-analyzed and tasted plants. They learned of hunger, cold, and fear—things no amount of empathy could cure.
Mud gradually buried the ship. The Counter's power waned. It could not function properly, could not care for them. Hatches shut and remained shut for lack of power. The ship was vacated as a death trap. Only a select few had ever entered the dome. Within a generation those few were dead. The existence of the dome itself was almost forgotten. The Counter remained in the songs and oral history of its people as a sort of god that failed, through no fault of its own.
In time, said Cuddles, many of their people left the area of the ship. Other races discovered the world. His people tried to communicate with them and failed. But. they could understand the aliens' thoughts. Some of them died, killed by despair. They had known they were helpless, but not that they were contemptible, that their very appearance put them beyond consideration as sentient beings. Some were shot for sport and some for their beautiful soft hides; others were shipped to zoos. Some went mad and wandered off into the wilderness.
The few who remained and were sane came back to this place. They taught themselves a sign language. They never sang again where they might be overheard, never showed any sign of feeling, any kind of thought or intelligence.
'To survive they tried to become what other aliens wanted to believe they were—fat and stupid animals."
When she heard that part, Lian began to cry. Scotty gave her a paper hankie, then on impulse gave one each to the three lumpies and used one herself. All five wiped their eyes while the tolats stared.
The recording ended. There was silence in the dome, and then scattered pockets of hushed conversation broke out. Lian sat on the floor, hugging her knees, tears still running down her face, thinking of mad lost lumpies wandering this hostile world. She was almost sure that it had been one of those who climbed up on her wrecked aircar that night. As a telepath it might have been attracted by her own fears or lonely thoughts, maybe seeking a kindred mind?
Dr. Farr came out of deep thought and cleared his throat. "How tragic—but how absolutely fascinating," he said. "How did you get the computer working? Did you find a switch?"
"No," said Zorn.
"It—uh—volunteered," said Scotty. "Like it did before."
"But how could it know our language? We can't understand a word of theirs. Correct?"
"Correct," said Scotty.
"Computer records every sound," said Zorn, and pointed. "Cameras work. Why not rest of unit?"
"Can we ask them questions?" Dr. Farr addressed this to Lian. "Can we speak to the—uh—Toapa through it?"
"We can try."
The Counter listened to this exchange and to the thoughts of the aliens as it analyzed what it had just translated. Like the aliens, the Counter was surprised —if not to the same degree. It had been unaware of all the hardships its people had faced, had not realized how unobservant it had become as it lost power. It felt new grief, and new respect for them.
Some of the aliens could not yet truly comprehend
or accept the meaning of what they had heard. They now verbalized to cover lack of understanding. Other thoughts were of pity and guilt; a few were empathetic, some angry and resentful; some were very frightened. One human left the room. The Counter noted with approval the Guardian seemed least surprised of all; her mind was weaving facts together, calculating. The white-furred one was disappointed with itself because it had failed to understand and now took refuge in incidental questions of mechanics. They were, the Counter concluded, a relatively primitive l
ot.
It had told them—-and more importantly, told the Guardian—what its people wanted known about themselves. The people had omitted much. The Counter would respect this. It might not be wise to expose the aliens to the further shock of learning, for example, just what the Counter was: the essence of the best minds of seven generations of Toapa. Some of these alien minds might try to destroy the Counter or the people out of fear, and the Counter would have to stop them. Better to remain the aliens' conception of a computer ... to emulate a lumpie ....
They tried, but the Counter did not answer questions. Nor would the lumpies say more. Before ten minutes had passed, some of Dr. Farr's staff recalled how much the computer's voice had sounded like Lian's. They began to wonder if they had been hoaxed. They left for lunch, discussing their suspicions as they went. The cameras watched them go.
"I'm sorry." Dr. Farr apologized for some of the less kind remarks.
Lian shrugged. "In their place I might be suspicious, too," she said, and thought how little it would take to change their attitudes. If the lumpies and their Counter wanted these people to know the rest of the ship was now accessible, they would do so. They had not, and so she would keep that secret.
"Humans are not smart," Zorn declared. "This is not machine as tolats know machines, not simple as tolats know simple"—the creature hissed and raised its rodlike eyes—"but as gray people once knew simple. ..
Something about Zorn's sudden interest made the three lumpies back away. The tolat turned and pointed a claw at Lian. "You said computer pulled you in?"
"Yes. The first time I came in here."
"You learned something in there?"
"Yes, but—"
Zorn did not listen but raced to the end of the computer and disappeared inside. Lian held her breath, remembering. Not quite a minute passed; there was a whisked sound, and Zorn was shot out, bowled halfway across the shiny floor.
Everybody ran to help the tolat. The crowd of lumpies stared wide-eyed, then, seeing him unharmed, exchanged glances. Their round gray stomachs began to shake, and they left the dome to hide their laughter. Only the trio stayed behind.
