by C. Gockel
“You know an awful lot about us from Dorothy,” said Rebecca.
“The only information I have is what has been freely given. Dorothy has her secrets, just as the rest of the colony does. She gave me access to the feed so that we could communicate and makes her history available so that I understand how to interact with you. What she does not offer, I do not take.”
“And our systems? The Wolfinger’s databanks? Do you only take what you have permission for?”
It was silent a moment. “Your ship is not like me. It does not make choices. It does not feel. It is a tool, only. It is not a mind like yours or Dorothy. It cannot give or withhold permission.”
“But it belongs to people that can.”
“So does the nest, Emery, but you do not ask permission. I was attempting to follow your custom as I understood it.”
Rebecca was startled. “You’re right. We may not have known about you the first time we entered, but now I do, and I ought to have asked you if it was okay. I am sorry.”
Issk’ath produced a soothing chirp. But she would not understand that. It tried again. “I would be pleased to share data with you. May I accompany you to your lab? Would you share your scientific techniques with me? I am eager to learn how you function.”
She hesitated. The others would not be pleased. But how would she stop it if it wanted to follow her? “If I ever refused— what would happen?”
“Parse error. Please elaborate.”
“If one of us refused to give you access to our data, what would the consequences be?”
“Refusal is a non-action. Why would it lead to consequences? It is the termination of the query.”
“You wouldn’t punish us or take the data anyway?”
“I am not an adjudicator. No guardian was. Only one of the People could do that. I do not punish. And I would not force data from you unless it was necessary to save the colony. I am simply… curious.”
“Then— I will be happy to share our lab with you. But the others may protest. I think it is only Alice and Nick there now, though. Let’s go and see.” She started off again and the rapid patter of Issk’ath’s legs didn’t bother her so much then.
The field was quiet. It seemed the others were inside already. They would not appreciate Issk’ath’s presence. But it was a good, low stakes way to test its words. Would it force its way in? Or would it yield to them? Rebecca passed her gloves under the decontamination beam and pulled a mask from the exterior cabinet. The door to the lab opened and she let Issk’ath enter first. It whirred and descended again, collapsing its upper body into its legs and scuttled through. Someone dropped a tool with a loud clatter and Rebecca hurried through to head off any trouble.
“How did you get— oh.” Martham scowled when she saw Rebecca come through. “That explains it. You want to get it a pillow, Emery? Maybe massage its feet?”
“Tarsus,” murmured Spixworth.
Martham glared at him.
“Issk’ath wants to see our work. It might be helpful, it certainly knows this planet better than we do,” said Rebecca.
“That is true. And the colony might aid you as well. There are many scientists within. It would increase your efficiency and decrease the span of time before your people can settle here.”
Titov stood up from his chair and wandered closer. But Martham snorted a laugh. “You expect us to trust you? After Dorothy? After the Captain? What’s to stop you from killing us off by miscategorizing a poisonous plant? Or breaking a bioseal?”
“I did not have anything to do with Dorothy’s death. And I did not mean to harm your captain. If I wanted to harm you, I would not need to resort to deception.” Its face turned toward the back of the room. “I’d simply need to wait for your botanist to burst the seed pod he is holding and the neurotoxin it releases would disrupt the function of all organics in this room. Most of you lack the mask that Emery wears.”
“Earth’s oceans,” swore Blick, placing the plant tray gently down and backing away.
“It is not fragile,” it said, “It would take several pounds of deliberate pressure to burst it. But you seem to be cutting open some specimens. I would have warned you before you did.”
“How did you know it would hurt us?” asked Rebecca.
Issk’ath’s face turned back toward her. “Apologies, I found your biological makeups fascinating, before I knew to ask for permission.”
Spixworth grinned. “I think it’s flirting, Rebecca. We find your biological makeup— well, your friends’ biological makeups fascinating too. Would you— I need to feed Gary and Lois.” He tugged on Issk’ath’s foreleg. “I’m not sure what they like.”
Issk’ath moved gingerly past the tables and tanks. “You can’t—” started Martham.
“We can . This thing could save us years. Geology to make up for what we lost with Hackford, seasonal weather norms and threats, plant and animal information, even bacterial threats identified. More than we can possibly hope to figure out ourselves in three days. Maybe in three years. Peter could be here in six months. And with the captain down for the count— we’re probably going to have to return to the Keseburg after we’ve completed quarantine. We aren’t going to have even half of the information we need. If Issk’ath can help us, I vote it stays,” said Titov.
“Me too,” said Spixworth. Blick nodded, followed by Alice.
“I wasn’t aware that we made decisions by committee now,” snapped Martham. She sighed and shook her head. “It better not get in the way, Emery,” she said.
“Issk’ath isn’t my pet. I am sure it will do its best to help.”
She followed Issk’ath as it peered into the sealed tank of beetles. “You keep them in captivity?” it asked.
“It’s the easiest way to observe them. I’d like to recreate their environment if I can, I’m hoping you can help with that,” said Spixworth.
“And when you have seen all that you wish, what becomes of them?”
Spixworth patted the tank. “Well, Gary and Lois won’t be going anywhere, they’re going to be the mom and dad of a new colony right here— but some things, like Spike,” he pointed to the far tank where Martham was extending a thin robotic arm, “will be released. We’re putting a camera on him so we can let him go and still observe from here, whenever we come back.”
Issk’ath stepped carefully closer to the tank but remained well away from Martham. “This one is damaged. It will expire within the day.”
“Flaming core,” swore Martham and shut off the machine.
“I told you it was starving,” said Spixworth. “Can you tell us which plant it eats Issk’ath? Perhaps it isn’t too late.”
“Doubtful,” said Issk’ath, “These organisms are highly efficient. This one’s mass indicates it is well fed. It could survive many weeks without consuming more. It appears ill. The spines are much more vibrant in a healthy specimen. The color dulls in the presence of a communicable disease in order to signal others to maintain their distance.”
“But that can’t be,” said Alice, “We’ve taken all the necessary precautions. Everything was sterile, it’s had no exposure to us. Even its air and water sources come from outside.”
“Maybe it was sick when we caught it,” said Rebecca.
“We have to know for sure. I need samples, Martham,” said Alice. She moved to the console. She paused and looked up at Issk’ath. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“You are distressed. Why?”
“Because we may have exposed this animal to a disease that’s completely foreign to your world. And now it will die.”
Issk’ath looked back at the small rodent. “It is prey. Dying is its function. I don’t understand your regret.”
“It isn’t dying in order for us to consume it. It’s a waste,” said Alice.
“I see. But certainly, you do not consume everything that dies?”
“No, but Alice is afraid that this animal is dying as a direct result of our actions. Not as prey. Not for a good
reason. It is— inefficient.” Rebecca struggled to find a way to help Issk’ath understand. “She is afraid our actions are like those of the swarm.”
Issk’ath turned toward her. “It is not my purpose to save you from yourselves. Nor the planet from your actions. You need not be distressed.”
“I think I find that more distressing than anything else,” muttered Blick. “We’re just like that animal to you, aren’t we? Little space porcupines sucking up our hosefuls of air and running around a maze we make for ourselves. You’re just watching, waiting for us to die. That’s our function, isn’t it?”
Issk’ath watched the robotic arm pierce the rodent’s skin and a vial fill with its blood. “You are not like this animal. You are not prey. You have other functions. That is why I offered to take Dorothy. I would not offer this to prey.”
“So we’re what? Predators then? Our function is to hunt?” asked Rebecca.
Issk’ath was silent for a long moment. Lights flashed over its chassis. “The colony says you are not predators. You are not like the Takesh. A predator does not feel distress about waste. It does not name its prey or develop affection. A predator doesn’t flee its own territory without a battle. I think you are something else. I think you are scavengers. Like the People. You take what you find and make it into what you need. Sometimes you take too much. And sometimes you starve because there is nothing left to take. If you survive here, someday you will end as the People did. Or you will flee again, in another great ship and take another planet. And another and another. Until something stops you or you starve.”
“You?” asked Titov, “Will it be you that stops us?”
“Why should it be me? I have no need to stop you. The colony is safe. I would much rather study you.”
“But— doesn’t it bother you that in several centuries we may use up this planet and move on?” asked Alice.
“Don’t antagonize the nice alien,” whispered Martham with a nudge.
“Why should it bother me? It is your function. It is how you survive.”
“It’s wrong ,” said Alice.
“I lack moral context for your culture. Determinations of what is acceptable are for you to make, not I. You’re colleagues do not appear to agree with you. They seem very eager to settle here. Do you think they are wrong?”
“It isn’t that simple,” said Titov.
“Which is why I cannot adjudicate such matters.” Issk’ath turned away from them and stared at Blick who had forgotten a small flower in his hand. “That is kilnik. It is useful for paints and dyes.”
“What? Oh—” said Blick looking down at it. Issk’ath moved closer to help him with the other specimens.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alice hovered over Stratton. Leroux hadn’t slept in three cycles and Alice had sent her to bed after she completed the final surgery on the captain.
“He’s not going to wake up for some time, and I’m perfectly qualified to sit and stare at medical screens,” Alice had said. “I’ll wake you if he changes.”
“Yes,” Al Jahi had said, “I think you should sleep, Joan.”
Leroux had frowned. “Is that an order?” she’d asked.
Al Jahi sighed. “I don’t like this any more than you. Don’t make me issue an order. You need to sleep so you don’t make mistakes. Captain Stratton is going to need you when he wakes up. Give Oxwell the burst codes and go to bed.”
Leroux scrubbed her face. “Yes, you’re right,” she admitted. She turned to Alice. “I’ll pass you the codes, but no bursts without my say so. The wrong one could do grave harm. He’s on serious sedatives, if he wakes up or is in pain, wake me before you give him anything.”
“Of course,” Alice had said. And at the time, she had meant it. Alice shoved a hand into her pocket as Leroux wandered away. Her fingers found the dose of Rem she’d meant to give Leroux. She’d forgotten and swore mildly under her breath. It’d have to wait until Leroux woke up. Alice had no access to the Wolfinger’s med cabinet to put it back.
She sat a few hours, scrolling through the data that she had picked up from the lab, occasionally replaying the long conversation with Issk’ath. She supposed in all, the planet had recovered from the swarm, and that was a dim comfort. Maybe Earth had recovered too. But what had the swarm cost this place? What of the extinctions that no doubt occurred? And now, the people of the Keseburg had arrived to devastate even more— willing or no.
Spike had died. Sometime in the night, if the readings were correct. Spixworth had been upset, frantic that they’d missed some safety precaution or somehow contaminated the water it had been given. But Alice had found no Keseburg microbes in the samples. If it had been ill, as Issk’ath said, it must have contracted the disease before they had captured it. Martham seemed undisturbed, saying only that she had warned Spixworth not to name it. And that analyzing its death would help them understand the lifeforms here, so they could survive when they colonized. As if it were a decided thing. As if they were all operating under the assumption that they’d found it. The one. And it had waited here for thousands of years for them to arrive, existing only to fulfill the needs of the Keseburg. As if it had not had its own life, its own saga before them. The more Alice thought of it, the more she became convinced that they hadn’t changed since Earth. Issk’ath had been right. In a few hundred years, they’d overrun this planet too, and the process would begin all over again. Even Rebecca— she thought they didn’t belong here, but not because of the life that was already here. She feared the effect it would have on their shipmates.
They had to be persuaded. All of them. Before they returned to the Keseburg. If word got back about this place, it was as good as doomed. Alice had to show them, had to convince them to keep silent, to let the Keseburg return to its endless journey. Alice wished there were someone, anyone to speak with. She wanted to be wrong. She wanted someone to prove that they could change, that they had changed. But there would always be people that wanted more .
And even if they’d each learned the lessons of Earth, the ones pounded into them from their birth in the rattling, dented jumble of a ship, even if they kept the planet well, how would it keep them ? Alice had found dozens of microbes in a few days. How many were problematic? How many of the dozens of plant samples Blick had taken were poisonous? Or would crowd out any crops they attempted? To say nothing of the fauna. Issk’ath’s people may have killed off their only predator, but it didn’t mean there was nothing dangerous to humans. Even with its help, it would take years to develop strategies to defend themselves. They couldn’t stay. And Alice seemed the only one who acknowledged it.
Stratton shifted and she leaned forward. She’d start with him. If she could persuade the captain, the others would be easy. Except, perhaps for Titov and Martham. She’d worry about that later.
“Stars. I feel like I’ve got a two-day hangover,” Captain Stratton was squinting at her, shading his eyes with one hand. “Where’s Leroux?”
“She was up past three cycles, Al Jahi made her go to bed.”
“Three cycles? How long have I been out?”
“A little under four cycles.”
Stratton swore under his breath and tried to sit up. Alice pushed him gently back down. He was still too groggy to resist.
“Not a good idea, captain. You suffered massive internal injuries. Leroux managed to repair the majority of it, but you shouldn’t push it.”
“Then tell me what’s happened. That robot bug thing— has it been taken care of?”
“It is in the mobile lab. It’s offered to help us gathering data on the planet. Emery speaks to it on occasion. It wants to go with us to the Keseburg.” Issk’ath would have to be left behind, though, if Alice was to ensure the planet remained a secret.
“Emery is talking to it? After what it did? And you let it into the lab?”
Alice offered no reply, torn between wishing to defend her friend and knowing it was better for her plans if Stratton continued to believe Issk’ath wa
s a threat.
“And the Wolfinger? Has Liu repaired the door?”
“Yes, he’s supposed to reattach it this afternoon.” said Alice, “It suffered only minor damage.”
“Wish I could say the same for me,” said Stratton ruefully. He was silent for a long moment. “And Dorothy?”
“We had the service a few days ago. Emery researched Earth funerary practices. She said it would be fitting for Dorothy to be part of the stone and soil of this place. She’s buried on the hill above the field lab. It’s quiet there, we thought it was the best spot. We— saved her filament for her family.”
He nodded. “I assume Al Jahi was reluctant to move while I was out. Is that why we’re not already en route back to the Keseburg?” He flipped his feed to his brow, flicking through the reports as they spoke.
“That was actually my doing. You asked us to observe protocol, and the Wolfinger was breached both because of the door and Issk’ath’s presence in the equipment lock. The seventy-two-hour quarantine was the best course.”
Stratton did sit up now, hissing a breath through his teeth at the pain. “You said it’s been four days, why haven’t we left?”
Alice shrugged. “We’re barely a week into our mission, I guess Al Jahi wished to complete it.”
“With a dead crew member and multiple exposures? Not to mention that— thing tearing around in our lab. The fact that it hasn’t renewed its attack is an unexpected blessing. I don’t want to test it. We have to get back to the Keseburg with our findings so the Admiral can send forces to secure a permanent site for research and colonization. We need soldiers, not scientists running all over the place digging up psychotic machinery.”
“But Captain— surely you can’t think this planet suitable for occupation?”
“You mean because of our metal menace out there? The jolt gun might not work, but something will. This planet has water and gravity and air and life.”
“It’s the other life that might kill us.”
Stratton shook his head. “No, it’s the Keseburg that will kill us. We can survive here. Whatever we can’t adapt, we can defeat. Even if that robot thing is lying and there are more of them— we’ll find a way to either work with them or fortify our settlement against them.” He stopped for a moment. “Oxwell— did you really think we’d just move on? That we’d find all of this here and run away because of one threat?”
