by Ben Bova
"It's a big world down there," Dr. Peterson murmured. "Plenty of room for surprises."
Foy shook his head stubbornly.
"I wonder," Peterson added, "if a ship like this had orbited Earth a hundred thousand years ago, if it would have detected any sign at all of the human race. Yet human beings lived on Earth then—without villages or artificial habitats."
The Bishop grimaced at him, then turned back to Jeff. "Don't you fall into the error, young man, of thinking that you are indispensable to this project."
The thought had never occurred to Jeff. But now that Bishop Foy mentioned it, Jeff realized that no one else had been able to establish contact with any of the animals down there and perhaps he was important.
"Jeff may not be indispensable," Dr. Carbo said, his voice even softer than normal with weariness, "but that wolfcat is."
"Eh? What?"
"It's the only living animal we have with a probe in its skull. If we lose it, we have to start all over again from the beginning."
"Or give up," Amanda whispered.
Foy ignored her.
Dr. Ferris, somewhat more calmly, leaned forward slightly in her chair and said in an almost pleading tone, "Now, I know it must be very difficult to handle this wolfcat . . ."
Jeff was tempted to tell her, No it isn't; it's fun. But he held his tongue as the ethicist continued.
"If there is an intelligent species on Altair VI, we must know about it as soon as possible. It would mean that we are not allowed to colonize the planet. It would be a violation of one of the Bureau's most fundamental laws if we despoiled such a world and extinguished an intelligent species."
"They are not intelligent!" Bishop Foy repeated, his voice harsh with impatience.
"But they might be trainable," said Dr. Peterson, with an easy smile on his weather-beaten face. "They might be more valuable to us as . . ." he hesitated, glancing at the ethicist, ". . . as helpers, than the wolfcats. We've got to find out more about them."
Carbo, Amanda, and Dr. Ferris nodded as one.
"We will," Foy snapped. To Jeff, he said, "And I want you to remember, young man, that you are a member of this Village—not a wild beast of prey. You are valuable to this community only insofar as you can control that animal and make it do as we wish. If you cannot control it, or if you refuse to control it, we will find someone else who can and will. Is that clear?"
"Yessir," Jeff said, suddenly afraid that they would take Crown away from him.
"Very well then," Foy sank back in his chair. Its high back dwarfed his tiny form. "Continue your work. And may God grant you success."
Jeff murmured an Amen, and he thought he saw Dr. Ferris' lips move also. If she's a Believer, Jeff wondered, would she ever be able to take the government's side against the Church?
Once they were back in the curving corridor outside Bishop Foy's office, Jeff stammered to Amanda, "It's, uh, kind of late. I . . . I guess I'd better get back to my dorm."
She looked relieved. "Okay, Jeff. I understand. Make sure you get a good meal into you, though."
"The best the cafeteria can whip up," he promised.
Dr. Carbo came up beside her and said to Jeff, "I want you at the lab a half-hour before local dawn, down there on the beach. Check the central computer and set your alarm accordingly."
"Right," said Jeff.
As he started off toward the students' cluster of domes, reluctantly leaving Amanda behind, he heard her say to Carbo, "I've got a couple of real steaks in the cooker. You hungry?"
Jeff hurried away before he could hear Dr. Carbo's answer.
CHAPTER 7
Pain!
Pain so strong, so shocking, like hot knives in his guts, that Jeff almost wrenched himself free of the cuffs that restrained him and threw himself off the couch.
Amanda saw all the gauges on the control board flash into red overload signals. Carbo froze stock still and stared through the control room window to where Jeff lay writhing and moaning aloud. But he grasped Amanda's wrist firmly when she reached for the emergency cutoff button.
"Not yet," he muttered through gritted teeth.
Crown was lying on his side, bleeding.
His right foreleg was soaked with blood, throbbing with red-hot pain. Other gashes raked his body, mostly his back. The pain was so screamingly intense it almost made him black out.
Up on the ridge line above the camp, in the trees, an old wolfcat bellowed his warning. Crown had tried to hunt in his territory in the misty hours before dawn, hoping that the wolfcat families in the woods would be asleep. But the old leader and four of his males had attacked Crown mercilessly. Crown had fought back, out of hunger and desperation. But the odds were much too great. They didn't want to kill him, merely drive him away from their own food supply. Crown didn't drive away easily. When he finally did admit defeat he was half dead.
Now he lay panting beside a crumbling piece of machinery on the beach, his blood soaking into the sand.
Pull him free, Frank! We can't let him take this overload.
Don't panic. He's handling it. The gauges are going into the green again . . . see?
Block off the pain, then. Lower the intensity match.
No. Only if we absolutely have to.
Crown growled weakly and got stiffly to his feet. Limping, aching, still oozing blood, he made his way through the strange machines and boxlike buildings of the abandoned camp. The odors here were strange, evil. Dead things. Things that were never alive. But not like rock or sand. These shapes were completely alien to Crown. Yet . . . yet . . . there was the faintest trace of something. Something else, a live scent, but very faint and very different.
Crown staggered along the sand and collapsed next to a huge rusting tractor. His head was spinning, the world was going blurry. But through it all he sensed the odor of food. It was a question of time. Food had been here once. It would come back again. But would it come before Crown starved or died of exhaustion and loss of blood?
Dr. Carbo studied all the gauges and sensor readings, pressing his lips into a thin bloodless line, then told Amanda, "Okay . . . pull him out of it."
With an audible sigh of relief, she began tapping on keyboard buttons.
Carbo muttered, "We can't let the animal die, but it's no damned good to us if it's too weak to move."
Amanda was frowning. On the couch in the lab chamber, Jeff's body lay still—either asleep or unconscious.
"I said pull him out of it," Carbo repeated.
She looked up at him. "He's not responding."
Carbo went to her and gripped the back of her chair in both fists. "Try it again. Slowly."
Amanda went through the disconnect sequence again. Then they both gazed through the thick window at Jeff, who was writhing on the couch, his body twisting slowly, restlessly. "No . . . no," he breathed.
"He wants to stay linked," Amanda said, her voice shaking with fear.
Carbo could feel sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. "Damn! His willpower might be the only thing keeping that animal alive."
"Or the animal's pain could be killing Jeff."
"No . . . I don't think . . ."
"Look!" Amanda shouted.
All the gauges on the control panel were climbing upward again: heartbeat, breathing rate, electrical brain activity, all of them.
"Something's stimulating the animal."
"But Jeff . . ."
"Look at the screen," Carbo said.
Crown focused his vision on the beach and the camp, forcing the pain to the back of his mind.
The scent was stronger now, and getting even stronger by the minute. Something alive was making its way toward him. Food.
Crown didn't move. He tested his muscles by tensing them. They felt stiff, dull with pain. His foreleg was still bleeding, but it had clotted well by now and the blood flow was down to a trickle. Worse than the pain was the hunger inside him. It made him weak and slow.
The wind was coming off the sea, but at an an
gle that brought odors from up the beach, above the alien camp. A chill mixture of snow and rain was sifting down on the beach, so lightly that the snow evaporated as soon as it touched the sand. Crown had never seen snow before, but he ignored it for the time being. It was still early morning; the ocean was muffled in fog that would burn away as Altair rose higher in the sky.
And then Crown saw them. They seemed to take shape out of the mists that drifted across the beach. Apes, like the one he had found in the desert with the hawks. But these apes were strong, healthy. There were three of them prowling cautiously on all fours through the far end of the camp.
Family group: father, mother, cub.
Some cub. He's the size of a football player.
Call Dr. Peterson; he'll want to see this firsthand.
Already did it; automatic paging.
Down on all fours like that, they look more like bears than apes, don't they?
We'll let Peterson decide.
Crown didn't move. Hardly breathed. He waited for them to get closer, close enough to spring. The biggest one. Get the biggest one first, with one fast pounce. The others will run away. Or if they don't, at least they'll be easier to fight with the big one out of the way.
Frank, he's going to try to kill them.
What? What are you talking about?
The wolfcat—Jeff. He's going to try to kill the apes. For food.
Jeff wouldn't do . . .
Look at the gauges.
We can't allow him to do that! Foy will skin us alive!
But that's what he's going to do.
We've got to stop him!
How?
Break the connection. Get Jeff back here. Wake him up.
Can't do it in time. And it won't help. The wolfcat will attack them anyway, by itself. He must be starving.
We can't let it happen!
We can't stop it.
The apes were coming closer. Somewhere far back in his mind, Crown wondered why they were here on this beach, going through the camp. Did they come this way often? Was this a trail for them, or part of their territory?
The male was huge, much bigger than Crown himself, a massive mountain of sandy fur topped by a heavy domed head with crests of solid bone above the eyeplates. But he didn't seem to be alert for danger. The wind kept Crown's scent away, and the odors of the dead machinery overwhelmed the area anyway. The apes seemed more intent on getting past the alien camp than anything else.
Through the misty rain and snow Crown saw that the male had thick curving claws on his hindpaws, but not on the forepaws. His teeth looked strong, but no match for Crown's own.
Tensing himself, quivering with anticipation, hunger and smoldering pain, Crown waited as they approached, waited, waited . . . and then sprang.
He leaped roaring right onto the surprised male's chest and tore out his throat before they both tumbled onto the sand. The ape made a gurgling sound, spurting thick red blood, then went silent and limp. Crown scrambled to his feet, wincing as he thoughtlessly tried to put some weight on his injured foreleg.
The female was about ten meters away, snarling, her cub cowering behind her. She reared up on her hindlegs, and with a forepaw she grabbed at a piece of pipe that had fallen off a nearby machine. Maintaining her distance from Crown, she brandished the pipe over her head.
Look at that!
Their forepaws are grasping hands.
And she knows how to use a weapon! Wait 'til Peterson sees this!
The cub was still on all fours behind its mother. Crown stood over the dead male and roared at its mate. The female did not attack, merely stood her ground and surveyed the scene, growling, holding the metal pipe threateningly over her head.
For long moments neither animal moved. Crown had his kill and wanted no more trouble. The female ape could see that her mate was dead, but her cub still lived. Slowly she backed away, edging farther from Crown, shambling awkwardly on her hind legs. The cub scuttled along behind her, always keeping its mother between itself and Crown.
Finally the ape let the metal pipe fall, dropped down to all fours, and trotted off into the mist, her cub following alongside her. Crown watched them as they headed away from the camp in the same direction they had originally been following: southward.
Crown roared once more, then settled down to eat.
Get Jeff back here. Now!
Jeff opened his eyes. The lids felt gummy, as if he'd been asleep for a long time. He blinked at the ceiling panels overhead, with their squares of soft lighting. For a moment he didn't know where he was. Then he realized he was back on the ship.
"Crown," he started to say, but his voice came out as a misty croak.
Dr. Carbo leaned over him. He stared at Jeff intently, his swarthy face tense with concern. "You're all right, Jeff," he said softly. "You're safe."
"But Crown . . . he's alone down there . . ."
"He'll be all right. Don't worry."
Amanda came into view, her eyes showing worry too. "How do you feel, Jeff?"
"Okay."
"You gave us a scare, you know."
Jeff wanted to nod, but the helmet was too heavy for him. "He was hurt."
"We know."
Amanda started to disconnect the cuffs while Carbo slowly lifted the helmet from Jeff's head.
"He's all alone down there," Jeff repeated.
Amanda made a smile and said, "What's the matter? Scared that your little old pussycat can't get along by himself for another few hours?"
"He's so badly hurt . . ."
"Never mind about him," Carbo growled. "He killed another ape. We're going to be in worse trouble than the wolfcat is, as soon as Foy finds out."
Jeff felt anger surging up in him. "Do you expect Crown to eat sand? He tried hunting in the hills and the other wolfcats nearly killed him."
"I know, but Foy . . ."
Jeff sat up and swung his legs over the couch's edge. "Let Bishop Foy try making contact with one of the animals down there," he said defiantly.
"We're getting pretty antsy," Amanda said, laughing.
"Never mind that," Carbo said. "Take Jeff across to the infirmary. I want a full medical checkup. Now."
"Right."
Amanda led Jeff to the corridor door, but before she could open it, the door slid back to reveal Dr. Peterson, the gray-haired anthropologist.
"You called for me?" Peterson said to Amanda.
"Come on in, Harvey," Carbo said. "I have some tapes to show you."
Amanda nudged Jeff out into the corridor. Once the door had slid shut behind them, she said, "You don't want to be in there while they review this morning's tapes. Let's get to the infirmary and turn off the phone."
The infirmary was in the same dome as Dr. Carbo's laboratory, only a few minutes' walk along the central corridor. It was completely automated. The diagnostic system was an archway of gleaming metal studded with sensors that were connected to the medical computer. Jeff stood under the metal arch for a few seconds, and the viewscreen on the wall showed a complete physical profile.
"You're disgustingly healthy," Amanda said, touching the keyboard button that would store the data in the computer's memory bank.
"I feel okay," Jeff replied as he stepped out of the archway.
"When you first made contact with Crown this morning . . ."
He sucked in his breath. "Yeah. That was a shock."
"But you bounced back within minutes." Amanda made a clicking sound with her tongue. "The resilience of youth."
Jeff grinned at her. "Like you're old and gray."
"I'm getting there," Amanda said. With a sidelong look at Jeff she added, "Too bad you're so healthy. Why couldn't you have a broken leg or a bad tooth? Even acid indigestion would do."
"Why . . . ?" '
"Then we could pop you into an infirmary bed and say you weren't allowed to see any visitors."
Jeff's puzzled face showed he still did not understand.
"Now we have to go back and face Dr. Peters
on," Amanda explained, her voice becoming heavy with worry. "And, sooner or later, you know who."
"Bishop Foy."
"Old death-warmed-over himself."
Jeff took a deep breath. "Well . . . if we've got to face them, let's do it and get it over with."
"More guts than brains," Amanda muttered. "Okay, into the valley of death rode the six hundred."
"Six hundred what?"
As they pushed through the infirmary doors and back out to the corridor, Amanda said, " 'The Charge of the Light Brigade.' "
"Light brigade? What's that?"
She gave him a stern look. "Jeff, you really ought to read more books. That's a very famous poem, about a battle that took place hundreds of years ago."
"I've read poetry," Jeff said defensively. "But we weren't allowed to read about war. Too sinful."
Dr. Harvey Peterson leaned back in the little plastic chair in front of Dr. Carbo's main viewing screen, his lanky arms and legs dangling, his weathered, craggy face somber with deep thought. Carbo sat beside him, hunched over into a nervous round ball.
Jeff could feel the tension in the lab as he and Amanda stepped back into the control room. Peterson turned and fixed Jeff with his Arctic blue eyes.
"You're doing quite a job with that wolfcat," he said, honest admiration in his voice.
Surprised at the compliment and slightly embarrassed, Jeff muttered, "Uh, thank you, sir."
"He really didn't have a choice," Carbo blurted. "It was either kill one of the apes or starve to death. You can see that, can't you?"
"Oh, I see it, all right," Peterson said easily. "But our good Bishop—he's not very flexible about these things, you know."
"I know," Carbo said, looking miserable.
Peterson ran a hand through his gray hair. "This is going to drive Foy right up the walls. A tool-wielding animal. The Altair VI version of a primate ape. Brother, does that present us with a problem."
Jeff stood by the door, unmoving, every sense alert to catch Peterson's meaning.
Carbo was nodding unhappily. "You mean, they might be intelligent."
"Yes. And if they're intelligent, we're not allowed to colonize."
