The Winds of Altair

by Ben Bova

  The students were streaming toward the Tabernacle, the dome in the midst of the student domes which housed the central house of worship for all the Believers of the Village. Built exactly like the smaller chapels in each of the dormitory domes, the Tabernacle was large enough to hold all the students in one sitting.

  "Jeff! Oh, Jeff!"

  He turned toward the voice. It was Laura McGrath, pushing her way through the crowd of students hurrying along the greenpath.

  "Jeff, you're out of the laboratory early enough for sundown worship!"

  Her smile was dazzling, her green eyes sparkled with delight. Jeff wanted to smile back at her, to share in her pleasure in simple acts such as worship or greeting a friend. But he couldn't.

  "What's the matter?" Laura said, as she slipped her arms in his. "You look . . . they've been working you too hard, Jeff, haven't they?"

  With a shake of his head. "No, it's okay. Come on, I'll go to sundown services with you."

  She seemed perfectly happy to be with him. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he had watched one of the Village's medics get killed by a monstrous giant ape.

  As they entered the Tabernacle, the choir was already singing hymns and Bishop Foy was sitting in his high-backed chair at the side of the altar, dressed in his splendid regalia of red and green.

  Jeff let Laura lead him to her pew. "It's all right for you to sit with me, I'm sure," she whispered. "Nobody will mind."

  He slid into the pew beside her and knelt on the padded kneeler. Bending his head over his clenched fists, Jeff thought, Pray! Pray for guidance. Pray for strength. But when he closed his eyes he saw the beach on Windsong, and the terrified looks on the faces of the apes as they fled from Crown and into the guns of the landing team. Poor dumb beasts, Jeff thought. They were harming no one, and now we're going to turn them into slaves and make them destroy their own world.

  And Jeff realized, as the choir sang placidly and the old familiar odor of incense filled the air, that the guilt he felt was not over Dr. Lyle's death—he felt guilty over what he was helping the others to do to the apes, to the wolfcats, to a whole beautiful world.

  Amanda Kolwezi felt no guilt, but she was saddened by Lyle's death. All the scientists knew how dangerous it could be on the surface of Altair VI; they all volunteered for duty on the landing team. Still, no one expects to be killed. No one expects a team member to die. It was a bad omen to have a death in the first landing to be tried in months. How many more were going to die?

  She waited at the laboratory, sitting in the little swivel chair in front of the silent control panels, waiting for Carbo to return.

  He'll come here, she said to herself. Not to his own quarters. He'll come here first.

  She was right. Eventually the door from the corridor opened and Carbo stepped in, his swarthy face set in a grimly determined expression.

  "You're still here?" he said.

  "Just finishing up," Amanda replied.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. "You were waiting for me."

  "Sort of. I thought you might need some moral support."

  Carbo walked over to the other chair and sank into it. "Can you run the lab without me? I'll get you an assistant, of course."

  Amanda felt her heart constrict. "You're not going down there, Frank. Please say you're not."

  "But I am." He smiled sadly. "They need someone who knows how to implant the probes, with Lyle gone."

  "You're not a medical . . ."

  "I know how to put the probes in," he said. "They're my invention, my responsibility."

  "But it . . ."

  He reached up and touched her lips with an upraised finger, as softly as a butterfly touching a flower.

  "Amanda, please don't let your emotions get in the way of your good judgment. We came here to this world to make it ready for colonization. The only way we can do that is to use the animals down there to work for us. The only way we can accomplish that goal is to send down landing teams to implant the animals with neuro probes."

  "But there are others who can do that!" Amanda insisted. "You're too valuable, too important to . . . "

  "To risk my life?" The sad smile returned. "No, I'm not that important. I came here to make a contribution, to help the human race to expand to the stars. It's either that or extinction for us. You realize that, don't you?"

  She pressed her hands against her ears, as if trying to blot out his words. "I still don't see why you have to throw away your life."

  "Amanda, dearest, I came here because my life on Earth was finished. I have made my contribution: the neuro probe. Now I have a chance to do something more, to see that the probe is used in a way that will actually help humanity. Instead of merely pacifying Earth's billions, instead of merely postponing the inevitable collapse, I can help to open a whole new world for the human race! I can't turn my back on that opportunity."

  "Even if it kills you."

  "What is my life, compared to seventeen billions?"

  "Your living is important to me," she said.

  "I know it is. I appreciate that. I marvel that someone as intelligent and beautiful as you could feel that way."

  "But I'm not as important to you, am I?" Amanda asked.

  He looked shocked. "Of course you are!"

  "Then why are you prepared to leave me and kill yourself?"

  For a long moment Carbo remained silent. Finally he made a little shrug. "It's an old, old question, Amanda. Why does the hunter leave his mate behind and go out into the wilds? Why does the explorer turn his back on home and family and go seeking new territory? I've got to do it, Amanda. I've got to do what I can to help make this colonization a success."

  "Despite . . ." She stopped. It was useless, she knew. Not even begging him would help.

  "I talked it over with Peterson," Carbo said quietly. "We'll organize a much larger team; today's group was too small to accomplish much."

  "How soon?" Amanda asked.

  "The arrangements should take a week or so. In the meantime, we can start to test more of the students with the apes we implanted today."

  "I'll need more than one assistant," she said. "Yes, I know. We'll have to start training students to help you."

  "You'll keep Jeff working with Crown, won't you?"

  "Yes, of course. But as more students come into the program, we can ease his workload somewhat."

  "That sounds sensible." He looked at her sharply. "Sensible."

  "Of course," Amanda said, her voice cold and bleak. "We all have to be sensible, don't we?"

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean . . ."

  She stopped him with a sigh. "No, Frank, it does mean something very important. It means that we can't stay as close as we have been."

  "But why not?"

  "I can't make love with you, knowing that you'll be getting up from my bed and going out to kill yourself. I've lost too many loved ones; I can't let myself get so attached to you . . . it would kill me, too."

  "But I'm not going to die!" He tried to laugh about it.

  Amanda shook her head. "No. Of course not. But I'll die a little, every moment you're down there. Don't put me through that, Frank. Don't ask me to tear my heart out of my body all over again "

  He closed his eyes. "I see. I understand."

  "I doubt that you do," Amanda said. "But that's the way it has to be. I've got to find the strength to separate myself from you."

  "Yes," he said, in a barely-audible whisper. "That will be for the best."

  Each of them wanted to cry. But they did not allow themselves that luxury.

  CHAPTER 14

  If sheer determination could change a world, the scientists and students of the Village would turn Altair VI into a new Eden.

  The entire Village was mobilized for the battle against nature. Believers and secularists worked side by side to tame the wilderness of the savage planet below them. After months of studies and preparation, the students leaped into the struggle with wholehearted enthusiasm. The scienti
sts, who had spent those same months actually observing the planet and trying to deal with it, were more cautious.

  New landing parties were organized. The rusting, crumbling equipment from the first camp on the beach was inspected, repaired, refurbished. Many of the pieces were brought back to the orbiting Village to be virtually rebuilt. Many others were simply discarded; the air of Altair VI, rich with methane and sulfur compounds, had ruined the equipment beyond any hope of repair.

  As the weeks went by, the landing teams learned that the apes were migrating at this time of the year, heading southward to avoid the coming cold and storms of winter. One of their main migration paths took them directly through the beach on which the humans had established their camp.

  "They're being very obliging," Peterson reported to Bishop Foy. "They're coming right to us."

  "God's will," the Bishop murmured. "Nirvan is our help and our protection."

  The migration was a time of feasting for the wolfcats, who culled the feeble, the sick, the unwary cubs from the families of apes as they trekked southward.

  Peterson found that the wolfcats were too successful. "They're in competition with us," he told Carbo. "We want the apes as helpers, but they want them for food."

  So Carbo and his hastily-trained teams had to tranquilize wolfcats, too, and implant them with probes. Even when they did, however, few of the students aboard the Village could control a hungry wolfcat. The migrating apes were still being decimated.

  The landing teams suffered casualties, too. Like all explorers, they constantly discovered new ways to die.

  A biologist made the mistake of stepping on a trigger vine while sampling the flora at the base of the hills that overlooked the beach. The thorny arms of the plant snapped him into their deadly embrace, ripping his suit in a dozen places. His lungs were burned out by the methane-laden air before the vine's poisons could work their way into his bloodstream.

  Two zoologists, a husband-wife pair, simply disappeared into the murky darkness one day as they trailed southward to map the apes' migration route. Radio contact was lost in about an hour, and they were never found again.

  Dr. Polchek himself was nearly killed when a female ape, frantically defending her already-tranquilized cubs from the terrifying strange aliens, cracked his helmet with a powerful swipe of her paw before he could reload his tranquilizer gun and knock her down. Carbo and another scientist were close enough to get to Polchek in time.

  Through it all, Jeff worked with Crown. The big wolfcat helped the humans, despite his growling distaste for them and their machines. He scouted the area for them, warned other wolfcat families away from the migrating apes whenever he could, and protected the frail, puny humans against the wolfcats.

  Jeff insisted that Crown's family should not be implanted with neuro probes, despite the plans of the scientists.

  He told Amanda, who was now in charge of all the contact work, "We need at least one wolfcat family that behaves normally. If you have all the wolfcats under human control, you might miss all sorts of dangers and warning signs that a free wolfcat would naturally pick up."

  Amanda hesitated. "I don't know if . . ."

  "And these wolfcats are being controlled by the new students," Jeff added. "They're not as sure of what they're doing as I am. If their control slips, you could have a band of hungry wild wolfcats right in the middle of the camp. At least, Crown and his family can help keep them under control."

  Amanda straddled the question. "Well, we won't implant Crown's family yet. But that doesn't mean that we won't decide to do it later on."

  Jeff grinned at her. "You won't need to. Crown can handle them."

  Frank Carbo stood by the rocketplane's boarding ladder and surveyed the camp. It was coming along well, despite all their setbacks and problems. The big bubble tent that served as shelter for the team was finally repaired and pumped full of good, breathable air. Several team members had lived in it for as long as three days at a time. Carbo himself had spent his first overnight there, and even though he could hardly sleep because of the roarings and screechings of the animals up in the hills, now they had an almost permanent foothold on this godforsaken strip of beach.

  Huge arrays of infrared lamps, specially designed to penetrate the eternal darkness of Altair VI, lit up the beach. Carbo could see a full half-kilometer in either direction, as long as he wore the infrared goggles under his helmet visor.

  The machinery was getting organized, too. Instead of haphazard piles of crates and abandoned building equipment scattered across the beach, the earthmovers and other tracked vehicles were parked in a neat row now. The air conversion factory was halfway finished, and a firm landing strip had been cemented over so that the shuttle could land and take off easily.

  His ideas were succeeding. The apes, implanted with neuro probes, were not exactly willing workers, but as he stood by the shuttle plane Carbo could count four dozen of the big shambling creatures lifting heavy crates and slowly, awkwardly fitting together the prefabricated pieces of a power receiving unit. It looked like a maze of slim pipes spreading across the northern end of the beach; Carbo knew that once it was finished, it would receive energy beamed from a solar power satellite that the Villagers had deployed in orbit around Altair VI. Once the receiving unit began to function, there would be more than enough electrical energy to power the air conversion factory. Then the task of removing the methane and other impurities from the planet's atmosphere could begin.

  With a satisfied nod, Carbo clambered up the ladder and through the airlock of the shuttle. Once safely inside, he pulled off his pressure suit helmet and lifted the heavy goggles from his eyes. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he found a seat and began to quietly dictate his daily report into the recorder he carried on the belt of his suit.

  He was leaner and tougher than he had ever been, even when he was a street urchin back so many years ago in Rome. The physical demands of working on the surface of Altair VI had boiled all the slothful fat out of his body and his mind, as well. He was doing a damnably difficult job, and it was finally starting to show signs of success. Even the wolfcats seemed to be under control.

  The shuttle filled up with the rest of his team members. They were all going back to the Village, back to the blessed security of good air and a comfortable bed. A new team was already on the way down, aboard the other shuttle craft. Carbo finished dictating his report, leaned his head back against the seat as the shuttle began its take-off roll along the runway, and was asleep before the wheels left the ground.

  By the time he entered his apartment, he was feeling physically tired but mentally, emotionally fresh. Still clumping about in the pressure suit and heavy insulated boots, he tossed his bulbous helmet onto the living room couch and made his way into the bedroom. As he peeled off the pressure suit and its undergarments, he thought about phoning Amanda.

  "No," he said softly to himself. "You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her."

  He stripped to the skin and stepped into his shower. The water was hot and clean and good against his skin.

  "If you call her and she refuses to see you, you'll feel terrible," he told himself aloud, over the delicious rush of the water.

  "But," he argued back, "you'll feel just as terrible sitting here alone all night, without a friend, without a love to share your life with."

  He stepped out of the shower and the water automatically turned off. Towelling himself, he continued his debate.

  "So you call her, and she comes to you, and you spend the night making passionate love. And then tomorrow you go back to the surface and you're killed. What then, eh?"

  He looked at his new lean, hard body in the steamy full-length mirror and shrugged.

  "If you're killed it won't be until tomorrow. Your immediate problem is tonight."

  Wrapping the towel around his middle, he went to the phone next to his bed.

  It buzzed before he could command the computer chip to call Amanda.

&nb
sp; Frowning slightly, Carbo said, "Phone: no visual; answer."

  The screen above the microphone grill remained blank, but he heard a student's voice say, "Dr. Carbo? Bishop Foy wishes to speak to you."

  Suppressing an irritated sigh, Carbo said, "Very well, put him on."

  The student's voice hesitated. "Sir? Bishop Foy wishes to speak to you in person. In his office."

  "Now?" Carbo glanced at the digital clock next to the phone. It was time for dinner, for wine, not for conferences in the Bishop's bare little cubicle of an office.

  "He says it is very important, sir, and he must see you immediately."

  "Immediately?"

  "Yessir."

  "Very well," Carbo said reluctantly. "Tell the good Bishop that I will present myself at his office in fifteen minutes."

  "Thank you, sir." The student sounded very relieved.

  It was actually almost a half-hour before Carbo shaved, dressed, and strolled across the Village to Bishop Foy's austere suite of offices.

  Does he work twenty-four hours a day? Carbo wondered. The outer office was fully staffed by young students, sitting at their desk consoles, tapping out messages on keyboards or dictating in earnest whispers into recording microphones.

  One of the students, a slim but attractive brunette, recognized him immediately and ushered him down the short hallway that ended at the door to the Bishop's private office. She rapped on the door once, lightly, opened it a crack and whispered Dr. Carbo's name.

  They all whisper, Carbo realized for the first time. It's as if they were in church all the time.

  He heard no reply, but the student turned to him and gestured toward the partially open door. Carbo flashed his best smile for her, and the corners of her mouth twitched slightly in response.

  Ragazza fredda Carbo thought as he stepped into the Bishop's office.