“I could count the trees that are currently moving.”
“You mean you’ll see whether they are coming towards us?”
“For that I would have to stay up there forever,” I explain. “No, but I can calculate what percentage of the total number is moving and then estimate the risk that the trees nearby will move during the time we are here, the 11 days left until the next flare.”
Adam frowns. “Fine,” he says, “and if we know that the risk is ‘X’ percent, what would that tell us?”
“Well, if the risk is 100 percent, we could move the base into the steppe,” I suggest.
“Would we have enough time to do that?”
“Probably not.”
“You see?” Adam says.
“But at least we would know what awaits us,” Eve says. “I agree, you should climb up there, Marchenko.”
“And what about working on the base? That will cost us another day, and we already lost time yesterday.” Adam says, not giving up so easily.
“We would still have ten days left, which is enough,” I say. “We cannot stay here permanently, so we will need less room.”
“Okay,” Adam says, his face brightening. I understand him well.
Modifying my body takes two hours. The feet are replaced by a ring that will encircle the tree’s trunk. If I tighten it firmly, it holds my entire weight, leaving my arms free. Also, I can open the ring completely, so the leaf stalks offer no obstacle. The shovel and broom at the ends of my arms are replaced by human-like hands. There is hardly any single tool that allows for such fine manipulation as a human hand can do, and besides, my consciousness can better deal with them. The machine muscles are designed in such a way that they can lift my entire body weight without a problem. However, Adam and Eve have to move me to the nearest tree first.
“Wow, you are heavy, Marchenko,” Adam gasps. “Is your belly full of rocks?” He actually remembers the fairy tale I told him 12 or 13 years ago, about the wolf and the seven little goats, where the evil wolf drowns after Mama Goat cuts open his belly to free the swallowed baby goats, then places rocks inside and sews it up.
“Let’s take a short break,” Eve says.
They drag me by the arms across the forest floor. I am looking skyward and feel oddly exposed and unprotected. If a bear broke through the underbrush now I could not defend Adam and Eve, let alone myself. Of course there is no underbrush here, and probably nothing comparable to a bear, but the idea still frightens me. And here is the worst part: I am going to leave Adam and Eve completely alone for several hours. Since their birth I have been with them every single minute, but now they are 16! I should learn to trust them.
“Heave-ho,” Adam says, then repeats the command. A sunbeam hits my body. The light is falling through the hole we created in the leafy canopy earlier by cutting down the tree. There is something fascinating in being completely passive for a change. For the first time in a long while, I can smell the scent of the forest without thinking of what consequences it might have for us. There is a strong fungal smell, a rotten aroma, wet and moldy, that is quite unlike the Russian forests where my mother sent me to look for mushrooms or berries.
I feel I am losing the burden of responsibility, as if I am getting physically lighter and almost wonder if Adam and Eve do not also notice this. For 16 years I have been responsible for them around the clock. They seem to have become part of my life, but at this moment I once again recognize Dimitri Marchenko—Mitya—who is an independent person and, due to all his experiences, does not easily let others come too close.
“Well, here we are,” Adam announces. When he lets go of my arm, my head hits the tree trunk. It rings like a small bell, and the sound carries far.
“Oh. Sorry,” he apologizes.
I am confused and briefly regret that this moment is already over. Then I nod. The robot skull has no pain sensors, and it can withstand much harder impacts. According to specifications it can tolerate 100 times the pressure of Earth’s atmosphere, but I can even reinforce it further.
“Can you pull yourself up now?” Eve asks me.
“Yes, Eve, I can handle the rest by myself.”
Both of them must have noticed that my mind was wandering. I use my arms to pull myself toward the trunk and then upwards until the tree is within reach of the ring. By tightening the steel band, I get closer to the trunk. Now I am upright.
“Okay, I am about to start,” I say. “Don’t do anything stupid while I am gone.” I hope this does not put any silly ideas into their heads. I know I should trust them, but I do not like the idea that I will not have any influence on them for several hours.
“See you later,” Adam says. Maybe I am imagining it, but he looks slightly touched.
“Take care!” Eve whispers.
My arms extend upward and cling to the trunk. Then, I bend them and pull my body up the tree. This takes ten seconds and on average covers 50 centimeters, so I should reach the top in about an hour. Unfortunately my view downward is limited, which I did not consider during the preparation phase. While I can turn my head, the body blocks the view. Perhaps Adam and Eve are waving goodbye to me. I cannot confirm it, but just in case I stop after ten meters, clamp the ring around the tree, and wave down toward them with one arm.
The climb turns out to be uncomplicated. Pull up, clamp, pull up, clamp... I give in to this rhythm. The force sensors translate this activity for my mind so that I can feel the effort and will immediately notice if anything has changed. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot even imagine any dangers ahead of me. Only the altitude itself might pose a real problem. Should I fall, the high gravity would accelerate my body considerably. The modules my consciousness runs on have special protection, but if my body hits the ground at an unfortunate angle, it could be irretrievably lost. And then there is the additional risk that I could hit Adam or Eve.
The hour passes quickly, while I muse about what might be waiting for us. So far, we have not come any closer to fulfilling our task, and the only traces of alien intelligences are ancient ones. Those cannot have been from the beings who radioed the message to Earth unless we are coming much, much too late. I repress this idea. It just cannot be true that the entire voyage was meaningless, that Adam and Eve were born in vain.
Are they still standing there, waiting for me at the foot of the tree? I cannot see Adam and Eve, so I therefore continue to aim my gaze upward. The canopy of leaves is ten meters away. Until now, the trunk has not tapered off much. What would happen if the tree decides this very moment to pull its roots from the soil? Does it notice that I am climbing on its trunk? My sensors detect no sign of thought processes inside the wood. There are no vessels, nothing comparable to nerve pathways.
Yet we witnessed the trees hitting each other with their leaves. If their consciousness is located in the roots, which I assume to be the case, there must be a way to control the movement of the leaves. But perhaps my ideas are too Earth-centric. There are so many possibilities. Maybe the nerve pathways only develop when they are needed, or the communication is wireless. That would definitely be an important warning signal for me. Then I should be able to detect the signals, but perhaps the tree is silent now, so there is nothing to measure.
The last few meters are the most difficult. While the leaves are attached to the trunk in a staggered pattern, leaving a path between them, I have to remove and reattach the ring several times. It is like a spacewalk without a safety line. I know I shouldn’t really do this, but there is no alternative if I want to get to the very top.
I worry less about my own strength. I know it will not give out. If I use the agility of my limbs to wrap my right arm around a leaf stalk, I am sure the arm can carry my mass. But what about the stalk itself? Each leaf weighs between 50 and 100 kilos. The point where the stalk is attached should be able to carry this weight, plus a bit more. On Proxima b my body weighs about 120 kilos. Will the ‘plus’ that nature factors in be sufficient for me? The fact that the trees use t
heir leaves as weapons reassures me a bit, because then it would be advantageous if they were securely attached to the trunk.
I work my way up slowly and cautiously. First I gradually put some weight on a new stalk, but eventually the moment arrives when I have to trust my entire weight to it. This lasts only a few seconds, and then the ring at my legs holds on tight again. When I grasp the leaves, they always swing back and forth briefly. The first three seconds are decisive. If the leaf does not break by then, I am safe.
The method works very well for the first four leaves. The fifth one seems to be smaller than the others, so I leave it out. Also, I really do not trust the sixth one, but this means I definitely have to reach for the seventh, or I will not make it to the top.
I hook my arm around its stalk, as close to the trunk as possible. I pull and it appears to be stable. Then I start to release the ring holding me to the tree. The increasing weight at the attachment point bends the leaf down alarmingly. Now I have to react quickly, and my arm pulls me up. I hear a cracking sound, not from the leaf but near the trunk. I scan the bark and discover a fissure. The joint allowing the leaf to move seems to be the weak point. I feel panic rising in my mind. The ring at my legs is frantically trying for a new spot where it can stabilize me, but the steel band seems to be stuck on something. I cannot see the obstacle, because it is below me.
The fissure in the tree bark widens and the leaf bends down ominously. I contract the steel ring with all my strength, until I hear a splintering sound. Afterward, the ring moves freely again. I need a new holding position, because my arm is starting to slide downward along the stalk. How elastic is the stalk? I ask myself. When will it break?
I hear the whirring of the steel band swinging through the air. There. It has found a position farther up. With my left arm I reach for another leaf, without testing its strength. I pull myself up a few centimeters and the ring snaps shut.
Okay! I have found a new foothold. I can feel the leaf falling, the one that my right arm holds on to, but I cannot remove my hand. The forceful grip has pressed it so much into the wood that I will need the second hand for this. The 80 kilos of the leaf pull on my right side, and I am testing to see if the ring is firmly seated. It’s no use, I have to let go with my left arm. While I reach around my back with it—fortunately, I am much more limber than a human being—I slowly start to slide.
I use my left hand to loosen the too-tight grip of the right hand. The leaf plummets. I hope it won’t hit Adam or Eve. Then a stalk farther down stops my sliding body. I grab it with both hands, and I am safe. My thoughts are racing through the robot body. I need two minutes to regain my composure.
I am even more cautious climbing the last two meters, although there are no further problems. Then my head slowly rises from the sea of leaves. The view is breathtaking! I see a green ocean. It is not the same green I know from Earth, as this particular shade is a bit darker and appears not as lush. But the sheer expanse of this landscape makes up for that.
I can feel a slight breeze that is blowing up here, and I can also tell this by the wave patterns the wind creates in the foliage. The waves are no higher than one meter. Now and then there is a sparkle, when a leaf turns slightly in the wind and its brighter underside reflects the eastern sun in my direction.
But didn’t I come up here for a specific reason? My optical sensors systematically begin scanning the landscape all the way to the horizon. The further I look out, the more I have to zoom in to distinguish the wave patterns from the actual movements of the trees. Toward the southeast, about 12 kilometers from me, a tree battle seems to be taking place. I also see the typical movements far to the east. Later I will calculate how this affects our chances.
The north appears to be calm right now. Heavy rains are falling there. Maybe the activities of the trees are dependent on the weather. I use an extreme zoom to see the raindrops patter on the leafy canopy. Due to the high gravity, the drops are smaller than on Earth. The water collects on the leaves, which now and then bend downward, release their loads, and spring back upward.
I pan slightly to the right, because I have noticed a movement there, but I must have been mistaken. The trees are not moving from their spots. There it is again! Now, I can see it. It is not the leaves that move, but something between them. I discover a long leg pulling itself up, then a kind of spider is swinging to the top of the leaf. I am sorry I cannot see it any more closely. From this distance—perhaps eight kilometers—I can only perceive the animal’s rough outlines. Its body must be small, but the eight legs are comparatively huge. In front there is an appendage looking like a proboscis. The creature seems to sweep it across the leaves. It probably cleans them, removes dead cells, and feeds on these. The spider must not weigh much, and its eight legs distribute its weight on several leaves at the same time. It does not appear menacing and would only frighten someone suffering from arachnophobia. I carefully examine the surrounding area but cannot find a second animal. Yet, it cannot possibly be the only one of its kind.
How much time have I spent up here? I instinctively gaze at the sun, but it remains stationary. According to my clock it is early afternoon now. I wish I could take a little exploratory walk up here. Perhaps I might discover other species of animals. If the spider is a herbivore, could there be other creatures preying on it, like the frogs in the mountain pass? On the other hand, I do not need further encounters with predators, and considering my weight, the leaf canopy is not the ideal terrain. Once I have allowed myself one last look around with all my senses, I will climb down again.
I have to improve my position a bit. I want to record a 360-degree view in all wavelengths, from long-wave radio to ultra-short X-rays. I pull myself carefully higher so that the ring holding me can find a better position in the treetop. Afterward, my body reaches almost one and a half meters over the trees. I am now like a lonely fisherman in a huge ocean, casting my electronic net. The recording overtaxes my human consciousness. I recalculate it into a false-color image, which depicts the world around us in a fascinating way, even though the exaggerated contrasts and odd hues make it seem like a picture of hell. But aren’t the world and hell sometimes the same, just seen through different lenses? I check the image and compare it with the optical reality my Marchenko mind is used to. The more comprehensive depiction offers more clarity, since nothing is able to remain hidden. There are no objects that do not interact with at least one wavelength, at least on this world.
My gaze reaches the west, far away. There it notices a glowing dot that can only be seen in the radio range. Something has directed radio waves at me. My image is only a snapshot, so it would not be enough to determine the nature of this source. I aim my radio antenna to the west and increase its sensitivity. There it is again. The signal. I can perceive it clearly. I have actually found it! It is the message, the reason why we came all the way here.
Finally! I am sure Adam and Eve will be glad. Now there is nothing to keep me up here any longer. I immediately start my descent. After I am past the area of the leaves, there is literally no holding back. I loosen the steel ring so much that I slowly slide down the trunk. As the tree gets gradually thicker, I have to adjust the ring now and again, but while the climb took an hour, I reach the ground in just 20 minutes.
Even from a height of 50 meters I start calling out to Adam and Eve, but they do not react. Are they perhaps working inside the base? I call more loudly, but they still do not answer. Now I reach the ground. The steel ring ties me to the tree, but there is no one here to help me with the last few steps of my descent.
I order the fabricators to produce simple feet for me as quickly as possible, but this will take at least half an hour. I call Adam and Eve again. Still no reply. I contact them via radio and can hear my voice issuing from the receiver that must be located somewhere near the base. What has happened here? Why doesn’t one of them answer? The half-hour the fabricators require stretches into the worst 30 minutes of my life.
January 15, 19<
br />
Eve waves one last time at Marchenko.
“He won’t be able to see it,” Adam says. “I noticed right away that the robotic head is not moveable enough.”
“I am doing it for my own sake,” Eve says.
Adam nods sympathetically. “Okay. So what happens next?” he asks. “We are free to do what we want! Marchenko will certainly be gone for at least three hours.”
“We can carry the excavated material out of the base so we’ll get done in time,” she suggests.
“Come on, Eve. We are alone for the very first time and you want to waste it on working?”
“It makes no sense just sitting around. I’d rather carry soil.”
“I wasn’t thinking of sitting around,” Adam says. He has now caught Eve’s attention.
“What then?” she asks.
“Remember the battle of the trees and the deep holes they left behind?”
Eve nods.
“Who knows what might show up inside those holes?” he poses.
“I really don’t understand.”
Adam looks at Eve’s face. Is it that she doesn’t want to understand, or is she that naïve? he wonders. Sometimes he is not sure when it comes to his ‘sibling.’ On the whole, Adam considers her clearly more intelligent than himself, but it also seems she sometimes takes much longer to understand an idea.
“Marchenko found that beam at a depth of four or five meters,” Adam says. “How likely is it that only one of them is here?”
Eve raises her eyebrows, indicating she is still undecided.
“We can go toward the north along the edge of the forest, where the trees came from,” he suggests. “We are sure to find some holes there, soon. We will be back before Marchenko, and in the worst case we can tell him we took a walk.”
“And what if something happens to us?” The way Eve asks this question sounds as if she has already agreed with him in her mind.
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 18
