Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt

by Jack McDevitt

  Everywhere I went, I made a visual record. Not only of the dead and dying, but of the grieving survivors. And the celebrating killers. The trouble on the Sheldrake and back home where they made up the ground rules was that nobody believed the Noks qualified for the rights that humans took for granted. They were just not at our level. They had no feelings. Were incapable of governing themselves. I wondered what the Noks, when they learned of our presence, would think about us?

  I stopped answering calls from McCarver. George got sulky and went silent, speaking only in response to questions.

  When I got lonely, I called Cathie. She no longer pleaded with me to stop. Just told me she hoped everything would turn out all right. On the day I broke up the parade with the rifle, she told me the boss had asked her to pass along a message he’d received. “I doubt it’s anything new,” I said.

  “It just came in this morning, It’s from Hutchins.” The Academy’s director of operations. Back in Arlington.

  “Okay. Let’s see it.”

  The director was sitting in her office. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wouldn’t look half bad if she smiled once in a while. “Paul,” she said, “I know you’ve already informed Kaminsky he’s in violation of at least a half-dozen laws, and God knows how many regulations. We want him to stop what he’s doing immediately. He is to return to the Sheldrake and remand himself to your authority. As soon as convenient, ship him home. Let him know that charges are being drawn up at this moment. But that if he complies I will do what I can for him.”

  “Sure she will. She’ll commute the sentence to life.”

  “Give it up, Art.”

  “I’m surprised McCarver and his people haven’t come after me.”

  “They would if they could, but you keep moving around. They haven’t been able to get a fix on you.”

  “Why don’t they just ask George?”

  “You shut him down, didn’t you?”

  “No. I wouldn’t be able to pilot the lander without him.”

  “That’s interesting. He stopped talking to us. On his own, looks like.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that. You mean he’s not reporting everything I do to McCarver?”

  “No. We get nothing from him.”

  George wanted no credit for his actions. “You got me into this. You’ve compromised me. But of course I said nothing. If I had they would have taken you back to the Sheldrake and sent you home. And prosecuted you. That’s why I stopped reporting. I was hoping you’d come to your senses, apologize, and go back voluntarily. That way they might consider being lenient.”

  “George, I appreciate what you did.”

  “It doesn’t mean I approve.”

  5.

  A planetary surface is a big place. The mission didn’t have the kind of equipment necessary to track me from orbit. But Cathie had left no doubt they were watching. I took what precautions I could. I started wearing Intek goggles, which would allow me to see anyone else wearing a lightbender. I never stayed long in one place. And I began limiting my transmissions to the ship. Sent them out in batches, usually just before we moved on. On the whole, I made a pretty decent fugitive while simultaneously raising hell with the various Nok militaries. Not bad for a guy who had no experience at that sort of thing.

  We were getting low on food. I’d begun to cut rations. When I got down to where there was a three- or four-day supply left, George asked when I was going to give it up. “The crusade’s about over,” he said.

  Yep. We were looking at the light at the end of the tunnel. “What’s the maximum sentence for what we’ve been doing?” I asked George.

  “—What we’ve been doing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I like that. Anyhow, it looks like a maximum of five years. Plus fines.”

  “Big ones?”

  “They’d buy a nice place on the Riviera.”

  It was early morning where we were, on the west coast of the largest continent on the planet, but for me it was midday. I’d just set fire to a fuel supply depot, a particularly heavy blow on a world with serious energy problems. “Five years,” I said.

  “But you’d be in good company.”

  “You think I’d get the maximum?”

  “Don’t know. There are no precedents. But considering the fact you’ve killed a few of these creatures, and you’ve been less than polite to the director, I suspect they might even look for other charges.”

  “Yeah. I suppose they might.”

  “I’m no lawyer, you understand.”

  A half-hour after that conversation I broke up an intended landing on the southern coast of Palavi, an island-continent shaped like an enormous horseshoe, with the open end facing west.

  Troops were moving shoreward in five small boats, the same type I’d seen during my first action. (I’d begun using military terminology by then. It felt good.) There was a town about four miles away from the projected point of landing, and it was just after dawn. The coastline was obscured by mist.

  George brought the lander over the boats and, when they were about halfway to shore, we circled around, killed the lightbender so they could see us, kicked it up to full throttle, and ran directly at them. Well, not quite directly. We stayed high enough that there could be no collision, but I doubt it looked that way from the water. I wished the lander could make some noise, but the thing was silent and there just wasn’t anything to be done about that. Nevertheless, its sudden appearance was enough. The Noks screamed. Some dived behind the gunwhales; others jumped into the ocean. Even George was amused.

  We took a second run, after which all five boats were drifting, and pretty much the entire unit was in the water.

  A few got shots off. “Engage the lightbender, George,” I said. “Take us up.”

  The AI complied, and lifted us out of range. “We took a hit on the port-side sweep light,” he reported. “It’s out.”

  “Okay.”

  “It appears there’s a lot of confusion below.”

  “Raid canceled.”

  “We have radio traffic, Art. They’re reporting the incident.”

  “Put it on the speaker.”

  We listened to the end of the report. Unknown vehicle floating in air. “Not a dirigible. Repeat: Not a dirigible. No visible means of support.”

  “Did it attack you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “It tried to ram us.”

  “You’re sure it was levitating?”

  “Captain, everybody here saw it.”

  “Very good. Proceed with the mission.”

  It didn’t sound as if the captain believed them. The Noks in the landing party were seeing things. “Let’s go talk to the captain,” I said.

  George hesitated. “Keep in mind, Art, they have heavy weapons. We could get blown out of the sky.”

  I’ll admit something here: If I’d been alone, I would probably have backed away. But George was watching. And yes, I know AI’s are only machines and nothing more. That they’re no more intelligent than rocks. But it didn’t matter. “Do it anyway. It’ll take them time to zero in on us.”

  This time there were only two warships. They were gray and dark, the color of the ocean, guns sticking out in all directions. Killing machines. If we’d had any sense of decency, we’d have made contact at the beginning and banned warships from the open sea. Forced peace on them. Whether they liked it or not.

  “Which ship?”

  I couldn’t tell which was the command vessel. Both were pointed south, out to sea, ready to clear in a hurry if they had to. They were several hundred meters apart. “The one on the left,” I said.

  George took us in over the bow. We snuggled up against the bridge, nose to nose. I counted five Noks inside. It was easy enough to pick out the ship’s commander, who was wearing a hat that would have embarrassed Napoleon. “Good,” I said. “Let’s light up.”

  And suddenly there we were, hanging directly in front of them. Close enough to s
hake hands. The commander jumped a foot. The others dived to the deck as if they were under attack.

  I wished I’d had a loudspeaker. But I didn’t so I settled for the radio. “I am the Messenger of the Almighty,” I said. “Stop the killing.”

  Klaxons began to sound. A couple of sailors appeared from nowhere, saw us, and scrambled for cover. A third, on a gundeck, went into the water. On the bridge, they were still hiding.

  “You have been warned,” I said.

  George beeped and booped. “We should leave,” he said.

  “Not yet.” I used the laser to take out the forward gun, and topple both of the ship’s masts. A couple of Noks appeared and took shots at us.

  “Okay” I said, “let’s go. And let’s turn the lights out.”

  We vanished and left them standing around gawking. One of the big guns started firing but I was damned if I could figure out why. It wasn’t even pointed in our direction.

  We disabled the second ship in much the same way, and were flying in a circle overhead admiring our work when George did the electronic equivalent of clearing his throat.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t think that Messenger of the Almighty routine works.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s hard not to laugh.”

  “You’re not a Nok.”

  “If it was having an effect, they wouldn’t be shooting at us.”

  I was born in Toronto. My father owned a real estate development company. My mother held a master’s in literature from one of the Ivy League schools and taught at the University of Toronto. They were Anglicans, my father fairly casual in his observances, my mother devout. “Has to be a God out there somewhere,” she was fond of telling me. “I don’t think he has much to do with the God of the Bible, but he has to be there. I can’t believe this world is all there is.”

  I wanted to believe. Maybe to keep her happy. Maybe because I liked the idea that Someone with a lot of influence really cared about me. So I tried. Pretended to, sometimes, when earthquakes took out a few thousand people, or a kid somewhere fell off a bridge, and the preacher admitted that he didn’t understand God’s ways.

  Looking back now on my experiences with the Nok wars, I wonder whether I was less generous than I like to think, whether I hadn’t seen an opportunity to play God and tried to seize it.

  Messenger of the Almighty. Would that it had been so.

  The Noks were believers, too. At least, theoretically. They had the same sort of general religious history that we had. In ancient times, they’d believed in a plethora of divinities, one to keep the tides running, another to hustle the sun and moons across the sky, another to see to the seasons. In time, they’d discovered that Nature was an interrelated whole, and with that discovery came monotheism and intolerance. Same process as had happened at home.

  The Noks had several major religions, and they constituted an integral part of the ongoing conflicts. Killing unbelievers, during some eras, seemed to be okay and even occasionally required for salvation.

  I couldn’t help wondering how it happened that monotheistic religions on Nok and at home both revolved around the concept of judgment and salvation. The physical world was an imperfect place, filled with sorrow and, ultimately, loss. There had to be something better. I heard echoes of Mom. It’s a hard life. And we were living in Toronto. On the lakefront. Sailing Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  I asked her once if she thought there really was a judgment.

  “Yes.” She’d smiled at the question, probably delighted that I was actually thinking about these things. “But I think it’ll be different from what most people expect. I doubt we’ll be held accountable for not getting to church often enough, or for giving in to forbidden pleasures.”

  “What then?” I’d asked. I’d been getting ready to leave for summer camp, leaving home for an extended period for the first time. “What do you think the judgment will be like?”

  “I think He’ll wonder about people who never take time to look at the grandeur of things. ‘I gave you the stars and you never lifted your eyes above the rooftops.’ Or, maybe, ‘I gave you a brain. Why didn’t you use it?’” She’d laughed. “Doesn’t mean forbidden pleasures are okay, Arthur.”

  “My point,” said George, “is that it’s a losing fight. You’re all but out of food. And okay, you’ve blunted a few attacks. Made some of these guys pay a price. But in the process, what’s changed? You think there won’t be another landing force in here next week? Or next month? So what have you accomplished?”

  I was thinking about it when Cathie got on the circuit. “I’ve been looking at some of the pictures you’ve been sending up. Do you have more?”

  “I can get more.”

  “Do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Send them. As many as you can. Okay?”

  “Sure. If you want. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Try to get you some help.”

  She wouldn’t explain. Maybe someone had walked into the comm center. But it sounded as if McCarver was beginning to understand what was really happening on the ground.

  Two hours later I watched helplessly as two armies clashed in the middle of a plain. George’s best estimate put the numbers involved at over a hundred thousand on each side. There were primitive armored vehicles, not tanks, but trucks used to carry troops, do hit-and-run maneuvers, and haul supplies. No robots, of course. There was a lot of artillery. Both sides just sat back and blasted away at the other. The ground troops made periodic charges. There were no automatic weapons, so the suicidal aspect of massing units for a frontal assault was missing. Or at least lightened. But they paid a heavy price.

  Against George’s protests, we went in close and got more pictures. Shattered bodies on the battlefield. A medical unit tending to desperately wounded soldiers. Hordes of refugees trying to get out of harm’s way. And, that evening, when by mutual agreement the shooting had stopped, squads of soldiers spreading across the area to reclaim the bodies.

  In the morning, I knew, it would all start again.

  It was the only organized battle I saw during my entire time on Nok. But it was enough.

  “Even if Cathie could get you some help,” said George, “what good could it possibly do? At last count, there were seventeen national entities of one kind or another engaged in the war. It’s not even one war. It’s a whole bunch of wars going on simultaneously, and even the experts back in orbit don’t have it all sorted out. So suppose they do send a couple more guys like you, suppose they send a thousand, what difference will it make?”

  I’d been talking with McCarver, who wanted to know, at least, what my plans were. How long was this going to go on? I got no sense that he’d even watched the clips, let along been impacted by them. “Good luck to you,” he’d said, when I told him I needed a couple more days. “I’m sure knowing you stepped in will be consolation when you’re sitting in a federal prison somewhere.”

  We were on the night side at about four thousand meters. I stared out of the lander at the sky. The Sheldrake and its accompanying vessels were lost up there somewhere. Below, fires raged from one horizon to the other. Towns and cities under attack. Port facilities. I could see an air strike in progress. A fleet of maybe a dozen dirigibles dropping bombs and incendiaries on God knew who.

  “You know, George,” I said, “maybe you’re right.”

  Bright lamps came on and blinked. “Good,” he said. “At last. We’re going to admit it’s a no-win situation.”

  “It is that.”

  “I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason.”

  “Going after the local commanders doesn’t achieve anything. I should have realized that from the start.”

  “I don’t think I liked the sound of that. What do you mean, going after the local commanders?”

  6.

  Nok had a long list of dictators to choose from. One of the more malevolent, according to the research, was a character named Pierik Akati
mi. Pierik the Beloved. I didn’t know a great deal about him. Dictators weren’t exactly my field of expertise. What stood out about Pierik was his appreciation for the simple pleasures: warmaking, arresting his citizens, and astronomy. He also liked sex. And feathers.

  George supplied the dictator’s address, which was in Roka, the capital of a continental power, possibly the strongest of the belligerents. His headquarters was appropriately named Sunset House.

  We scouted the place from the air. Sunset House was an exquisite brick-and-steel six-story oval with a lot of windows and porticoes and a small observatory on the roof. There was a park across the street, a courthouse on one side, and a museum on the other.

  “We’ll land in the park,” I said. “Once I’m out, go hide in the woods until I call you.”

  The military and political people had an extensive record on Pierik. As I said, he liked feathers. He wore them in a scarf, in his hats, and in his jacket. Nobody else had any. The word was that wearing a feather in his country constituted a capital offense. In fact, a wide range of offenses were capital crimes under Pierik, who didn’t bother much with jails. He disapproved of criticism, of course. He also didn’t much like citizens having a good time. Parties were forbidden, unless they marked certain specified occasions. The Nok equivalent of dancing brought swift retribution for everybody involved, the partners and anyone who stood around and didn’t call the police. Religious opinion was circumscribed. Everybody belonged to one faith, and Pierik was its Blessed One. The dictator was reported to be superstitious and seemed to subscribe fervently to the official doctrine.

  Despite all this, the principal researcher had concluded Pierik was not the worst of the dictators. But he seemed to me the most likely to be affected by the voice of an invisible entity.