Twice Forgotten
The message drone had been orbiting the planet for more than a century. It was in a geostationary orbit, so it had been interminably gazing down on the same quadrant of the surface. Fortunately, it didn’t suffer from boredom like some organisms do, though part of it was organic. When the Interplanetary Survey Ship James Lovelock entered its own orbit around the planet the drone detected the ship and with numerous bursts of its attitude jets butted its way alongside. It was soon scooped up by the much larger planetary exploration vessel.
“What’s that, Murph?” the short, squat exobiologist was performing the exercises designed to rehabilitate the body after several decades of hypersleep. Murphy was holding a silver message strip which was suspended in a liquid-filled phial. The phial was coated in frost crystals.
“It’s a message,” he said.
“A message? From whom?”
His friend and fellow exobiologist Murphy was puzzled. His brow furrowed, “Dunno.”
Greenspan performed the yoga movement known as a sun salutation. “Oh, God, why do we have to go through this?” he groaned.
“We need to, I guess,” said Murphy.
“You never complain, Murph. Doesn’t it hurt when you do this stuff? Sometimes I think my tendons are going to snap, but you never complain. Actually, Murphy, it’s really annoying that you don’t complain. It’s like you’re mocking me.” Greenspan was irritated.
“Spanny, I promise to complain next time I do my exercises, okay? Meanwhile we have received a message that seems to be from a First Footer team who previously visited this planet,” Murphy replied.
Greenspan, who was on all fours and attempting to grasp his left ankle with his right hand, grunted. “Aren’t we supposed to be the first First Footer team to visit?”
Murphy put the message strip and player down on a convenient surface which happened to be the cover of the First Footers bible entitled Darwin’s Blueprint. Of course it wasn’t a real book; society had given those up centuries before, but a very good facsimile given to the pair on graduation.
“Yup, supposed to be.” An hour later the two exobiologists, showered and changed, sat opposite each other in the meal alcove of the tiny day room of the ISS James Lovelock. The message strip and reader lay on the table between them.
“I always think it’s amazing that you can get a shower from just one cup of water.” Greenspan said.
“Yes, it’s amazing,” replied Murphy who really wasn’t that impressed with the blizzard of tiny water droplets that issued from the atomiser in the shower. Showers lasted for just twenty seconds which was enough to clean him thoroughly, but not nearly long enough for him to sort out his thoughts. Ship-board showers always left him feeling uneasy and irritable.
“Are you ready to receive the message?” he asked.
“Ready when you are,” Greenspan replied. The message phial which the drone had disgorged wore an engraved hologram of a winged foot orbiting a planet, the symbol denoting that it was from the Guild of Exobiologists colloquially known as First Footers. Murphy inserted the phial into the reader which sucked it into its innards with an audible hiss. Various lights flashed around the base of the reader before it projected a beam of blue light and within it a tiny holographic image of a man on a horse.
“What the hell is that?” asked Greenspan.
“It’s a horse, Spanny,” said Murphy.
“Yes, I know it’s a horse, I recognise it from the catalogues. What I meant was, what is a man on a horse doing in a message?”
“He’s not a man, he’s a knight,” Murphy said.
The tiny holographic man was dressed in chain mail and brandishing a broadsword. He rode his tiny mount up and down the table before wheeling and making the horse rear up on two legs while saluting the two exobiologists. They watched the display with bemused expressions.
“There’s something familiar about this, Murph,” Greenspan said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but this seems like something I’ve seen before. Who is the message from?”
“It’s from you,” his partner replied.
The conversation missed a beat. Finally, Greenspan exclaimed, “It’s from me? How do you know?”
“Look at the man on the horse.”
Greenspan peered minutely at the image on the table. The man dressed as a knight riding the horse was Greenspan in miniature. And then as if to prove the point, the tiny Greenspan spoke, using a remarkable facsimile of the exobiologist’s real voice, “This is your test. Excel and you will be immortal.” Then after a pause, “Welcome to Heaven.”
Greenspan may have had an unusually dominant inner child, but his easy manner and infectious smile obscured the fact that he had an IQ of 153. A psychologist would have suggested that the intelligence and the mild manner were directly related – it was a disguise intended to deflect criticism, to make him seem harmless.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
“Let’s go where?” replied Murphy.
“I think we should leave, Murph, leave orbit and blast off to an unsurveyed and uncomplicated planet where we can do our jobs without someone or something playing mind games with us. In any case, if someone has already been here, then we’re redundant as far as this place is concerned.”
“We can’t leave, Spanny.” Murphy half turned around and drew himself a cup of coffee from the spigot in the kitchen alcove. “You know that. It’s the Oath.”
Greenspan shrugged in acceptance of the inevitable. Then he got down to making the best of things. “Okay, as I see it we have three things to solve,” said Murphy. “First, who left the message drone for us to find. Two, how did these people know that it would be us to be the next to arrive? And three, what’s the significance of the knight?” “And four, why should anyone say that this planet is worthy of being called Heaven?” added Greenspan.
The port hole showed an Earth-like planet turning serenely. Murphy thumbed through the advisories until he came to the one referring to their current task: the survey of the planet OR 2317/3.
“Okay, it’s your turn to name the planet, Murph,” said Greenspan continuing the game they played every time they arrived at a new classification coordinate.
“Ok, I name this planet Mystery,” said Murphy. “May they be blessed, all who visit her.”
Greenspan grunted his approval and both of the exobiologists raised imaginary glasses in a futile toast. They both knew that the Committee for Planetary Nomenclature would name the planet entirely differently, giving precedence to the chairman’s cat before acknowledging those who had actually surveyed the planet. But any name was better that OR 2317/3.
Another hour passed while they despatched probes to the planet’s atmosphere. These would sniff the air, look out for life forms if there were any, taste the plants, again if there were any and generally assess whether it was safe to allow the two exobiologists to do what they were trained for – first footing on unexplored planets that scientists had believed might be a worth a second look. As the first look consisted of an automated spectroscopic analysis of light detected by an orbiting telescope several light years away, the work of the First Footers was pivotal to the human exploration of space. It was also extremely dangerous, lonely and quite poorly paid. All First Footers kept bank accounts on various planets. The holiday planet Frolic was a particular favourite of First Footers. They returned every thirty years or so to spend the accumulated interest which was occasionally massive. The banks didn’t seem to mind too much. Why would they? After depositing a few hundred thousand, many of the investors never showed up again.
Greenspan was monitoring the read-outs that repeated the information that the probes sent from the planet’s surface. “Okay, they’re coming in now, Murph.”
Murphy was monitoring another bank of dials a few feet away, “Yup,” he said.
An hour later, again sitting at the fold-out table in the meal alcove, the two swarthy exobiologists compared notes. “Oxygen 21%, Nitrogen 78%, traces of methane, argon, carbon dioxide, neon. Does any of this sound familiar?” Murphy looked up from the print-out.
He continued, “The planet masses 5, 9736 times 10 to the 24th, its surface area is a shade over 510 million square kilometres, 71% of which is water; there are extensive ice sheets. Plenty of mountain ranges so there’s tectonic activity, and there are tides as you would expect with a major satellite. What have you got, Spanny?”
“Okay, I’ve got plant life, dicots, monocots and I have chlorophyll-based organelles - photosynthesis. Flowering plants, no sign of pollination vectors yet. There’s no flight either - oh, wait, there are beetles, birds and bees. There are numerous species of megafauna, too. No sign of sentient natives yet, but the data is still coming in. It’s funny, but if I didn’t know better I could swear that this is another…” Greenspan trailed off, looking at his colleague.
Murphy completed the thought for Greenspan, “…Earth.” “And if so, and judging by the ice sheets and very large animals roaming down there we seem to have arrived around the end of the Pleistocene period,” responded Greenspan wryly.
Earth was a legend among humans. When the first colony ships left for deep space in the 2990’s, many parts of Earth had been uninhabitable for centuries. What scientists had been warning the population about since the late 20th century came true very, very slowly, but just as inevitably as they had predicted.
The people who left Earth on the first massive colony ships led a mass exodus that over the next two decades emptied the planet of nine tenths of its population, already depleted to less than a billion. These were the people who ran the ships; the colonists though, would never see the planet they had left behind. The reason they had no first hand knowledge of their home was that they were loaded onto the ships as millions of fertilised eggs. They were gestated and delivered, nursed and weaned in vast nurseries when they arrived at their destinations. Known colloquially as the Swarm, this wave of colonists spread slowly through the galaxies, each embryo colonist carrying in his genes the memory of a sun-blessed planet teeming with life and growth. Most of them would spend their lifetimes trying to recreate it, or find another one. It was an impossible dream; although planets like Earth abounded in the universe, not one was close enough to have been reached by the Swarm. Not until now.
“Like to go down and have a look, Spanny?” said Murphy enthusiastically.
“No,” Greenspan replied.
Two hours later, pre-flighted, suited and provisioned Murphy and Greenspan sat in the landing craft that would take them to the planet’s surface below. The orbiting sphere was wreathed in cloud and quite beautiful to the two men who had grown up on the tapes of Earth, many of them recorded by visitors to the International Space Station over a thousand years before.
“Where do you want to go, Spanny?”
“Surprise me,” came the reply.
“Oh, that’s guaranteed,” Murphy said, laughing.
The landing craft was spat out of the belly of the much larger exploration vessel and immediately pointed its nose at the large land mass that rotated into view. Automatics took care of the entry, so Murphy and Greenspan had nothing to do but look out of the port holes. They had done this hundreds of times before, but neither could conceal their curiosity, craning their necks for the first glimpse of the surface. Eventually, the craft broke through the clouds and revealed the majesty of a frozen world beneath them.
“That ice sheet is one kilometre thick according to the radar. Do you remember your Pleistocene glaciology, Murph?”
Greenspan had put aside his reluctance to visit the surface. Murphy hated it when his fellow crew member acted the smarty-pants.
“No,” he replied with a resigned expression on his face. He knew that Greenspan loved this stuff and could pull facts out of his prodigious memory almost without pause. He also loved to perform which occasionally made his presence almost unbearable. Murphy had learned to live with it.
“Okayyyy,” Greenspan began. Murphy resigned himself to a lecture from his colleague and looked disconsolately out of the window.
“Now, “Greenspan commenced with some relish, “If Mystery is really similar to Earth then we’ve arrived at the beginning of an interglacial which as you know is a period of warming in between glaciations. No one has ever worked out what’s responsible, but many theories include Milankovitch Cycles which are fluctuations in the amount of insolation…”
“Spanny, I think I’m going to kill myself,” interrupted Murphy. “As there is no known method of making you stop, the only way I can think of to relieve the pain of listening to your lecture is for me to leave your presence permanently. What method would you recommend?”
Murphy realised too late that he’d just provided a prompt for yet another lecture from his erudite colleague. He buried his head in his hands.
But instead of continuing, Greenspan exclaimed, “Wow, look at that!”
Below the landing craft, the gleaming ice sheet had thinned out. Large lakes appeared on the horizon and then swept beneath them as they flew south. More lakes were revealed. It was melt water from the receding ice sheet. Murphy, grateful that Greenspan had been diverted from his purpose, punched in a correction on the lander’s flight console. The vessel slowed and descended to 30 metres. It was a landscape composed almost entirely of what appeared to be tundra dotted with ponds and lakes. Vegetation consisted of moss and stunted bushes; it undulated beneath them, seemingly featureless except for a rocky ridge on the horizon like the rim of an ancient volcano.
The lander flew towards it, the automatic pilot keeping the craft exactly 100 feet above the ground. The nose of the craft tilted slightly upward as it climbed the gently rising face of the ridge. They cleared it and gasped. Spread out below them was a great plain of a luxuriant grass-like herb. Herds of animals grazed at various places on the plain. There were lakes scattered across the plain.
“Recording,” called Murphy to his partner, and activated the video and audio devices. Greenspan had a catalogue open and was thumbing through it.
“Can you slow down, Murph? I think we may have Mystery’s versions of terran mega fauna below us.”
A herd of tusked animals skittered nervously at the sight of the lander. Murphy brought the lander to a halt and hovered.
“We have a herd of probiscideans standing some 15 metres at the shoulder,” announced Greenspan. “And another herd of what appears to be tapirs,” he added. “Gee there are a lot of species here. A herd of stag moose – whoa, those are big babies – a large herd of giant beavers on the shore of the big lake.”
Murphy interrupted, “Any predators?” It was a prescient question.
A shadow swept across the meadow. The shadow was very large and the animals below instinctively closed up, ignoring species differences in the desperation to seek protection.
“There’s something big coming in,” said Greenspan.
The shadow materialised into a flying object the size of a small plane. It swept low over the herds now milling about in panic and lazily extended two huge clawed feet. It picked up one of the juvenile giant beavers with relative ease and flapped away into the distance.
“What the hell was that?” exclaimed Murphy.
“According to the manual, that was Mystery’s version of Aiolornis incredibilis, I surmise – the giant condor, one big raptor. Wingspan of 5 metres, weight about 40kg, though that one seemed a lot bigger. Makes you wonder what else there is, doesn’t it?” Greenspan seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Any big cats, Spanny?”
“Can’t see any.” Greenspan turned towards his partner, hunched over the control console. “Why don’t you come over and look for yourself? Maybe you’ll find your big cats and maybe even what you’re really looking for.”
Murphy went to the viewing screen opposite where his partner was seated. He grunted, unwilling to acknowledge what Greenspan was referring to. Dusk was beginning to brush the plain with shadows. Herds of mega fauna were melting into the dusk. The two exobiologists became extra alert as the killing hour began, but it was almost completely dark before there came the sound of animals fleeing in terror, monitored by the microphones on the hull. Mega fauna make a lot of noise when they move. Murphy had switched to infra-red an hour before and the plain was vividly illuminated. It was the mammoth-like probiscideans that had spooked and were now lumbering towards one of the lakes. There was no sign of what was pursuing them. Or what would dare pursue them, thought Greenspan.
Greenspan went over to where his colleague was sitting disconsolately, gazing at the monitor. “They may not be here, Murph. They don’t have to be here, according to the Blueprint. Sure, somewhere on Mystery there are dominant predator species, but they may not be sentient.”
“They’re here, Spanny, and we have to find them,” Murphy said. “I know they’re here. This is Earth, isn’t it?” Greenspan sighed.
“It’s not Earth, old friend; it’s a planet like Earth. There may be sentient beings that live here, but they’re unlikely to be like us, or make the same mistakes. I know the Blueprint postulates primates, but when you think of all the permutations that could arise on a planet like this, the odds of a homo sapiens or neanderthalensis are pretty remote.”
The exobiologists subsided into silence, brooding on their own thoughts. Both of them felt that there was something strangely familiar about their visit to Mystery. They fell asleep chewing on it in the hope that their hindbrains would have the solution when they awoke in the morning. After eight hours, Greenspan sat up and bumped his head on the bulkhead, but he was too excited to register the pain.
“Murph, we need to get out of this zone and find a forested region. That’s where your sentients will be, if there are any.” Greenspan’s gaze settled on the portholes through which he could see a scrolling landscape. “You figured that out already, didn’t you?”
“Yup, woke up this morning with that very solution. I figure that if we position ourselves in the equatorial region and then circumnavigate the planet we’ll have the best chance of coming across something interesting. We’re travelling slowly though. Don’t want to miss something because we’re flying too fast,” Murphy exclaimed.
Greenspan knew his friend was feeling better. He went to the coffee spigot, “Coffee, Murph?”
“Thanks and croissants, those ones with the apricot jam, please.” Murphy didn’t look up from the console where he was reviewing the night’s recording.
Croissants this morning, thought Greenspan, but he didn’t comment, punching the combination for apricot croissants. The kitchen delivered it and the coffee piping hot. He carried the coffees and the croissants over to the meal alcove, just two steps from the kitchen slot, and placed them on the table.
“Breakfast!” he called.
The vessel was flying low over a range of rolling hills. The ice had been left behind in the north and the biome had changed from tundra to boreal and now temperate. There were forests of trees that were not dissimilar to those of Earth. And everywhere herds of animals grazed on the ground vegetation. Greenspan longed to get a sample – surely it couldn’t be grass, he thought.
“I got a sample while you were asleep,” Murphy said. “It’s not grass, more like some species of Pteridophyta - ferns. It’s over there.” Murphy indicated a plastic cube on the dissection bench.
“You landed! Murph, you landed without waking me up?”
“I sent a probe. Do you think I’m crazy, landing with those giant condors everywhere. There are several species of them, by the way, and at least one is nocturnal according to the overnight tapes. We’re going to need some sort of weapon when we leave the lander.” Murphy had recovered his optimism overnight, but he’d taken leave of his senses, thought Greenspan.
“We’re leaving the lander? When are we leaving the lander?”
“Just as soon as we find the sentient species, Spanny.” “And what are we going to do, invite them to dinner and tell them what a lovely world they inhabit and how important it is that they should look after it?” asked Greenspan. Then he added, “We should talk about this, Murph. We’re biologists, First Footers, we’ve sworn to investigate and classify life forms and assess planets on the basis of their suitability for human habitation, nothing more. We may not exploit resources for personal gain, or seek to profit from information we acquire, or supply information to any individual or company so they can profit. Everything we learn goes to to the Guild who then gives it to Migration and Settlement. It’s up to them to decide what to do.”
“Do you trust them?”
“Who, Migration and Settlement? No, but I trust the Guild.”
“You know what happened to Earth, don’t you? Human beings managed to make it uninhabitable within thirty thousand years, give or take a millennium. We destroyed most of the wildlife, cut down the forests, exterminated at least one competing species, honeycombed the crust with mines, polluted the atmosphere, changed the climate, enslaved minorities, impoverished whole continents and finally left when there was nothing remaining to exploit. Is that what you want to happen here?” Murphy’s jaw was thrust aggressively in his partner’s direction.
“That’s progress, Murph and in any case, how do you stop them?” Greenspan asked.
“I don’t know. I just want to find them, then I’ll think of a solution.” Murphy stopped looking at the recording of the night’s events and started sipping his coffee. He took a bite of his croissant; apricot jam squirted onto his coverall.
They were travelling so slowly it took another day and night to reach the equatorial region. On the way they crossed two minor mountain ranges and a significant one with peaks shrouded in cloud. They also traversed an ocean and spotted several species that on Earth, the real Earth, would have startled the marine biologists. Most of them were big and one was gigantic, twice the size of a Blue Whale, air breathers. There was another marine species that aroused their interest. These were smaller, about the size of Earth dolphins. Greenspan hovered the lander over the creatures so Murphy could get some shots. As if at some signal, the entire shoal rolled on one side and looked up at them while they hovered. It was a sea of eyes in an ocean of blue bodies.
“Maybe the intelligent life is all in the oceans, Murph,” Greenspan said.
Murphy just grunted, and then chuckled. “Did you pack the snorkels?”
Eventually a thin line of gold appeared on the horizon which resolved itself into a coastal fringe of wide, sandy beaches on which surf crashed. Then they were travelling over coastal scrub that slowly changed to forest dotted with clearings. Unlike the temperate regions, there was little sign of animal life, though conditions seemed perfect, lush and fertile. The trees consisted of five or six species with one variety that predominated, a tall specimen which soared twenty-five metres into the air. It had large compound leaves growing in a clump from the top of the branchless trunk. On closer inspection the leaves were composed of needles. Purple cone-like fruit dangled from some of them. Murphy called them pine-palms.
“We’ll need years to even catalogue the principal species, Murph,” Greenspan said. “And that’s just the land dwellers. I wonder where they are, by the way?”
“We’re going to have to land eventually. We can’t fly around all day and night,” Murphy said. “We’ll drop some bio swabs and make up a broad spectrum inoculation. We’ll arm the velo with compressed air tubes, okay?”
“Okay,” Greenspan said reluctantly. “I’d like to take another week to assess things, but…” Greenspan shrugged. “We haven’t even begun to unravel the mystery of the message yet either.”
“I know, Spanny, I know. Will you let me run with this for a little longer? I’m drawing something towards me, like a nugget on a string, or perhaps it’s a grenade on a thread.”
“Sure,” replied Murphy’s partner and that was all that had to be said.
Murphy grinned at Greenspan who patted his colleague on the shoulder. The evening found Greenspan reviewing the infra red images of the clearing below. The picture on the monitor showed a herd of horned animals grazing serenely. It was difficult to get a sense of scale until one of them reared up on its hind legs and began harvesting the cones from a pine-palm. It was one of the shorter specimens of the tree species, but nevertheless showed the grazing animals to be more than 20 metres long.
“Glad we didn’t decide to land, Spanny,” he said. “I’m beginning to wonder if our compressed air crossbow is going to be enough.”
“A brigade of marines and nuclear weapons would be better, I agree,” replied Greenspan, “but in their absence the crossbow will have to do.” He switched off the monitor. “Nothing apart from herbivores; no predators and definitely no sentients. I think we should move the lander. If there was anything vaguely primate-like around here we would have seen it by now, wouldn’t we?”
“Not if they’re smart. They could be reacting to our presence by hiding, most animals will do that,” Murphy offered.
“Isn’t that a learned response, handed down through the generations over millennia when animals first discovered that we were dangerous? Shouldn’t any intelligent species be curious when they encounter another species they’ve never seen before?” Greenspan stroked his chin.
Murphy laughed, “Spanny, when are you going to admit that neither of us are animal psychologists and we don’t know what we’re talking about?” Greenspan laughed, too.
The following morning saw the lander travelling slowly towards a range of low hills. In deference to the large tree eaters they had seen the night before they had increased their altitude to 100 metres. The velo had been fuelled and provisioned for a week’s journey. Now it squatted in the cargo hold, gleaming and ready. Overnight the two exobiologists had improvised and fitted the compressed air crossbow. It was bolted between the handlebars and to aim it the driver aimed the velo; there was a trigger that released the charge of air and fired the crossbow bolt. Reloading was automatic and they had fabricated a magazine that held twenty bolts. Each bolt had an explosive tip. Greenspan couldn’t wait to test it.
He activated the internal speakers of the lander. An aria from Mozart’s The Magic Flute filled the cabin. “Thought you should hear something noble and good made by homo sapiens just before they destroyed the Earth,” he said.
“In fact it was fifteen centuries before, and I don’t think the composer was responsible for destroying the planet,” retorted Murphy.
He tried to ignore the music, but it wasn’t long before he was inspired to fly the lander in looping curves, banking the vessel in one direction, then another so it moved through the air in a kind of aerial dance. It was during one of these extravagant movements that the lander skirted a small hill and happened upon the species they had been looking for.
“Holy shit, Spanny, there they are and they’re being attacked by one of those giant condors!” shouted Murphy who had been snapped out of his reverie by the sight of a dozen quasi humans in a circle around one of the aerial predators they had seen on the first night.
The giant condor or whatever it was stood taller than the natives. Murphy hauled back on the control causing the lander to abruptly cease its forward motion. It reared back and hovered.
“Take it up, Murph, eight hundred metres!” Greenspan screamed from the rear of the cabin. The lander ascended like a turbo lift; when it stopped the natives were specks, only the giant condor was identifiable. As they watched it took off and with ponderous beats of its wings rose in the air. Each wing beat brought it closer to the lander.
“You know, Murph, I don’t think the condor was attacking those natives, I think it was listening to them,” Greenspan said. He squinted out of the porthole at the rapidly approaching raptor. “It’s their version of falconry only with giant birds.” “And they’ve sent it after us. We’re prey, Spanny,” Murphy replied, only half joking.
The giant condor was now above them. Murphy activated the hull cameras just in time to see the bird swoop, talons extended. It appeared huge on the monitors.
“That thing can’t do us any harm, can it?” asked Greenspan just before the lander lurched and there was an audible crunch from above their heads. One of the monitors blinked out.
“We’re three times its size so it can’t compromise our flying ability, but it can sure play havoc with the equipment that’s on the hull. There was another lurch and crunch. Murphy pulled back on the control stick and the lander rose higher, this time on the turbo jets. They rapidly left the raptor far below; it ponderously spiralled upwards, unable to catch them. They ceased their ascent and hovered at five thousand metres. Greenspan pressed for two coffees with cream and sugar.
“Did you get a look at those natives, Murph? They looked humanoid to me, but I only got a glimpse. Four limbs and they wore coverings. Let’s descend and find out more, but after dark, okay?”
“Okay, by me,” replied Murphy with more composure than he actually felt. “The inoculations are ready, so we can venture outside if we wish. Don’t forget that one of the raptor species, maybe all of them, are nocturnal. I didn’t get a good look at the natives either.”
Murphy bent himself to the task of loading the syringes.
Greenspan added, “Are these the sentients you were thinking needed protecting, Murph?” His crewmate said nothing, though a wry smile could have been discerned if he had kept his head raised.
To while away the hours remaining before darkness, the two exobiologists played ‘what if?’ games about the natives with the aim of trying to construct what they may be like. “Neanderthals trained dogs, so did Cro Magnons for that matter, so training birds of prey fits in with sentient beings. But they may not be the ones who end up dominating the planet, Murph. We’ve seen one hominid species, maybe there are more,” said Greenspan.
“How we’re going to communicate with them is what I’m concerned about,” Murphy replied.
“I think they’ve already communicated, Murph. That giant condor was a pretty clear message.” Murphy continued, ignoring his partner, “We have a translator in the computer don’t we? We’ll rig up a remote console on the velo and talk to them.”
“Murph, we’ve never used the translator in the computer because we’ve never discovered a species we thought was worth trying to talk to. We don’t even know if it works!”
“We have a manual, don’t we? You can work it out. I’m going to reduce altitude. That condor has probably gone by now, and we can’t see much from up here.” There were high winds at 5000 metres and they had blown the lander a hundred kilometres from its original position above the natives. Their descent brought down them over the coastal area they had traversed when they had first arrived on the equatorial continent. Dawn arrived as they were descending.
In the early light Murphy and Greenspan could see humanoid figures gathering something from the beach. They did not look up when the lander appeared above them, seemingly absorbed in their task.
“Looks like they're collecting purple seaweed; they eat it I guess. Dietary supplement if it’s like Nova Scotia Dulse. We should get a sample,” Murphy said.
“What the hell is Nova Scotia Dulse, Murph?”
“It’s algae rich in nutrients that the locals used to eat on old Earth. I read a nutrition primer once. It had been scavenged from one of Earth’s last libraries; it was a real book with illustrations and everything. Mostly a lot of old wives’ tales, but it had a few nuggets in it, like Nova Scotia Dulse. If it is a source of organic iodine like the real thing that seaweed could be worth a fortune, Spanny!”
“More money for the Guild,” Greenspan replied wryly. “The locals don’t seem to be eating it. I’m going to set the lander to hover while we take to the velo and go meet our new friends, okay?”
Murphy twisted a dial on the control panel and stepped away. In a moment the gleaming velo bearing the two exobiologists emerged from the lander on purring jets. It settled slowly and glided towards the group of natives. The two exobiologists landed 100 meters from the group and waited. A few of the natives glanced at Murphy and Greenspan; they seemed neither nervous, nor aggressive. They didn’t look all that friendly either, Greenspan noted.
While the two were well versed in the body language of Earthly animals, neither had any idea what responses they should expect. A smile could just as easily be a prelude to an attack as anything else.
“Is the translator turned on, Spanny? How much information does it need to begin translating?” Murphy spoke over his shoulder to his partner behind him. At no time did he take his eyes off of the group of natives.
“The manual said three minutes of conversation would allow the translator to respond. We should be recording this, Murph. This is the first time that anyone has encountered a humanoid species, so far as I know.”
There were two digital cameras affixed to the velo, one set up for close ups, the other for general views. Murphy felt for the button on the velo’s dashboard and turned the cameras on. The natives - Murphy and Greenspan had both simultaneously decided to start calling them Mysterians - had the normal complement of arms, legs, fingers and toes. Their skin was coloured various hues of dark brown, like a bodybuilder’s artificial tan. The most startling feature was their complete absence of hair. Neither the males nor the females had any on their heads and limbs at all, though each of them wore a loose coverall which extended from shoulders to thighs and hid the secret parts of their bodies. Their facial features would have distinguished them on old Earth as Native Americans, but there was a difference caused by the positioning of their eyebrows one centimetre higher on their foreheads than usual among homo sapiens.
“They look surprised to see us, Murph,” said Greenspan delighted by the Mysterians’ odd characteristic.
Murphy grunted. “Keep two eyes out for those condors, Spanny. I’m going to speak to the Mysterians.”
Twisting the throttle he sidled the velo across the beach finally settling it ten metres from the nearest group of natives. The Mysterians stopped gathering seaweed and watched the two visitors.
“That facial characteristic makes it really hard to read them. Everything we do, they just look surprised,” Murphy muttered. Then, much more loudly, he called out to the Mysterians, “Greetings, we are visitors from another planet. Our names are Murphy and Greenspan. What are your names? How are you called?”
The Mysterians began jabbering among themselves; both Murphy and Greenspan really hoped the translator was analysing what they were saying. It sounded like gobbledygook interspersed with clicks and animal noises.
When they stopped talking, Murphy spoke again, “Our planet is very similar to your own. We have some advice and insights that may be of help to you.” Again he spoke to his colleague who sat behind him, “Feel free to jump in here, Spanny, any time you like.”
Taking the cue, Greenspan cupped his hand to his mouth, “What do you call the seaweed you are gathering? Do you eat it? What do you call yourselves? And where are your children?” The last question was spontaneous. Murphy acknowledged the observation with a quick nod of approval.
Again the Mysterians jabbered among themselves. One of them, a female judging by the gracile set to its features, left the group and took two steps towards them. She stopped, still beyond comfortable conversation range and waited.
“I think she’s waiting for us to approach her, “Murphy said.
“I am not getting off the velo, besides the translator is here and I am not leaving that behind.”
“Well, Murph, I’m not staying here,” said Greenspan, swinging a leg over the pillion seat of the velo and standing up.
“Spanny, what are you doing! Get back on the velo!” Murphy was very agitated but did not let go of the velo’s controls. His partner took two steps towards the Mysterian. Four paces still separated them but it was close enough for comfortable conversation.
“My name is Greenspan. My partner is concerned for our safety. We have seen the large birds you command. Do you use them for hunting?”
The Mysterian began speaking gobbledygook and animal noises they had heard before when the translator suddenly cut in. All three were startled by the tinny voice that issued from the speaker on the velo’s dashboard. “…come for the smeltang.” The native indicated the sky with her hand.
All three looked at each other for a moment before Murphy spoke, “We do not understand you. More talk will help the translator learn. Please speak.” Again the tinny voice issued from the velo’s dashboard, but this time it was speaking Mysterian.
The native looked as puzzled as she was able with her eyebrows raised towards her hairline. Once again the Mysterian spoke to them and pointed to the sky, “The birds will come for the smeltang soon. If you wait you will see them.”
Just as she finished speaking another, older native strode onto the beach. He carried a long staff and carried himself with authority. He barked at the Mysterian who was talking to Greenspan and the native practically ran back to the group gathering the seaweed. They stopped harvesting and began scanning the sky.
“Spanny, get back on the velo. I think the giant condors are coming,” Murphy said. As Greenspan was swinging his leg over the velo the air was filled with the sound of beating wings. Four giant condors appeared above the trees and flew rapidly towards them. They were all wearing harnesses. The Mysterian with the staff pointed it dramatically at the approaching birds and uttered a piercing whistling shriek. Then he pointed the staff at Murphy and Greenspan astride on the velo.
“Murph, I believe we should leave immediately. How are you at dog fighting?”
“What?” said Murphy.
“Aerial combat.”
“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.” Murphy half turned and looked at his partner, “Have you?”
“Only in simulation,” replied Greenspan. “That last time on Frolic I spent a week on the simulator. Got pretty good at it, too. Of course, I was flying against planes, not giant birds.”
“That makes you the most experienced pilot on this velo. Swop places with me, Spanny.”
They climbed off the machine and remounted. When Greenspan was in the pilot seat he checked briefly that his partner was mounted and strapped in. Then with a yell of excitement he took off. He was just in time, the condors had their talons extended and were swooping on the pair. The velo wasn’t designed for aerobatics. It felt slow and ponderous after the experience on the simulator. Greenspan’s excitement was replaced with a feeling of apprehension. He experimented with the jets mounted on the side and was rewarded with a sideslip that allowed the velo to narrowly avoid one of the swooping condors. Its talons tore a rip in Murphy’s coverall. He yelled something in Greenspan’s ear.
“What?” shouted Greenspan. Again his partner shouted in his ear.
Greenspan twisted the control grip and just slipped out of the path of two descending condors. The giant birds were now coordinating their attack; all four of them hovered over the velo.
Again Murphy, made frantic by trying to make his partner understand again screamed in his ear. “Boost! Hit the boost!”
Greenspan understood and looked for the control that would increase the velo’s power. There was a lever between his feet. Greenspan jerked it up to the stop. The velo reacted as if it had been stung and squirted away from the four condors. Greenspan laughed as the velo finally behaved like the fighters in the simulator. He was zooming all over the sky, out of control; he pulled the boost lever down to its middle position. The velo slowed, but was still plenty fast enough to outrun the condors.
“Going to try a shot!” he shouted over his shoulder. The velo climbed above the four condors which were beating their wings trying to gain some height. Greenspan lined the velo up on the leading condor and pressed the button that activated the crossbow. There was a loud pop and a bolt hissed towards the condor and struck it on a wing. Then the tip exploded and the condor jerked and fell out of the sky in a cloud of blood. It struck the ground and lay still, an untidy collection of feathers and bones where the group of natives stood watching the aerial battle.
“Shall I do another one, Murph?” Greenspan shouted over his shoulder. His blood was up.
“No,” his partner replied. “they’re being called off.”
The three remaining condors were descending and as the two exobiologists watched they landed near their fallen comrade. The natives milled around them. The velo climbed towards the lander and entered the docking port. The two men climbed ponderously off the machine.
“Well, we tried, Murph,” said Greenspan.
“Yeh,” his partner grinned ruefully. “I don’t feel like trying any more with these bird people. Let’s retrace our steps. Perhaps there’s another sentient species which may be willing to talk to us.”
“And who don’t practice falconry with giant raptors,” added Greenspan. “Before we go we should get a sample of that purple algae, though.”
The two descended after dark and landed. While Murphy monitored the beach, Greenspan slipped out of the lander and gathered a bucket of the purple algae. It was sopping wet and smelled like seaweed, its pungent perfume filled the lander when Greenspan brought it inside. He stuffed it into a sample pouch and sealed it in a storage compartment. They decided to leave immediately and retrace their steps back towards the ice sheet from where they would boost to the James Lovelock. It was a subdued pair of exobiologists that sat in the meal alcove with cups of coffee, no croissants.
“What do you want to do?” Greenspan said to his disconsolate partner. Murphy sipped contemplatively at his coffee.
“We’ll have to report the planet as occupied which will bring in the anthropologists, sociologists, zoologists and all the other ists. You’d never keep the colonists out either, they’d swarm to this place. They’d think it was heaven, paradise anyway. If we didn’t report this or put in a false survey we’d be breaking the oath, which I would do if there was a chance of getting away with it. But someone else has been here. Remember the message?”
“I’m still no closer to working that one out. But coming back to the Mysterians, weren’t you intent on saving them from themselves?” Greenspan said.
Murphy grinned, “Yep, I certainly was.” He laughed and spilled a few drops of coffee on his coverall. He fingered the rip in the garment’s arm and laughed again.
A few hours later found the two exobiologists draining the last drops from a flask of wine. The table was littered with half-eaten energy bars, glasses and dirty coffee cups. Murphy glanced out of the porthole,
“It’ll be dawn in a few minutes, time to grab some sleep.”
Greenspan, red-eyed, decided he’d take a last look out of the port hole, too. They were traversing the large ocean. The dawn light revealed shoaling shapes in the sea.
“Hey, Murph, you remember those dolphins? Well, they’re below us and they’re making shapes in the sea. Geometric shapes: squares, octagons, rhomboids, triangles, hexagons, dodecahedrons, circles. I don’t think dolphins are supposed to do that. I’m stopping the lander.”
Murphy was suddenly wide awake and leaped off his bunk. “I knew there were other sentient beings on this planet!”
Below the lander the sea was filled from horizon to horizon with the dolphin-like creatures they had seen on their outward journey. The shoal continued to form geometric patterns, even managing a crystalline outline at one stage. The creatures occasionally turned on their sides to peer at the lander hovering above them.
“Wow, Murph!” Greenspan was tremendously excited by the performance below them. While he gawked out of the port hole, Murphy prepared to lower a submersible microphone-speaker into the sea. He opened the hatch and started the winch; the microphone speaker array rapidly descended to the surface and then dipped into the sea among the marine creatures. Murphy punched a button and a symphony of whistles, clicks and semi-musical tones filled the lander’s cabin.
Greenspan left his vantage point, “Put it through the computer, Murph. Maybe the translator can make some sense of it.”
For three minutes there was only the sound of the symphony as the translator assimilated the sounds and looked for patterns concordant with human speech. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it was all they had. At last, the speaker on the console in the lander spoke to them.
“Greetings, we are pleased to see that you have returned. We did not expect you, but we are happy anyway. What have you discovered in the time you have been away?”
Murphy and Greenspan exchanged a puzzled look. Murphy gestured to his partner that he should respond.
“We encountered a sapient species similar to our own that hunted with the giant birds that exist on this planet. Our meeting was not very productive and we left to return to our ship.”
“They are an aggressive species and you did well to escape them without injury. They have subdued many of the simian species on this planet; others they have exterminated,” the voice said.
Are they a threat to other life forms such as yourselves,” Greenspan asked and raised his eyebrows interrogatively at the microphone on the console.
There was a pause before the speaker began again, “We are not a simian species, obviously and do not compete directly with the zxxaxz. Some decades ago they discovered the craft of boatbuilding and in our concern we were forced to control them.”
Again Murphy and Greenspan exchanged a significant glance, “Control them?” They said in unison.
There was a pause, “Does this cause you concern?”
“The species bear a resemblance to us and the concept of control has uncomfortable associations for us,” Greenspan said.
“We understand. The control we practise does not involve violence or psychological intervention. We administer a tranquilising substance that interferes with their memory. They forgot how to build boats.”
Greenspan interjected, “Why don’t you erase the memories associated with falconry – those birds are dangerous!” The question was ignored.
“What beings did you encounter on your travels? We are interested in species from other planets. We know that you visit them. We know that it is your task to find homes for others of your species,” the voice said.
The question and statements stunned the two exobiologists, “How do you know this?” asked Greenspan, “Are you telepaths?”
“We are not telepaths. You gave us these facts about yourselves when you visited us many years ago.”
It was Murphy who first recovered from the surprise, “We have no memory of that. We are astonished to learn that you believe you have encountered us before on this planet. Can you give us more information please?”
“You are the species which calls itself homo sapiens sapiens. You destroyed your planet and consequently departed in what you called a Swarm. You search for other planets on which to settle and it is your job to survey possibilities.You are called Dr. Murphy and Dr. Greenspan.”
This time it was Greenspan who recovered his wits first, “How is it that we cannot remember this?”
Murphy jumped in, “And there is no record of our visit in any of our logs, or reports. Nothing at all…,” he tailed off and looked at his partner, an idea dawning on both their faces.
“That message, it really was from me, Murph,” Greenspan whispered.
The dolphin replied, “You asked us for some of the memory-cancelling substance so you could forget your visit. You had sworn an oath that prevents you from withholding information from your superiors. Ethics are laudable, but we suspect that you have been imprinted.”
“You mean brain-washed?” Murphy said, incredulous at the thought.
“We are not certain, but we suspect that is the case, yes.”
The two exobiologists were silent, unable to think of anything but the revelation that had just been given to them.
The dolphin spoke again through the console, “Will you consider staying? We find you interesting and believe that an extended visit would be mutually beneficial.”
Murphy and Greenspan didn’t need to confer. Both their heads shook violently, “No, no thank you,” they said.
The voice from the console sounded disappointed, “It’s a pity to waste such an opportunity for two sentient species to share their knowledge, but…we understand. Will you leave immediately?”
“Yes, immediately. Would you give us sufficient of the memory substance to remove our recollection of our visit here,” said Greenspan.
“You already have enough. We observed you gathering it on the beach last night,” the voice said.
“The purple seaweed!” Greenspan exclaimed.
“Yes, the purple algae. To erase your memory of this visit eat no more of the algae than you can fit in your fist. If you eat more you will erase more of your memory and may lose recollections you would rather conserve. The algae has a mild narcotic effect as well. You will go to sleep and wake up remembering nothing of your visit here.”
“Thank you. By the way, what do you call yourselves?” asked Murphy.
“We are the…” the speaker issued a short burst of music.
The creatures dived, disappearing from the surface. Murphy winched the microphone speaker array back into the lander.
The return to the James Lovelock was uneventful. Megafauna still grazed on the verdant plain near the ice sheet and the two exobiologists flew over it regretting their imminent departure. When they had parked the lander Greenspan retrieved the pouch of purple seaweed and measured out two fist-sized portions as the dolphin had recommended. The remainder was placed in the garbage for destruction, no recycling for this substance. The two exobiologists were uncharacteristically silent as they prepared the ship for departure. This time, as on their previous visit, there were no reports to write no log entries to make, so prepping of the ship was comparatively quick.
“I keep thinking we’re doing something wrong, Murph. I feel strongly that we should write a full report on Mystery and send it off to the Guild as ‘Most Urgent’. I can’t believe we’re going to keep this place a secret,” Greenspan said.
“I wonder how much of that is genuine and how much is conditioning, Spanny. A month after receiving our report, Migration and Settlement would have three or four colony ships en route to this place. The dolphins could distribute as much memory weed as they like, it wouldn’t stop the settlers. They’d change this world.”
“Yes, I know,” said Greenspan disconsolately. “Do you think the Earth could have been saved, Murph?” His partner thought about it for a moment.
“No. We evolved from species that were incapable of living in harmony with their environment. When your only concern is to reproduce and extend your dominion you’re eventually going to become so numerous there can be no sustainability. In following your nature you simply consume all the resources. When they’re all gone you leave in a swarm. The Blueprint says that all species are ultimately like that, have to be to survive.
“So what happens when our dominant species meets another that’s equally intelligent and dominant? How would survival of the fittest work for us?”
“Don’t think about it, Spanny. Eat your seaweed. And no matter how high we get we are not leaving any messages, okay?”
© Christopher Slatter 2012
