Apes and Angels Page 27

  “It looks that way,” said Littlejohn.

  Brad said, “Wait. There’s something else. According to the Gammans’ mythology, their civilization once built extensive cities. But they were wiped out by the Sky Masters, whoever they were.”

  “Mythology,” Littlejohn pointed out. “You can’t expect us to try to track down fantasies, Brad.”

  “Mythologies have their roots in reality.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Kosoff broke into the discussion. “Olav, have the surveillance satellites detected anything that might have once been a city?”

  Pedersen shook his head. “Most of the planet is too heavily forested for ground-penetrating radar to get decent imagery.”

  Quentin Abbott spoke up. “Mythology or reality, one thing is abundantly clear. This planetary system suffered a major upheaval some hundred thousand years ago, perhaps more. The current configuration of the inner planetary orbits is unstable. Alpha is going to be swallowed up by Mithra within another millennium or so; Beta and Gamma are going to be ejected from the Mithra system altogether.”

  Kosoff said, “Surely you don’t believe that these mythological Sky Masters did this? Shattered the entire planetary system?”

  “Why?”

  “How?”

  With a grim smile of utter certainty, Abbott said, “I offer one irrefutable item of evidence. Those egg-things that the cats ride in from Beta to Gamma can’t be natural. That’s high technology, people, and we should be trying to determine who created such technology. And why.”

  EVIDENCE

  From his seat at the foot of the table, Brad said, “We have the remains of the eggs that the cats rode in from Beta. That should tell us something.”

  “Indeed,” said Kosoff.

  Desai suggested, “And maybe a ground team could find evidence of the city or cities that the Gammans spoke of.”

  “That’s probably mythology,” said Littlejohn.

  “I could ask the Gammans about it,” Brad said. “Maybe they can point us in the right direction.”

  Kosoff objected, “The ground team is going to have its hands full, building a new village for the newborn Gammans.”

  “Are they going to have to stay through the winter?” Steiner asked.

  “No! That’s much too long. We’re scheduled to return back to Earth in slightly less than four years. Their winter lasts ten times that long.”

  “So we’ll build their new village and then leave?”

  Before anyone else could reply, Brad said, “I think we should introduce them to some of our technology. Help them get through the winter without hibernating, at least.”

  Kosoff scowled down the table. “Haven’t we interfered with their way of life enough? We’re not here to—”

  Brad interrupted, “We’re here to help these people. We can’t just leave them to face the winter on their own.”

  “Not now that you’ve destroyed their way of life,” Kosoff growled.

  Littlejohn spread his hands, as if to part the two of them. “You’re both right. It would have been criminal to let the Gammans be killed off. I can understand where Brad felt he had to help them. Now the question is, how much help should we give them?”

  “Enough to get through the winter,” Brad said.

  Kosoff’s bearded face looked grim. But he asked, “Is that the sense of the group? Do you believe we should help the aliens?”

  No one replied. Brad saw that none of them wanted to be the first to answer.

  So he said, “Yes. We should help them to survive. Otherwise we’d be killing them.”

  Steiner said, “But a new generation will arise. The species will survive.”

  “How would you like it if you were forced to kill yourself after you’ve reproduced?” Brad asked.

  “That’s what happens naturally,” Steiner said. “We’re genetically programmed to die after we’ve reached sexual maturity.”

  “Perhaps so,” said Chang, in her soft, self-effacing tone. “But human females live far beyond menopause.”

  “And human males?” someone asked.

  “They can father children as long as they live, almost,” Steiner said, sounding resentful.

  Felicia spoke up. “Besides, we’ve worked for centuries to prolong our life spans, to avoid death as long as we can, regardless of our reproductive capabilities.”

  “But we still die,” said Steiner.

  “Not willingly,” Littlejohn retorted.

  “Enough!” Kosoff barked. “I want a show of hands. Shall we give the Gammans enough technological help to assure that they will survive their winter?”

  Brad shot his hand high in the air. Abbott raised his more slowly, followed by Steiner and Chang. One by one, each of the department heads raised his or her hand. Littlejohn watched them, then finally joined in the consensus.

  Kosoff broke into a reluctant smile. “What the hell,” he said reluctantly as he raised his own hand. “Might as well make it unanimous.”

  * * *

  Noriyoshi Yamagata studied the screen that displayed the results of Brad MacDaniels’s detailed physical examination.

  Miss nothing, he told himself as he sat at his desk, peering intently at the readouts. This young man has exposed himself to the environment of an alien planet. Yes, the planet is Earthlike. But it is not Earth.

  Biological theory stated that the microscopic alien equivalents of bacteria and viruses would not—could not—attack Earthly cells. They are alien, not adapted to feeding on the cells of terrestrial visitors.

  But that is theory, not actual experience, he knew. MacDaniels has lived on that planet’s surface for many days, breathed its air, exposed himself to its native pathogens.

  After several hours of intense scrutiny, Yamagata leaned back in his little swivel chair, almost satisfied. Almost. MacDaniels appears to be in excellent health, he saw. A little underweight, but that is to be expected when his food intake was so restricted. There is no evidence of infection, not a trace of alien microbes invading his body, attacking his cells.

  Good news, he thought. Yet he felt uneasy. Tomorrow a team of twenty men and women is going down to the surface of that alien world. Will the native biosphere be so benign with them?

  Or have I missed something? Something that might kill them all?

  All the available evidence pointed against that unhappy result. Still, Yamagata felt uneasy. All the available evidence might not be all the evidence that exists.

  GROUND TEAM

  With Felicia beside him, Brad stood in the afternoon sunlight, watching the construction robots putting together the prefabricated camp structures that would be their home while the team was on Gamma.

  The robots were humanoid in form, although most of them had four arms that could be fitted with humanlike hands, pincerlike claws, or any number of specialized tools. Their faces had two electro-optical eyes, a set of environmental sensors where a human nose would be, and a speaker grille for a mouth. But they reminded Brad of oversized ants, not mechanical humans; tirelessly busy, assembling the single-story buildings with single-minded automated efficiency: living quarters, offices, laboratories, dining hall, communications center. Off to one side stood the beginnings of a garage. No more trudging out to the village on foot, Brad said to himself. I wonder what the Gammans will think of our self-propelled ground cars?

  Turning to Felicia, he said, “We can ride out to the village before the sun goes down.”

  “But the mission plan doesn’t include visiting the village until our base is finished,” she replied.

  Nodding, Brad said, “The robots will finish the base whether we’re here or not. I want to get back to the village, show them that we haven’t forsaken them.”

  “You should get Dr. Littlejohn’s approval, then.”

  Grasping her wrist, Brad replied, “Okay, let’s go find him.”

  Littlejohn was in the room that would be his office; it looked bare, raw, new. But the anthropologist was already at h
is desk, reporting to Kosoff up in the orbiting starship.

  “… construction is proceeding on schedule. We’ll sleep under the new roofs tonight and get down to work tomorrow.”

  Standing in the office’s doorway, Felicia and Brad saw Kosoff’s three-dimensional image sitting behind his desk, as usual.

  “That’s fine,” said Kosoff. “Everything is on schedule, then.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Littlejohn, with a satisfied smile.

  Brad held Felicia at the doorway. “Don’t interrupt them,” he whispered.

  As if he’d heard Brad’s words, Littlejohn’s eyes flicked to the doorway, then returned their focus to Kosoff. “MacDaniels is here now, Professor. He’s just stepping into my office.”

  With Felicia trailing behind him, Brad walked toward Littlejohn’s desk. Once he stepped into Kosoff’s view, the professor said, “I suppose you’re anxious to get back to your villagers.”

  “Yes, sir, I am. I’ve been away more than two days now; I don’t want them to think that I’ve abandoned them.”

  Unconsciously scratching at his beard, Kosoff said, “You’ve got to stop thinking of yourself as some kind of messiah, Brad.”

  Astonished at the idea, Brad blurted, “Messiah? Me?”

  “Power corrupts,” Kosoff warned. “Remember that.”

  Shaking his head, Brad replied, “All I want to do is to help those people. They need our help—”

  “Thanks to your interfering with them.”

  Brad held on to his swooping temper. He doesn’t understand, he told himself. He just doesn’t understand.

  “Sir, no one can unscramble an egg. We’re down here to help the Gammans survive. That’s what I intend to do.”

  Kosoff muttered, “Just remember, you’re the one who scrambled this particular egg in the first place. The responsibility for the aliens’ survival rests on your shoulders.”

  Brad pressed his lips together and remained silent. Yet he thought, The responsibility is mine. But will you let me have the authority I need to get the job done?

  * * *

  Once Littlejohn ended his discussion with Kosoff and cut the connection, Brad told him that he wanted to visit the village before the sun went down.

  Glancing at his desktop digital clock display, the anthropologist said, “There’s less than three hours of daylight left.”

  “We can make it to the village in fifteen minutes or so in one of the ground cars.”

  “We?”

  “Felicia and me.”

  Littlejohn asked, “Why the rush?”

  “As I said to Professor Kosoff, I don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned them.”

  Littlejohn fiddled with the implements on his desktop: stylus, notebook, keypad. At last he looked up at Brad and said, “Kosoff won’t like it.”

  Brad responded, “He put you in charge of the ground team. You don’t have to ask his permission for every move we make.”

  Littlejohn let out an unhappy sigh. But he agreed, “No, I suppose I don’t.”

  “Great! Thanks!”

  Raising a cautionary finger, Littlejohn asked, “You intend to bring your wife with you?”

  “I want to show the Gammans that there are more of us, come to help them.” Besides, he added silently, I want Felicia to see the village.

  RETURN

  The ground car climbed the gently sloping hillside quite easily, its electric motor humming softly. Brad drove it manually, with Felicia sitting beside him.

  The car was open, roofless, although an invisible energy screen shielded its occupants from the weather and would enfold them in unyielding protection to keep them safe from injury in the case of a crash. The two rear seats were empty.

  As they neared the crest of the ridgeline, Brad said, almost to himself, “Nearly there.”

  Felicia glanced at him, then returned her gaze forward. Brad stopped the car just below the top of the ridge.

  “Let’s go the rest of the way on foot,” he said to Felicia as he got out of the car. “We can show them the buggy tomorrow.”

  He came around the car as she got up from her seat and stood beside him. A half-dozen steps and they reached the crest.

  “There it is,” he said.

  In the hollow below them sat the village, just as it had appeared when Brad had first seen it. Buildings arranged in a pair of circles, Gammans coming in from the fields, a few of them leading their six-legged draft animals, a gaggle clustered at the longhouse, as usual.

  Almost in a whisper, Felicia said, “It looks … peaceful.”

  Brad nodded, took her hand, and started down the slope.

  “They all look alike,” Felicia noted. “How can you tell them apart?”

  “Their body markings.”

  “They’re all naked?”

  Brad nodded. “They don’t have any sex. No shame.”

  “Like Adam and Eve before they ate the forbidden fruit.”

  “More or less,” Brad said.

  One of the Gammans shouted, “Look! It’s Brrd.”

  “And someone with him.”

  Felicia touched the earbud of her communications set, adjusting the volume.

  The Gammans stood by the longhouse, staring as Brad and Felicia came down the hillside and approached them.

  “I’m going to introduce you as Fil,” Brad told her. “That’ll be easier for them to pronounce.”

  She nodded, gazing fascinatedly at the tall, cone-headed aliens.

  Brad recognized Mnnx standing at the head of the crowd. And Lnng right beside him.

  “Hello,” he called. “I’m back.”

  They were staring at Felicia.

  “This is Fil,” Brad said as they stopped before the group.

  “Fll,” said Mnnx. The computer translator repeated the sound.

  “Fll is very small,” Lnng said undiplomatically.

  Brad knew that trying to explain sexual dimorphism would be useless to them. He said, “Not all of my people are as tall as I am.”

  “Her fur is longer than yours.”

  Striving to keep a straight face, Brad said, “Yes, that is so.”

  “Your people have many differences, Brrd,” Mnnx said.

  “That’s true,” Brad admitted, realizing that the main difference between one Gamman and another was the pattern of colored splotches on their bodies.

  “Can Fll speak?” Lnng asked.

  “Yes, I can,” said Felicia. “What is your name?”

  “Lnng.”

  “I am Mnnx. I am the village’s Rememberer. You are welcome among us, Fll.”

  “Thank you. I am happy to meet you.”

  Brad glanced up at the sky. Mithra was almost touching the hilltops. Shadows were stretching across the hollow.

  Brad started to say, “We have to return to our own village—”

  The Gammans seemed staggered. “You are returning to your home in the sky?”

  “No, no,” Brad quickly reassured them. “My people are building a village where we can live while we show you how to build a new village for your new Folk.”

  “And how to live through the winter,” Lnng added.

  “Yes, that too,” said Brad. “We’ll return tomorrow, with many more of our people.”

  “You can stay here, with us, Brrd and Fll,” Mnnx offered.

  “That’s very generous of you,” Brad replied, “but it will be better if we return to our own village. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “If that is your wish.”

  The computer’s translation could not convey moods or emotional shadings, but Brad thought he detected sorrow in Mnnx’s words.

  “We’ll return tomorrow,” he promised.

  As Brad and Felicia trudged up the hillside toward their waiting car, she said, “They seem … passive.”

  He nodded. “Right. That’s something we’ll have to teach them about.”

  * * *

  “Look,” said Felicia, as they rode down the hillside to the site of their base
camp. “The whole camp is almost finished.”

  Peering through the deepening shadows of twilight, Brad saw that most of the robots stood lined up to one side of the buildings, inert, their tasks finished. Cars trundled supplies from the shuttlecraft to the buildings. Lights shone through the windows. People moved back and forth; somehow they seemed to Brad to be less purposeful, less intent than the tireless robots.

  In the distance a trio of engineers was inspecting the damaged shuttlecraft that Brad had originally flown in on. Two robots stood behind them, unmoving, waiting for orders.

  He drove up to the building that housed the camp’s offices and saw that Littlejohn was standing in its doorway, waiting for him.

  “You’re right on time for dinner,” Littlejohn called as Brad turned off the buggy’s engine. “How did it go?”

  Climbing out of the car, Brad reported, “They seemed happy to see us.”

  “I’ll bet they were.” Extending his arm toward Felicia, Littlejohn smiled and said, “Let’s go to the dining hall and see what kind of dinner the robots have prepared for us.”

  INTEGRATION

  For three days, Brad introduced the members of the ground team to Mnnx and the Gammans. The aliens seemed to accept the humans without much of a problem, but were startled by the robots.

  “Monsters!” said Lnng, the moment he saw a trio of robots marching down the hillside toward the village.

  “No,” said Brad. “Not monsters. Helpers. Workers. They will help to build the new village.”

  Lnng stared at the robots. Mnnx came up beside him. “If Brad says they are helpers, then there is nothing to fear,” Mnnx said.

  Without taking his eyes off the advancing trio of robots, Lnng asked, “Brrd, are they truly helpers?”

  “Truly,” said Brad. “They will work very hard and help us to build the new village.” And Brad remembered that the very word robot meant worker in some long-forgotten middle European language.

  * * *

  Work on the new village proceeded smoothly enough. Although many of the Gammans obviously felt uneasy about the robots, they soon saw that the machines were doing the work of many men. The new village took form on the far side of the farmland, while most of the Gammans busied themselves plowing new fields and seeding them with food crops.