Survival--A Novel Read online

  But what can we do? he asked himself over and over. What can we do?

  Then he realized that the avatar had said, “You and your descendants will remain here, with no contact back to Earth and your solar system.”

  Our descendants. They’re prepared to keep us here forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ignatiev hardly slept at all that night.

  How do we combat a species that can read our thoughts? How can we convince them to let us go home? As he tossed in his bed, asking himself questions to which he had no answer, he knew that the machines could read his innermost thoughts. They know exactly what I’m thinking, Ignatiev told himself. What each and every one of us is thinking.

  The realization angered him. They can peer into our minds. Without asking our permission. We’re nothing but experimental animals to them, jumping through hoops for their edification.

  Are they amused at our antics? No, they have no emotions. No amusement, no fear, not even curiosity. Merely the primal instinct for survival.

  If they feel threatened by us, they’ll never let us return home. We’ll never see Earth again.

  At last, feeling wearier than he had when he’d gotten into bed, Ignatiev said to himself, We’d better get accustomed to living here. It looks like we’re here to stay.

  Then he remembered that the death wave was rushing toward them at the speed of light. It’s two hundred light-years away. In two hundred years it will wash over this planet, killing every living thing up on the surface.

  Killing us. The machines will let the death wave solve their problem. It will wipe us out.

  * * *

  When in doubt, Ignatiev told himself, when you don’t know where to go or how to get there, call a meeting.

  Without leaving the quarters that the machines had created for him, Ignatiev sat at the head of the conference table aboard Intrepid, flanked on both sides by the members of the executive committee. Along the bulkhead at his left side, extra chairs had been set out to hold additional members of the scientific staff, including Gita. Ignatiev glanced at her as the group chatted, waiting for him to call the meeting to order. She smiled at him, and the whole conference room seemed to brighten.

  Raising his voice above the general hubbub, Ignatiev said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  The committee quickly agreed to forgo reading the minutes of the previous meeting. After all, the minutes were available instantaneously through Aida. Ignatiev mentally gave thanks for small mercies.

  Before he could speak a word, however, Jugannath Patel, sitting at his right, said, “The first item on the agenda is a report by Dr. Nawalapitiya on the preparations of the field excursion team.”

  Gita started to get up from her chair, but Ignatiev said, “First I have an announcement to make. An important announcement.”

  Gita dropped back on her chair as all eyes focused on him.

  Clasping his hands on the tabletop, Ignatiev told them, “We might be forced to stay here indefinitely.”

  Puzzled looks. No fear, not even perplexity. Not yet.

  “What do you mean, Professor?” asked one of the geologists, from down near the end of the table.

  “The machines might keep us here permanently,” said Ignatiev. “They might decide to prevent us from returning to Earth.”

  “What?”

  “They can’t do that!”

  “It’s not right!”

  Nodding his agreement, Ignatiev said, “It may not be right, but it’s within their power.” Jabbing a finger at the chief engineer, “Have you been able to get the ship’s engines started again?”

  “No,” the man replied, frowning. “The generators that power the ship’s life-keeping systems are running fine, but the propulsion systems are dead. I’ve had my whole staff working on the problem, but I’ve got to admit that we’ve achieved nothing. They’re dead.”

  Turning to the communications chief, “And our QUE link to Earth?”

  With a shake of her blond head, she said, “No joy.”

  “You’re telling us that the machines have done this?” asked Dr. Mandabe, his dark face a troubled mask. “Deliberately?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m telling you,” said Ignatiev. “They will not allow us to return to Earth or even communicate with Earth. They’ve cut us off completely.”

  “But why?”

  “How can they do that?”

  Ignatiev tried to explain that the machines were wary of full contact with Earth’s teeming billions.

  “But that’s ridiculous!”

  “They can’t keep us here indefinitely.”

  “It’s inhuman!”

  Ignatiev stated the obvious. “They are not human.”

  “Indefinitely?” asked one of the psychotechs. “How long do you think—”

  “Until the death wave arrives,” Ignatiev said.

  That quieted them. Around the long conference table, complete silence fell.

  Then one of the engineers demanded, “So what are we going to do about it?”

  Ignatiev shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “They can’t keep us here!”

  “They’ve done a good job of it so far.”

  “What of it?” Patel said. “What difference does it make?”

  Surprised, Ignatiev asked, “What do you mean?”

  “We cut ourselves off from Earth the instant we left on this journey,” the Punjabi computer technician said, his voice sad, hopeless. “We are two thousand light-years from home. If we ever get back, it will be to a world that is four thousand years ahead of us. An alien world, just as alien as this planet we are studying.”

  “We’re exiles, one way or another,” agreed Raj Jackson, the reality of it making his voice hollow.

  “But Earth is home…”

  From behind him, Ignatiev heard Gita’s voice, surprisingly strong. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

  Ignatiev twisted in his chair and gestured for her to rise. “Go ahead, Dr. Nawalapitiya.”

  As Gita got to her feet, Ignatiev smiled inwardly at the sight of her: so small, slim, sylphlike. Almost like a child among them.

  But her voice was calm, firm, self-assured. “As Professor Ignatiev has said on more than one occasion, when someone hands you a lemon, make lemonade.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” one of the engineers groused.

  “It means that we should continue our studies of this machine intelligence. We should try to find a way to return home, of course, but in the meantime we should continue to learn all we can about the civilization we’ve found here.”

  Mandabe’s deep, powerful voice rumbled, “You mean that you should go ahead with your exploration of the biosphere facility.”

  With a nod, Gita added, “And the natural biosphere up on the surface, afterward.”

  Ignatiev nodded too. That might be the way to escape this trap, he said to himself. Then instantly he clamped down on the thought. Don’t let them know what you’re thinking!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As Ignatiev sat on the recliner in his living room he thought, We’ve traveled two thousand light-years to another star, another solar system. We’ve established contact with an alien race of intelligent machines. And yet I haven’t been beyond the confines of this apartment complex for weeks.

  It was a comfortable enough confinement, he admitted. All his physical needs were well taken care of. All but one. For the first time since he’d been aboard the Sagan mission—it seemed a lifetime ago—Ignatiev felt a sexual urge.

  He frowned at his image in the mirror on the wall across the room. With a grunt that was part desire, part disgust, he said to himself, The next thing you know you’ll start having wet dreams.

  You’ll be two hundred years old in a few months, he told himself sternly. So you’ve spent much of that time in cryonic deepsleep. So the medics tell you your somatic age is more like ninety. A youthful ninety, at that. Still … she’s hardly more th
an a child.

  Gita. So young, so vibrant, so … No! he snarled at himself. Put her out of your mind. Out of your thoughts. She thinks of you as a grandfather figure. You’re not a handsome young prince. You never were.

  Still, he yearned.

  Take a cold shower, he told himself. Better yet, get back to work.

  He asked Aida for summaries of each department’s progress. Surprisingly, the day-by-day work of the scientists and engineers was proceeding almost normally. Gita’s team was ready to explore the machines’ biosphere facility. The engineers reported that all the ship’s systems were performing within nominal limits—except for propulsion and the QUE link to Earth, of course.

  What are they thinking back home? Ignatiev wondered. All communications with us suddenly cut off, like an eye winking shut. They must think we’ve met with disaster. In a way, we have. But what will they do, back on Earth? Write off the Intrepid mission? Send a follow-up mission? Even if they did, it would take two thousand years to get here. By that time the death wave will have killed us all.

  Unbidden, one of Shakespeare’s sonnets came to mind:

  When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

  I all alone beweep my outcast state …

  Outcast state, he thought. Old William didn’t know the half of it.

  But then Ignatiev continued with the sonnet until he mentally recited:

  Haply I think on thee,—and then my state,

  Like to the lark at break of day arising …

  Like to a lark at break of day arising, he repeated to himself. Gita. Being exiled in this strange world won’t be so bad as long as Gita is here with me.

  But how can I tell her how I feel? How can an old fart like me tell her that he’s fallen in love with her?

  Angrily, he pushed himself up from the recliner and paced the living room. Old fool, he grumbled to himself. Stupid old fool.

  * * *

  Gita’s face was dead serious as she looked at the four exobiologists of her team. Four exobiologists and one idiot, Ignatiev thought.

  They were assembled in a smallish chamber that reminded Ignatiev of a spaceship’s air lock. Each of the six of them wore a transparent biosuit over his or her clothing, with a thin bubble helmet over their heads, like an inverted fishbowl.

  The machines’ avatar stood beside Gita, clad in its usual quasi-military uniform. Ignatiev reminded himself that the avatar was an illusion, a three-dimensional projection that looked solid and real enough, even though it was not an actual physical presence.

  Ignatiev realized that although Gita was leader of this little team, the avatar was really in charge. It’s reading our thoughts, he knew. What does he find inside our skulls? Fear? Anticipation? Excitement?

  Gita’s expression eased into a satisfied smile. She nodded once inside her helmet, then turned to the avatar. “We’re ready to go out,” she said.

  “Very well,” replied the humanlike figure. “This way.”

  A portion of the wall disappeared. Beyond the opening Ignatiev saw tangled, thick green foliage.

  Gita took the first step out into the biosphere facility, glancing back over her shoulder at her team following her.

  “Sensors activated?” she asked.

  One by one her teammates answered affirmatively. Ignatiev, at the rear of the line, simply nodded.

  They stepped into a lush green jungle. It was eerily quiet.

  Standing beside Gita, the avatar said in a near-whisper, “The animals sense your presence.”

  A brightly colored bird flapped by, squawking noisily.

  “Well, he’s not afraid of us,” said one of the team members.

  “He has nothing to fear from us,” Gita said. Then she added, “Or she.”

  The group of them was standing on a paved path, wide enough for two to walk abreast. Ignatiev saw that it forked a couple of dozen meters ahead, each branch disappearing into thick foliage.

  “I think it best if we stay together,” said Gita, “for the present. This first excursion is just a look-see.”

  “Take nothing but pictures,” said one of the women, “and leave only footprints.”

  “Exactly.”

  The avatar stood still as the team members walked slowly past, until Ignatiev came up beside it. Then it started walking at the professor’s leisurely pace.

  It called out to the team, “Please let us know if and when you wish to take specimens for laboratory study.”

  Gita replied, “For now, we’re more interested in studying the creatures in their natural habitat.”

  As they moved down the path, Ignatiev thought, Natural habitat? This habitat has been created by the machines. It may mimic the natural habitat up on the surface, but it’s completely machine-built and -maintained.

  Still, it was fascinating. Small furry creatures scampered among the profuse foliage. Others darted up the massive boles of the huge trees that rose a hundred meters and more above the explorers. Large reptilian fliers glided on leathery wings high up among the trees’ crowns of foliage. Gradually the forest came alive. Hoots and whistles and low, menacing growls filled the air. Some of the team looked about apprehensively, but Gita pushed along steadily, her eyes darting everywhere.

  She’s in her element, Ignatiev realized. This must be an exobiologist’s dream, a complete biosphere of alien creatures. He saw that Gita had a pleased little smile on her face.

  A roar suddenly shook the place and a massive six-legged beast shambled out of the foliage to stand in front of the exploration team. It was more than four meters long from its fanged mouth to its fuzzy stub of a tail, and at least two meters tall at its shoulder. All muscle and rippling coarse dark orange-brown fur. Even its eyes looked fierce.

  Suddenly Ignatiev felt very small, very vulnerable.

  The whole team froze.

  “Holy god!” one of the men yelped.

  Gita, leading the little team, was face-to-face with the beast. Ignatiev saw that its head was huge, massive, with wide jaws studded with curved fangs.

  Each member of the team carried a high-voltage stun pistol, but confronted by this monster, Ignatiev wondered if the gun would do anything more than annoy the brute.

  Still, he saw Gita’s hand slowly sliding toward the holster at her hip.

  “Not to worry!” shouted the avatar. “We have surrounded the animal with an energy screen. It cannot get through it to attack you.”

  As if it understood the machine’s words, the brute sniffed at the ground, stepped across the paved path, and leaned its bulk against what seemed like the empty air. Something invisible resisted its pushing.

  “This is a member of the facility’s top predator species. We have intruded on its hunting territory and it wants to either drive us away or kill us.”

  The man standing next to Gita snatched his pistol from its holster.

  “No need to shoot it!” the avatar shouted. “The energy screen will simply absorb your gun’s power. The animal cannot reach you. Please do not feel threatened.”

  “I don’t feel threatened,” one of the others replied. “Terrified is more like it.”

  “The animal cannot harm you,” the avatar repeated.

  The predator sniffed around for another few moments, then turned and headed deeper into the jungle. It stopped abruptly, though, swung its massive head back toward the humans, and gave out another ground-shaking roar.

  Ignatiev felt a very urgent impulse to run away. Then he thought, How far could I go before the ALS chops me down? I’d make a happy meal for that beast, flat on my back and shaking from head to toe.

  But the predator shambled off, seemingly satisfied that it had staked out its territory.

  The exploratory team fell absolutely silent, staring at the area where the animal had been a moment before. Its footprints flattened the foliage where it had stepped.

  Pointing to the fork in the path that led away from the giant beast, the avatar said calmly, “Let’s go this way.”

  N
o one uttered a word of dissent.

  * * *

  They spent the rest of the day taking pictures and dictating notes. The jungle teemed with life, from scurrying insects to the fliers soaring high above, from brightly colored star-shaped flowers to the colossal trees that towered above them and spread their canopies high across the facility.

  Ignatiev found it difficult to think of this area as an artificial preserve, an experimental biosphere deliberately created to protect and study the creatures that made it their home. It looked, it smelled, it seemed completely natural; not artificial at all.

  He worked his way to Gita, who was standing knee-deep in tangled greenery, scanning the foliage with a multispectral camera.

  Ignatiev waited silently until she at last took the camera down from her eyes and began to tuck it into a pouch on her suit’s equipment belt.

  “There’s plenty here for you to study,” he said.

  Gita looked up at him with a satisfied smile. “An entire alien biosphere,” she said. “The machines have offered to build a bio lab for us, so we can study the species here down to the molecular level.”

  “Very gracious of them.”

  “And we haven’t even started to look at the natural biosphere outside.”

  “I wonder how natural it really is,” said Ignatiev.

  Gita pushed through the undergrowth to get back on the paved path. Ignatiev lent a hand to help her.

  “This facility by itself is a wonder,” she said. “It’s enormous.”

  “The avatar told me it’s fifty kilometers on a side. Twenty-five hundred square kilometers, total.”

  “And filled with plant and animal life.”

  “I wonder how they light it,” Ignatiev mused. “The lighting seems to be diffuse…”

  She laughed. “You’re a physicist. That’s a physics question.”

  “But it impacts the biology, does it not?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said happily, carelessly. “There’s so much to do! So much to learn! We could spend the rest of our lives here.”