H. M. Hoover Read online

  Prologue

  There among all possible worlds humanity could have made a fresh start. The planet was untouched and unknown. There was no sign of any previous civilization—no shards, no coins, no ruins, no remains of any technology. But the world was old beyond human comprehension.

  The mountains were worn, the rivers wide and slow. The leaves on the great trees hung limp, not quite dry, brown, yet never falling.

  It was an Earth-type planet. Yet it was not. The stars that lit its nights were stars Earth never knew, stars that wheeled too slowly through the darkness and sank each dawn into sienna seas.

  It had beauty, that world, so much beauty. Sunsets and dawns that flamed cliffs scarlet against the brown mountains, turned billowing clouds pink. Flocks of kalpas flew like calligraphy against the yellow sky.

  In the swamps great browsers moved, unaware of man, indifferent to one another. What man called birds sang no songs— not for human ears. On endless plains vast herds grazed in migrations only dimly understood.

  A primitive world. So still, so patient—dreaming. Almost asleep.

  It was most noticeable in the mountains, this sense of wakeful dreaming. Alien humanity felt most alien there, as if there were quiet sentinels waiting for something to awaken, something of an antiquity almost as old as the mountains themselves.

  There was no water in the mountains, only rock and sparse grass, and small, bright-eyed, furry creatures. They never fled from humans, only watched and called to one another in flute-shrill voices that echoed through the canyons. Only when man came close enough to touch them would the little creatures move away and watch. But with the innocence of the primitive or the pure.

  There were crystals in the mountains, scattered among the stones of long-dry streambeds, perhaps broken free from the vug in which they formed, or leached up from some deep volcanic tube. But they were never found in situ, never part of the living rock. Always free.

  The humans picked them up and kept them. Naturally. For their scientific interest, for their beauty . . . and for their value. They did this out of ignorance but with no malice.

  And the waiting ended.

  I

  SHE WOKE UP ALONE, NOT KNOWING WHAT HAD WAKENED HER, BUT NOT AFRAID. THERE WAS NOTHING TO FEAR. THERE WAS NO OTHER HUMAN FOR FIVE HUNDRED MILES. NO OTHER ANIMAL HERE WAS DANGEROUS. LIGHTNING—SHE REMEMBERED LIGHTNING. THE SKY WAS CLEAR. A FEW STARS WERE STILL VISIBLE OVERHEAD. A DREAM, SHE DECIDED, AND TURNED OVER IN THE SLEEPING BAG.

  The rustle of her movement blurred a sudden foreign noise. She froze, waiting, balanced uncomfortably on her right hip. A stone dug into her arm. Then came a series of ringing thuds, like footsteps descending metal stairs. The hair stood up on her arms, and her heart rhythm tripled.

  The woman was camping in the remains of a ruined cave.

  Roof fallen open to the sky, the cave was a rock pocket in the mountain’s skirt, unique only in that its floor was carpeted with grass because of a spring cupped under the overhang. A waist-high wall of rock blocked the view in all directions except west.

  "Keep walking!” a voice called in the valley below. "Walking! Walking!” the rocks echoed. As quietly as she could, she eased open the sleeping bag and crawled to look over the wall.

  The sky in the east was turning yellow. It was still dark in the valley. She could hear the stone-scuff of people moving and what sounded like a woman’s urgent whisper, but she could see no one. Dry air and mountains do strange things with sound and with imagination. She picked up her camera, switched it to night lens, and aimed at the sound. The footsteps became faster and broke into a run.

  A pencil-thin light beam drew a straight blue-white line across the darkness. Once, twice, and twice more. A light so bright that, when it was gone, linear images ghosted her retinas. She heard something soft and heavy fall, rocks chinked together, then silence.

  The silence was broken by a vot calling its constant question. Its cohorts, disturbed now, echoed, "Vot? Vot?” from their burrows, sounding like a volley of popping champagne corks. She imagined them, alarmed, soft and furry, big eyes shining in the dark, and felt protective of them.

  The alien whine of an electric motor stilled the vots. Looking toward the source of sound, she saw for the first time the faint outline of an aircraft parked on the valley floor. Its running lights were off. There came the cushioned thud of a hatch closing.

  The motor’s whine increased in pitch. The craft lifted slowly, like a great black ray from the ocean floor, until it hovered above the surrounding mountains, then suddenly shot away to the north. A wave of cold wind washed back across the peaks and died away. Silence returned. In the stillness the vots hesitantly began to question the happening. No more than five minutes had passed since she had been awakened.

  All her awareness had been focused on listening and seeing. Her body, crouched in an awkward position, began to tremble. With effort she stood erect, then abruptly sat down on the sleeping bag, knees shaking. Seeing the craft had made her forget. She had been witness to murder.

  A long, high-pitched wail of human pain arched up from the valley. It echoed to diminishing whispers of "Oh’s.” The woman caught her breath with fear. The vots stopped calling, too. The cry was not repeated. But someone was still alive down there, probably hurt. The woman pulled on a pair of boots, felt among her possessions for her medikit, and then, as an afterthought, her handgun and torch.

  There was a natural path from her camping spot, a narrow ledge that wound around until it met another outcropping that formed a switchback down to the sloping valley wall. It was easy going, just light enough now to see the edge. Far-distant mountains were glowing red. High clouds caught the sunlight with orange. Halfway down the second ledge she stopped.

  The craft had landed over there. In daylight weight marks would be visible. From the sounds, the victims had walked west up the slope, this way. As she stood there in the stillness of half-light, it seemed to her that she was being watched. Strain as she might, she could see no one. She kept weapon in hand as she walked on, soft boots whispering on the stone.

  The torchlight found them about fifty feet down from the ledge. The man lay eagle-spread, eyes open to the sky; the woman on her side, one hand beneath her cheek as if she had curled awkwardly into sleep over a very large boulder.

  An inch-wide white streak slashed across the woman’s black hair. She knelt and gently touched it. The ashes powdered beneath her finger, and she saw the laser’s stripe continued down across the left side like a lethal brand. In this light she couldn’t see where the man had been hit. She leaned across and put her fingers on his brown wrist. As she did so, someone whispered, "You can’t help them. They’re dead.”

  II

  THE WHISPER CAME FROM NOWHERE. THE WOMAN, HEARING IT, DID NOT MOVE, BUT HER EYES SEARCHED THE SHADOWS AROUND HER. AND SAW NOTHING. IT WAS THE WHISPER OF A CHILD OR YOUNG WOMAN; SHE WASN’T SURE WHICH. IT WAS THE VOICE THAT HAD CRIED OUT IN PAIN. “ARE YOU HURT?”

  Silence.

  "Where are you? Are you . . . alone?”

  After a moment she thought she could hear crying. But then she wasn’t sure. But if it was a child, a child who had witnessed this ... “I won’t hurt you. My name is Dr. Leslie. Theodora Leslie . . . I’m a biologist. I’m out here on a research project . . . I’ve been alone out here for a month. . . .”

  No response. Even the vots remained silent. Dr. Leslie eased her weight from one ankle to the other, but carefully, as a stalking animal would move in order to keep from alarming its prey. The mountain behind them was a massive blackness against the morning, the valley still in its shadow.

  "If you won’t tell me who you are, perhaps I can find out for myself,” the woman said. As gently as possible she searched the victims’ pocke
ts for identification. There was none. Nor did they wear any jewelry or sign of class or rank. The only thing on each body was their white coverall suits. The watcher would be unarmed.

  There was no point in wasting any more time. "Whoever you are, you are being foolish. If you’ve been shot too, you should have medical attention now before the pain becomes too severe. If you’re frightened . . . well, you are frightening me. I’m going back to the camp and signal the research base.”

  "Don’t! They’ll know you saw them!”

  Theo swung the light toward the cry. From behind a slab of sandstone a figure in green emerged, hesitated, and then came slowly toward her in the cone of light. It was a half-grown girl in what seemed to be green pajamas.

  "If you tell them, they’ll just come back and kill us too.”

  "Who will?”

  "They will. They’ve been fighting. Some people were killed before. ...” She looked down and saw the bodies and fell silent.

  Theo quickly moved the light away and chided herself for her thoughtlessness. If this was their child . . . but whose child? She knew they were from the administration base. She had recognized the Executive Commander’s aircraft. "Let’s go up to my camp. We can talk up there. You’re not wounded, are you?” She crossed the boulders to where the stricken child stood and was going to put her arm around the girl to comfort her. But that seemed condescending. So instead she held out her hand and said, "Come. It’s this way.”

  The girl ignored the hand. "I’ll follow you,” she said.

  It was almost daylight by the time they reached the little camp. Theo found the sight of it oddly reassuring, as if she had been away a long time and was glad to return safely home to familiar household objects. To achieve some added sense of normality

  she flicked on the little camp stove and set a pan of water on to

  boil for coffee.

  The child hung behind and watched, obviously not sure trust was in order. Theo could understand that.

  "You can sit on my sleeping bag if you like,” she said, "and maybe you could tell me your name?”

  "Karen Orlov.” The child looked as if this name should be

  instantly familiar.

  Theo sat down. Simon and Elizabeth Orlov were second in rank only to the Expedition Commander. Karen’s statement that there was fighting now took on a new meaning. "It must be mutiny. Who is fighting whom? Why?”

  Karen shrugged. "I’m not sure. It started last week. The Commander tried to stop it. He started curfews and searching people for weapons. ... I think he’s dead too by now. . . .”

  "What started the trouble?”

  "Some of them want to go home—or anyplace. Just to get away. The others—”

  "Away from what?” Theo interrupted.

  "From being afraid.”

  "What are they afraid of?”

  "Just being here, I guess. I don’t know.” Karen stared off into the dawn. "It’s as if they all got sick with fear. It starts with them not wanting to get out of bed in the morning . . . they just

  want to lie curled up under their covers. ...”

  "Were you afraid—before last night—or before the fighting started?”

  "No. But I never told anybody. My parents were afraid, too. I

  didn’t want anybody to think—are you afraid ?”

  "No,” said Theo. "Not like that.”

  And the girl suddenly rewarded her with a slight smile and nodded. "I guess you couldn’t be too scared. Not and be here alone. Why are you?”

  "Because the same phenomenon is affecting all three of our bases. As a biologist, I’m trying to find out if there is any living creature here that is fear-inducing to humans.”

  "Is there?”

  "Only other humans.”

  That remark seemed to depress both of them. Theo put powdered coffee in the pot and recalled that she had only one cup. But then she hadn’t expected guests. She dug a specimen jar out of her pack. It would do nicely. She gave the girl a cup of coffee that was half milk liberally sweetened and absent-mindedly drank her own coffee black while she prepared breakfast for two. It was a bit confusing, having to consider a second person’s needs after being alone for a month, she explained. The breakfast was hardly gourmet stuff.

  It was hard for her to keep her mind on cooking. The events of the past hour all got jumbled with one big question—what was she going to do ?

  To gain perspective, she forced herself to consider matters logically. She was officially an employee of the Aurora Corporation, which was a consortium of five major financial interests: Intergalactic Corporation of the Americas; Lunar Ltd.; Space Enterprises of Palus; Ringworld I; and Big Wheel Ventures, representing the Earth’s moon and colonial corporations from the Li, L3, and L5 regions respectively. Run on a paramilitary basis, the Aurora Corporation researched worlds with a view to human colonialization and development of all profits those worlds might offer. There was nothing to reassure her there.

  On the world they named Eridan, the Corporation had established three bases along the coast of the planet’s ocean: Base One, the administration and living colony research center; Base Two, for agricultural research; and Base Three, the science base to which she herself was attached.

  An average distance of three hundred miles separated one base from the next, that distance between them intended as a contamination barrier. But now the same problem affected all bases, this strange fear that had threatened to abort the entire expedition when she first came out here. Obviously that had changed only for the worse.

  Discipline, morale, and tranquilizers had been keeping order at Base Three, but then, she reminded herself, she had been out here a month. What could have happened in her absence? She didn’t know. Perhaps the madness of fear had created mutiny and murder there, too? Perhaps Base One personnel had taken over. Perhaps she was to be left alone out here with this child. . . . "You would survive,” some still center of her mind assured her.

  And she would. She was dark-haired and slender, but her walk gave the impression that she felt at home on almost any world. Although by Earth’s time she was young, she had seen worlds so strange and creatures so bizarre that they shocked human sensibilities. Now nothing perceived was quite alien to her green eyes, and while much delighted her, few things frightened or even surprised her. She was in her own way rather beautiful.

  She decided they would have to leave here, get at least forty miles away before she could safely signal for help. Since she did not know who was now in charge of the Expedition and of her base, it would not be wise to let it immediately be known that she had been a witness to murder. Or to be found in the place where that murder had occurred. She could always say she had found the Orlov child wandering in the mountains, which was unlikely, but then meeting her on an expedition was also.

  Karen was eating her hot protein cereal like a good child. She obviously did not enjoy it, but she was far too polite to say so. Theo tasted hers. It was awful. She’d forgotten to salt it. "Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, handing the salt to the girl.

  "I thought maybe that was how you always cooked,” said Karen. "I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  Theo grinned. The kid had character.

  She was also too calm for her own good.

  "I’ll mix you some powdered juice. You’ll like that better.”

  "I’m not hungry.”

  "It’ll be small. I think you need a little.”

  Karen made a face when she tasted the stuff and then drank it as quickly as possible, politely. It was bitter. When she had swallowed the last of it she set the cup down. "You put a drug in there, didn’t you?”

  "Yes. With any luck you will soon go to sleep for a few hours.” The girl eyed Theo for a moment, as if calculating her own helplessness against this unknown person. "O.K.,” she said, "it doesn’t really make much difference now anyhow. Nothing will have changed when I wake up.”

  "Perhaps not,” admitted Theo, a bit shaken by this stark attitude,
"but you’ll be rested. And maybe things won’t look quite so bleak.”

  Karen made no answer but stretched out on the sleeping bag and turned her face toward the wall.

  III

  THEO BURIED THE DEAD ALONE. USING A SMALL FOLDING SHOVEL, IT TOOK HER MOST OF THE DAY. TO FIND A SANDY SPOT WHERE SHE COULD DIG WAS A PROBLEM AMONG THESE ROCKS. BEFORE MOVING THE BODIES, SHE PHOTOGRAPHED THEM AS THEY LAY. SOMETIME, SOMEHOW, SOMEONE WOULD COME TO TRIAL FOR THESE DEATHS. SHE HAD NEVER REALIZED HOW MUCH WORK IT WAS TO BURY A BODY. HARD MANUAL LABOR—WITHOUT COUNTING THE EMOTIONAL COST.

  By the time she had finished stacking the small cairn of rocks above the grave, she was totally exhausted and it seemed a long, long way back up the mountain to her camp.

  The child was still asleep when she got there. She noted that the effect of the sedative in the fruit juice had worn off; the sleep was normal, the jaws no longer clenched; respiration was deep and slow. She studied the face; even in sleep it lacked the innocence she somehow expected in a child. It was a good face—high brow and cheekbones, the small nose almost elegant, the mouth wide and well shaped—and she wondered what life would do to it. If life had a chance to do anything. Well, it would if she could help it. Like it or not, that life depended on her now. That thought gave her the necessary energy to go take a bath in the pool.

  It was a bath hurried by an unexpected shyness on her part. After a month alone, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of a stranger seeing her naked.

  She was fixing supper when she became aware that the other mind was awake. Glancing away from stirring the freeze-dried stew, she saw those dark eyes watching her. She smiled a greeting but said nothing. Neither did the child. The girl lay and watched the pellets that would become rolls plunked into hot water to rise, the vitamin juice being mixed, the coffee powder measured into one cup, milk into another.

  "My parents never cooked,” Karen said unexpectedly. It was a statement, not boasting. "If we didn’t have autoservers, someone else did it for them.”