by Larry Niven
“Talker,” Svetz called back.
“But we can see all three extension cages!” Ra Chen shoved into the Guide Pit. He tapped the virtual display. “Head! Talk to me.”
An inhuman voice spoke with the sound of a sustained belch.
“Translator!” Willy Gorky demanded.
Zeera beat them to the draw. “Let me set it, sir. This is Portuguese. That’s Martian.”
Ra Chen made way for Gorky. “Talk to me,” Gorky said.
Syllables burbled. The UN translator said, “Such is our intent. Is Miya within sound of my voice, or Svetz, or Zeera?”
Miya pushed past. “Miya, here and now, 1109 AE. Thaxir?”
“Yes.”
A tech was trying to fine-tune the talker, but Gorky was tending to that himself. Softly he asked, “Zeera, could this be your talker? The setting’s changed. How badly—”
“It was ruined!”
Miya had been talking rapidly with the voice at the other end of time. She said over her shoulder, “Thaxir says—tell them yourself, Thaxir.”
“I took the ruin of your talker. We studied that until we could build one ourselves. What you said of probabilities made sense to us, Miya. The love of adventure may take some of us to future Earth instead of the stars. What must we do?”
Ra Chen asked, “How many want to come?”
“Thaxir—?”
“We have travelers from all of the five races.” The martian voice gave numbers. Four green giants, fourteen red humanoids, twenty Softfingers, three of the great crabs and six of their humanoid symbiotes. Of the Pious Ones, only the Smiths had settled on the tree; eleven would try Earth. “If you can give us low gravity, I will come too. I am too old to reach the stars, even if the tree would go, and I laid my last egg long since.”
“Sir, I have the new setting,” Hillary Weng-Fa said.
Gorky demanded, “We can call back? And get thence with the small X-cage?”
“Yes. They’re calling from plus-eleven AE—”
“Miya, tell her we’ll call back,” Ra Chen said.
“Thaxir, we’re switching off now, but we’ll switch on again before you can draw breath. I know how strange that sounds, but it’s true.” Miya switched off. “They want rescue!”
“Svetz—”
Svetz had been adding it up. “One load in the large X-cage, but they’ll be crowded. Setting up a cage in the Viv— … Bestiary is no problem. Whale’s got all the room he needs. That many Martians will too. We can set shelves at different levels, and give them material to make houses—”
“The mission,” Ra Chen said gently, “was to retrieve a squirrel.”
Willy Gorky asked, “Just what kind of promise did you make, Miya?”
“Rescue as many as want to go. That was our mission, Willy! You wanted a Beanstalk, but Waldemar the Eleventh—”
“Miya,” Willy said gently.
Walls have ears. Victor the Fourth was the Secretary-General, the only Secretary-General. “—wanted Martians,” Miya said anyway.
“Willy,” said Ra Chen, “we never really get used to the way time changes things around—”
“Martians,” Willy Gorky said. “Ra Chen, does it strike you that Martians on the World Tree would know a lot about the squirrel? They’ve lived with it. If we can get the Martians first, we’ll have their help in retrieving the squirrel.”
“Two trips for the large extension cage. Twice the cost.”
“Right. Absolutely. What settings are you using for his cage?”
“I—”
“Batatosk. What does he eat? Nuts the size of this dome? No, that can’t be it, because if one of those ever fell, anytime in human history, we’d have records. So we don’t know what to feed him. Don’t know how much room he actually needs. It might be thousands of klicks. He might want a vertical treadmill with variable gravity, but I’m guessing there. If we take time to study him to see what he needs in the way of a cage environment, he’ll probably die.” Willy Gorky glared into Ra Chen’s eyes at close range. “If only we had somebody to ask!”
“Point taken, Willy.”
“There’s lots of Martians. We can house them. We’ll get readings for archaic Mars right out of the Minim. But we only get one shot at Batatosk. If he dies—”
“Yes.”
Not liking it, Svetz asked, “Wouldn’t we be giving the squirrel’s cage to the Martians?”
Ra Chen brushed it off. “We built six of the big cages, when Waldemar Ten was SecGen and we had the funding. Whale in one, Roc in another—”
“Roc survived?”
“Used to be Ostrich? Anyway, Batatosk would have gone in one. If we ever get the Heavy Lift X-cage running we’ll go after the Midgard Serpent, and if we can ever reach back far enough we can house a Brontosaur and a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Separately. No, housing’s not a problem, and … yes, drown it, we’ll get the Martians. Get ’em back for me, Miya.”
37
UN officials were beaming the Minim’s records from Root Town to the Institute for Temporal Research in Angels City. It was a slow process.
“If you’re near the tree, you can relay from the mirror sails, but we’re not close enough for that. There are only a few orbital windows such that a relay satellite won’t crash into the tree,” Willy Gorky said. “You’d think geosynchronous orbit would be safe, but the mass of the tree only allows you two stable points, Lagrange Four and Five, just like the Moon. You can do twelve-hour pole-to-pole orbits. Not near the tree, of course.”
“That must take lots of delta-V,” Svetz said, and sipped his water. He’d barely heard the word, but he knew it was a measure of fuel consumption. Low Earth equatorial orbits were the easiest to reach.
“You’re drowning right. You need so much delta-V for either set of orbits that you might as well go to the Moon for anything but weather satellites and signal relays. All these stations are too high. You lose signal definition.” Willy’s fist clenched on his glass. “Svetz? You could put anything you wanted in low Earth orbit without smashing into the World Tree. Right?”
“We could, right.”
“Drown me! Even men?”
“Right.”
“When?”
“First man went into orbit in plus sixteen AE.”
“Drown me! We had to go straight to the Moon.”
“Is that bad?”
“In the reign of Chaka Third, between plus one eighty and two hundred AE, we put a dozen men on the Moon, brought ’em back, and never went again for thirty years! The world had already used up too many resources. Svetz, without the tree we could have had a Moon colony by fifty AE! Our space program is a pitiable thing.”
“You said that.”
Willy looked up. “To you?”
“Wait.” Svetz thought. “That was then. That was the other you, when the first man stepped on the Moon in 24 AE. That Willy wanted a Beanstalk!”
Aghast, Willy asked, “Why?”
Pitiable, Svetz thought. “Our idea,” he said, “was to run elevators up the tree, or a linear accelerator. Get to orbit and beyond for whatever the electricity costs. Drop asteroid mining ships from the upper end.” He drank the last few drops of water. Water was expensive; he hadn’t noticed yesterday. “Nobody thought we’d have to fight seven kinds of Martians to do it.”
“Vic Four wouldn’t support it anyway.”
“Willy, I’m starting to think that nobody really tries to get the stars for his grandchildren. Anyone who wants the stars must want them now. For eleven and a half centuries—”
“Sir.” A tech was trying to get Willy Gorky’s attention. Willy turned as if glad to escape.
“Sir. We have numbers for archaic Mars, air comp, temp, gravity and so forth—”
“We need to rework the large X-cage and furnish a cage in the Bestiary. Six hours, Svetz. Entertain yourself.”
* * *
The dole yeast dispenser was empty.
Svetz brought Miya a cup of water. Miya had been talki
ng to Martians for hours.
“The first invasion from Mars was a Softfinger fleet,” she told him, “in minus fifty AE. We saw one of their walkers. Almost nobody came back. The Martians on the tree thought it was some disease of Earth that killed them all. We think it was gravity.
“Thaxir says the rebuilt talker has been ready for centuries. Nobody wanted to use it. All these centuries, the peoples of the tree must have thought they could invade Earth any time the tree failed them.
“When the first few atomic bombs went off in Year Zero, the Softfingers tried some reconnaissance missions. They were sure we’d use the bomb on the tree if they didn’t hit us first. They wanted to know where the bombs were. Most of their wok ships never even set down, but when they got home, the pilots were dying. Earth’s gravity breaks their internal membranes. I’ve been trying to tell Thaxir how antigravity in the Zoo works—”
“Make room.” Svetz slid into place and said, “Svetz at 1109 AE calling Thaxir. Are you thence?”
“I am hence, Svetz.”
“The antigravity the Sky Domains uses is expensive. We don’t use that in the Zoo—which they seem to call the Bestiary now, Miya. Thaxir, we use a magnetic field that acts on the magnetic moment of hydrogen. We can float organic material. I saw them float a half-million-ton bubble of seawater into Whale’s cage, then move Whale in without hurting him. Believe me, putting martian gravity in a Mars environment cage is the easy part.”
“I will convey. Svetz, Miya tells me that there are none of us on the tree in your future.”
“Our past. Your future. They tell me the same. They tell me some tremendous animal—”
“Yes, Miya spoke of that. A squirrel is a beast that runs up and down trees? And your first telescopes saw something large running up and down the tree? Svetz, I have consulted with our storytellers. Long ago, red Martians invaded Crab territory during a border dispute. We think your Ole Romer saw their heavy war lift while they were ferrying troops and armaments.”
The Secretary-General wasn’t going to like that, Svetz thought. He said, “Get yourselves into place. When you’re ready to be picked up, and not before, smash the talker. That brings us. We can’t hold the large X-cage in the past for very long at all.”
“Yes, Miya told me. Svetz, I need rest. I don’t have your human stamina.” And the ready light went out.
Miya looked exhausted, gaunt and drooping. Svetz told her, “You need sleep.”
“And something to eat, and a bath. We both … all need baths, and nobody’s offered us one.”
“Let’s check it out. Find Zeera too?”
“Good.”
“Miya, it’s present time. Do I still look good to you?”
She smiled, took his hands and squeezed hard. “You look like me, I bet. Tired. Half starved. Let’s get something to eat and then bathe each other.”
* * *
The large X-cage loomed over the middle of the dome. An extension arm behind it ran into the same metal housing from which a smaller arm led to the small X-cage, to the right of the Guide Pit.
Strangers were at work in the Pit, writing in the specs that had come from the Minim. More strangers were gluing a bin the size of a bungalow to the upper curve of the X-cage. Wilt Miller was supervising. He hailed them.
Svetz was relieved. Most techs were total strangers who had known him for years. That was disconcerting. Wilt was an exception, and easy to spot: skin that was always sunburn red, and flame-red hair.
Wilt gestured at a pile of hardware two men high. “Look it over. What part of this is garbage? What are you going to need for this mission?”
They discussed it.
Pressure suits, of course. They’d fill the X-cage with a Mars-style atmosphere and wear pressure suits themselves. No telling if refugees would bring enough oxygen. They’d want Gorky’s special filter helmets for breathing Mars atmosphere.
“Lines. Hanny, you’ll be maneuvering near sixty refugees in vacuum and free fall,” Miya said. “You’ll need stickstrips and fixpoints and lines. I’ll get those from Space Bureau, Wilt. Give me a man and a floater cart.”
Bottled water. Medical equipment: what kind of accidents were likely to hurt or kill Martians during a rescue? Svetz listened, nodded, advised.
Then he asked Wilt about baths and showers.
Bath? Well, that was awkward. Gorky wanted the large X-cage off in five hours. Everyone was busy, so the bath was available, yes. The problem (Wilt was explaining as Miya returned) was in finding enough people to take a bath!
“Zeera won’t like the conditions,” Svetz told Miya.
“She’ll be pissed if we don’t invite her. Won’t she?”
“Sure.”
The lock on the bathroom was a guard program. They typed in an appointment, then went looking for a quorum.
They found Zeera and Ra Chen on cots in the sleep area. Ra Chen was snoring like a machine with a bad bearing. Zeera was awake. “Too hungry to sleep anymore,” she said. “What’s up?”
Svetz tried to explain what was going on. “The guard program isn’t corruptible, or else I don’t know the codes. There’s a big double door. It won’t let in less than eight or more than twelve. One tub, lots of towels, and a sonic for cleaning those.”
“They’re short of water,” Zeera said.
“We noticed. Are you in?”
“I’m in.” Zeera sounded tired. “I’d bathe with Elephant. I’d bathe with Gila Monster. Futz, why not, he could dry me with his breath. So I guess I’ll bathe with you two.”
Hillary Weng-Fa and Zat Forsman were loose, or else they took pity on three bewildered time travelers, and they brought three strangers. Eight was enough.
The bathroom was roomy. The tub was luxurious, finely carved and ergonomically shaped, equipped with water jets and bubbles. But it wasn’t big.
Eight bathers sudsed each other before they took turns entering the tub. They rinsed each other, dried each other, and drifted into communal sex so easily that Svetz never had a chance to be startled.
Water was to be celebrated.
He was deeply involved with Hillary and trying to think of a polite way to break loose until he saw Miya with Zat. That was a relief of sorts. Sometime during all this he looked at Zeera—up near the ceiling where the sauna heating was, laughing down at them, naked as he had never seen her, dark and gaunt as a wraith.
Zeera called down, “How important is Horse?”
Horse? “Why?”
“Svetz, even your weird fantasy theories don’t claim that our unique horned horse needs a virgin attendant in 1109 AE.”
She’d been reading the old stories. “You’re right. So?”
She said, “Mart!”
Mart Torgeson, a total stranger until today, was lolling in the tub. He looked up brightly. “Change your mind? Azeera, I’ve been chasing you so long—”
Azeera?
“And now you think it’s going to be easy?” Zeera slid into the tiny tub and whispered in his ear, and he jumped. And accepted the challenge.
Svetz watched in awe and unease. Zeera must think that the end of the world is coming.
Most of them needed the tub again after all that activity. The water was black. They’d certainly burned up an hour and a half when a tech poked his head in and called, “If you’re a time traveler, you’re wanted.”
* * *
They’d finished loading and programming the large X-cage. Willy Gorky and Wilt Miller waited. Willy said, “We’ve tagged Wilt to go back for the refugees on the tree, but we also want to send someone who’s talked to a Martian. Zeera, you got some sleep, didn’t you? If you’re up to it—”
Zeera breezed past Svetz and Miya. “I’m in, Boss.”
“Look it over. All of you. We may have missed something. We launch in ten minutes.”
Wilt Miller, with his ruddy skin, might pass for a red Martian if he’d dyed his hair black and had cosmetic surgery to soften the line of his jaw. Maybe that was why the Heads had cho
sen him.
Ra Chen came to join them.
Zeera and Wilt climbed into pressure suits and entered. They were lost inside the volume of the large X-cage. It would run on remote control from the small cage, but there was also a chair and horseshoe of controls. Zeera took the chair. Wilt set some fixpoints and anchored himself to them. Svetz closed the hatch on them and stepped back.
The sphere faded in an instant. The extension arm behind it faded away in a direction no human eye could follow. Now only instruments could record its progress toward the past.
Svetz was inclined to monitor.
He was thwarted. Ra Chen said, “Drown me! Willy, where are you going to put them?”
“Sir, I have men working on a cage in the Bestiary.”
“Ah. Good. Willy, I’ll take care of the mission here. Time is my turf, Mars is yours. Take Svetz and Miya along and look over that cage! Someone might have missed something.”
They walked toward the entrance with Willy Gorky. “Hang on a second,” Svetz said, and looked for the water dispenser.
There were the tables, left of the Armory, but where—? “Willy, I’m lost. Where’s the water dispenser?”
“The what? Come on, Svetz, you’re not any thirstier than anyone else.”
38
Once there must have been a thousand kinds of cactus. Svetz hadn’t known that, but he couldn’t doubt it while surrounded by scores of surviving varieties. It bothered him that many of them seemed to be dying.
Miya whispered, “Hanny, the chairs and tables were there, but there’s nothing between the Armory door and the Pit. What happened to the drinks dispenser?”
“I thought it was over. I thought we could adapt. The world. Our species,” Svetz said. “All we had to do was wait.”
“The drinks dispenser?”
Willy had left them behind. He waited impatiently at the bridge that led through the World Globe. He didn’t look that strong, that energetic, until Svetz looked at Miya and then down at himself. The flesh hung on their bones. Their stomachs bulged with starvation.
He asked, “Willy, what happened to Victor’s brother?”
“Waldemar? I liked him, Svetz. I tried to teach him about the stars. He died in childhood,” Willy said, and coughed. “Lung troubles.” And Willy led them into the World Globe.
