Asimov's SF, September 2007
Page 2
As for Hezekiah, the Jew, who had not submitted to my yoke, forty-six of his strong, walled cities and the cities of their environs, which were numberless, I besieged, I captured, as booty I counted them. Him, like a caged bird, in Jerusalem, his royal city, I shut up.... I imposed the payment of yearly gifts by them, as tax, and laid it upon him. That Hezekiah—the terrifying splendor of my royalty overcame him.... With thirty talents of gold, eight hundred talents of silver, and all kinds of treasure from his palace, he sent his daughters, his palace women, his male and female singers, to Nineveh, and he dispatched his messengers to pay the tribute.
Ancient Records of Assyria is, in fact, a voluptuous record of Assyria's ferocious wars against its neighbors, one proud king after another describing his gory victories. Here is Sennacherib conquering Babylon:
With mines and engines I took the city.... Whether small or great, I left none. With their corpses I filled the city squares.... The city and its houses, from its foundation to its top, I destroyed, I devastated, I burned with fire.... Through the midst of that city I dug canals, I flooded its site with water, and the very foundations thereof I destroyed. I made its destruction more complete than by a flood.
And this is an earlier king, Assurnasirpal, defeating the city of Dirra:
For two days, from before sunrise, I thundered against them like Adad, the god of the storm, and I rained down flame upon them.... I captured the city, eight hundred of their warriors I struck down with the sword, I cut off their heads.... A pillar of living men and of heads I built in front of their city gate, seven hundred men I impaled on stakes in front of their city gate. The city I destroyed, I devastated, I turned it into mounds and ruins; their young men I burned in the flames.
Here is King Shamsi-Adad V, telling of his conquest of Urash:
That city I stormed, I captured. With the blood of their warriors I dyed the squares of their cities like wool. Six thousand of them I smote. Pirishati, their king, together with one thousand of his fighters, I seized alive. Their spoil—their property, their goods, their cattle, their flocks, their horses, vessels of silver, splendid gold, and copper, in countless numbers, I carried off. Their cities I destroyed, I devastated, I burned with fire.
On and on it goes, two fat volumes of it, king after king blithely describing the most ghastly acts of war. “Karkar I burned with fire. Its king I flayed.... “"I slaughtered like lambs and bespattered with the venom of death the rest of the rebellious people.... “"I killed large numbers of his troops, the bodies of his warriors I cut down like millet, filling the mountain valleys with them. I made their blood run down the ravines and precipes like a river, dyeing plain countryside and highlands red like a royal robe.... “"Like a young gazelle I mounted the highest peaks in pursuit of them. To the summits of the mountains I pursued them and brought about their overthrow. Their cities I captured and I carried off their spoil; I destroyed, I devastated, I burned them with fire."
Open the two volumes anywhere and it's the same stuff: “I destroyed, I devastated, I burned them with fire.” I can readily imagine Saddam Hussein, who fancied himself as the successor to the kings of Assyria and Babylonia and set up some inscriptions of his own in the restored ruins of the city of Babylon, reading these books and nodding approvingly—"Right on, Sennacherib! Way to go, Assurnasirpal!” and picking up some ideas on governance from them.
All of which proves, I guess, that the more things change, the more they remain the same. Perhaps it's something in the waters of the Tigris or the Euphrates that has bred these monsters in the land once known as Meso-potamia and now called Iraq; or perhaps the Assyrian kings were no worse than any other rulers of their day, but were simply more enthusiastic in bragging of their atrocities.
What I find most interesting about these horrifying testaments of atrocity isn't their ghastliness but the mere fact that we are capable of reading them at all, written as they were on tablets of clay in what is now a lost language and a strange wedge-shaped script. It strikes me as a good idea to talk about how we came to understand the inscriptions of the Assyrians and the Babylonians in the first place, next issue.
Copyright (c) 2007 Robert Silverberg
* * * *
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* * *
ASTEROID PEOPLE
by Bruce Boston
If asteroid people
were the world
we would be a rough
and tumble lot,
scarred by our passage through life.
Unless we spent
our time considering
one another's paths
and inclinations,
there would be
no telling where
any of us could be
found: near or far,
coming or leaving.
We would all remain
moving targets to one
another, confounded by
the erratic behavior
of those we once took
for allies and friends.
Inevitably some of us
would collide head on,
and the consequences
would be shattering.
If asteroid people
were the world
we would be a rough
and tumble lot,
always in transit with
no clear destinations.
It would be a bumpy
ride most every night.
—Bruce Boston
Copyright (c) 2007 Bruce Boston
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* * *
THE CALDERA OF GOOD FORTUNE
by Robert Reed
Robert Reed tells us that inspiration for the following story came “a couple of summers back. My family and I went to Estes Park, in Colorado, on vacation. It's a small town on the Front Range, and since there's no big snow in winter, the tourists arrive only in summer. We were riding the local cable car up a mountainside, and some fellow in his thirties—a local, I gathered—bummed a free ride. I pieced together that he was a rock climber of some fame. The old mountain goat was telling stories, working hard to impress a high schooler with his casual daring. Later, at an outdoor concert, a pair of summer police officers strolled past. They were young women, probably in their earliest twenties, and, without question, they were the prettiest cops I have ever seen. Every man in the crowd watched them pass. Then my wife quietly muttered, ‘You can feel the intimidation, can't you?’ ‘Caldera’ rolled around in my head until I decided to put it on the Great Ship. And then it proved exceptionally easy to write."
* * * *
1
The hamlet was forbidden to wear any name, and, by decree, its population and borders were never allowed to grow. Tucked inside a high valley, the tiny community was flanked on three sides by walls of dense, ancient rock—a black rock flecked with white and dubbed “granite” because of a passing resemblance to the bones of Old Earth. Stunted forests of cold-adapted, light-starved trees grew wild on those slopes, while the caldera's rim was reserved for native life forms. Visiting the rim required special permission from the Luckies. Exceptions were allowed when one of the hamlet's permanent citizens acted as an Honored Guide. Twenty-five hundred humans, aliens, and AIs lived permanently in the nameless hamlet. On the strength of an address, even the laziest among them made good livings. Passengers came from the far reaches of the Great Ship, e
ager to walk the high rim and gaze into the caldera's magnificent lake. But when the prolonged winter was finished—when the signs pointed at catastrophic change—the fattest of the fat times began. The lake began to simmer and bubble, and news quickly spread among the wealthy everywhere. Suddenly tens of thousands of strangers would ride the tram into the high valley, dressed for the brutal cold, happily paying insane fees for the chance to sleep in somebody's cellar or attic, or stacked like logs in the back of a little closet. The hamlet was transformed by these bright cheery souls who sang drinking songs and spent fortunes on the overpriced food, all while watching vapor rising from behind the towering rim. Guests were constantly searching out the natives, asking them when the caldera would finally erupt. Soon, was the standard reply; unless of course the Luckies decided otherwise. But how long would the eruption last, if it actually began? Ten Ship-days was the average—time enough for the entire lake to boil skyward and freeze solid. And how big and beautiful would the new mountain be? Enormous and gorgeous, the residents promised. And that wasn't just because they wanted to peel more money from these prosperous souls; even the most jaded, sun-starved citizens looked forward to the spectacle of fragile, moon-washed ice hanging over their drab little home.
Narrow trails crisscrossed the valley walls, eventually leading to the rim. But hiking was thankless work and a considerable investment of time. Cable cars offered quicker, easier journeys. For thousands of years, tourists had gathered inside the spacious, overheated cable car station, and locals who wanted work sat with their backs to the caldera, gossiping with one another, waiting patiently for the first worthwhile offer.
Crockett had planned to do nothing that day but sleep. The lake had been steaming for weeks, and he'd already made plenty. But then a friend mentioned that today only, a certain pair of security officers was patrolling in and around the cable car station.
As it happened, those officers were very beautiful and very human.
At the end of winter, when the hamlet was jammed with strangers, outsiders were hired to help fill critical jobs. Included in their ranks was a platoon of security officers, human and otherwise. Judging the age of immortals was difficult; modern flesh and bone endured the ages as well as any granite could. But those two women carried a palpable, delicious sense of youth. They smiled constantly—weightless, untroubled grins common to barely grown people. In their walks and the secure tilt of their heads, they looked unaffected by responsibility. Their skin was as smooth and clear as any Crockett had ever seen, which was another clue: After a few centuries of life, most humans cultivated wrinkles near the eyes, hinting at wisdoms that might or might not be present. If appearances could be believed, those two girls were thrilled to be living in the hamlet, however briefly. They always patrolled together, whispering to each other constantly, and they shared giggles and various knowing looks. Several times, Crockett had watched them standing in the middle of a crowded street, ignoring the shoving bodies, holding gloved hands as they gazed up at the distant rim of the caldera and the curtain of fresh steam that rose into the gloom and then froze, falling where the winds let it fall as this spring's first snow.
Those girls were the reason Crockett walked to the cable car station and sat with his neighbors, making small talk while deflecting the tourists: He was waiting for that moment when he would see the objects of his affection.
“Is my offer not enough?” asked a lumbering Tamias.
“Your offer is most generous,” Crockett replied, examining the alien's rodent-like face with an appropriately indirect gaze. “But my ass is comfortable, and I will leave it where it is for now."
Next came a Hippocamus that shuffled forwards—a pregnant male, by the looks of its belly. The creature took a deep breath and held the rich air inside his long neck, assessing the captured odors. Then he bowed to Crockett, but before he could speak, the human warned, “I am claimed by others, my friend. At present, I am helpless to help you."
Without complaint, the alien stepped down the line and took another defining breath, and after a few moments of conversation, hired a little Janusian couple to be his Guides.
Human tourists happened to notice the rebuff. Judging by appearances, they looked like a married couple, and married for a very long time. The wife was less pretty than her husband, carrying quite a few millennia on her bones. Both of them had stepped off a cable car that just returned from the rim, wearing smiles and heavy, self-heating coats and tall boots that had recently walked in the snow. The pretty man approached Crockett. “We wish we could have stayed longer,” he confessed. “But our guide was tired, and we had to ride back with her."
Crockett shrugged. “The Luckies won't let you stay up there alone."
The old woman offered a respectable fee.
Crockett was tempted, but only to a point.
“Not enough, is it?” her husband asked.
“I'm a little nervous,” Crockett lied. Then he glanced over his shoulder, mentioning, “This eruption is late. It could come any time now."
“Are you certain?” the woman asked.
“Maybe,” Crockett conceded with an amiable laugh. “The lake's been simmering longer than usual, and eventually, all that warm water has to leap into the sky."
He had no real predictive skills. Only the Luckies knew when a full eruption was imminent, and they never gave clues.
“Is this your job?” the pretty man asked. “Warning away the innocent?"
“It would be good noble work,” Crockett allowed.
Then the wife tugged on her husband's elbow. “Maybe we should go back to our room, dear."
Crockett liked to believe that he understood women. One of the attractions of living in this nameless place was the parade of wealthy, carefree ladies. This particular old woman gave every sign of wanting attention, and, for a few moments, Crockett imagined that he was her husband. She seemed like an elegant creature, accustomed to money but not spoiled by the stuff. He appreciated that old-fashioned face and build, and maybe there was an old-fashioned address in her past. Could she have come from the Old Earth? That was a fascinating prospect, and watching the amorous couple stroll off into the darkness, he promised himself that he would find them tomorrow. For a modest fee, he'd offer his services as an Honored Guide ... just to spend a few hours with them, testing his guesses against whatever they revealed about their lives....
Besides Crockett, the only Guides remaining were a pair of rubber-faced AIs and a fiery little vesper. But the little sun had just set, and, as often happened when night began, tourists grew more interested in dinner than a walk in the cold. The vesper soon rose and danced his way home. The AIs plugged into each other, vanishing in their own unimaginable ways. Crockett was alone, and the two objects of interest—those delightful security officers—had yet to pass through the station. Were they delayed? Did some criminal business ruin their timetable? Crockett turned in his chair, watching the banks of steam illuminated by moonlight; and then he heard a sound and looked forward again, exactly at the moment when the two lovelies strode into the almost empty room.
He offered a smile and soft sigh.
Effervescent as always, the officers responded with as much of a glance as he could have hoped for. They were delightful young ladies, each lovely in her way. The shorter one was muscular, with meaty breasts and a buoyant ass. By contrast, her companion was tall and elegant, blessed with a lip-rich mouth and eyes that couldn't have been brighter.
“Hello,” Crockett managed.
Giggling, their hands met for a moment.
Not for the first time, he wondered if they were lovers. That was the rumor most often heard during these last weeks. But his favorite gossip was that yes, they were passionate toward one another, but with room and the grace to invite a third party into their passion.
“Everybody else is home or on the rim,” he mentioned.
Really, couldn't he find something more memorable to say?
“We should visit the rim sometime,” s
aid the taller girl. With a flip of that pretty head, she declared, “You know, we could make it up there and back again before our dinner break is done."
They must have a very long break, Crockett thought.
Since the officers weren't permanent residents, the Luckies—the unseen aliens who owned this realm—wouldn't allow them close without a Guide. Crockett saw his opportunity. In an instant, he came up with an amount that would make him the perfect companion: Not too much, but then again, not so cheap that they'd think he was begging for the honor.
For a long, delightful moment, those two lovely faces stared at him.
Then together, without a word being said, they approached the twin AIs, alerting them of their presence with a pointed finger and a spark of static electricity.
Moments later, a cable car pulled out of the station, four passengers rising silently into the darkness.
This hadn't worked out at all. Crockett waited a few moments, and then he stood, putting on his hood, preparing for the sad walk home.
A lone figure stepped into the vacant station.
Countless aliens were passengers on the Great Ship. According to official counts, thousands of species were among the wealthy, exceptionally important souls onboard, and some aliens took a multitude of physical forms. Of course not every entity wished to visit the Caldera of Good Fortune. But Crockett had never met the species standing before him. Even a rapid search of reliable databases came up with nothing but a few similar creatures. The entity was humanoid and small, with a tiny sucking mouth and smoky white eyes large enough to nearly fill its elliptical face. Those odd eyes regarded Crockett for a contemplative moment. And then, through its translator, the creature asked, “What would be a fair price to ride with me? Up to the top...?"