“Why? What do you mean?” I asked.
“The cavalry’s a little late.”
Suddenly there was ocean before us again. Behind us, the dwarf-sun sank toward the rim of the planet. The sea was blue and polished and quiet. We rushed toward the darkness.
“That one area,” said Shara, “is probably the only piece of real estate on the planet that has comfortable temperatures. I’ll tell you what I think-”
We never found out because she broke off and squealed and pointed at the screen.
Something in the ocean.
“Can you enhance it?” she asked. “It looks-”
Like a ship.
It wasn’t much more than a wake. The object leaving it was too small to make out.
“Might be a large fish,” said Alex. I tried to get a better picture but it went fuzzy.
“Damn this thing,” he said.
Confirmation came from the Gonzalez, which was, as it approached, able to use its telescopes. I’ll never forget Brankov’s first words: “My God, Alex, they’re alive down there.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Human existence is girt round with mystery: the narrow region of our experience is a small island in the midst of a boundless sea. To add to the mystery, the domain of our earthly existence is not only an island in infinite space, but also in infinite time. The past and the future are alike shrouded from us: we neither know the origin of anything which is, nor its final destination.
- John Stuart Mill,
Three Essays on Religion, 1874 C.E.
Who would have thought?
The Gonzalez ’s sensors and telescopes keyed on the planetary surface, and they picked up images that were relayed to the Lotus. Cities. Bridges and highways.
Harbors and parks. Something that looked like a train arced across a canyon. And I thought I caught a glimpse of an aircraft.
Brankov called again: “There’s an electronic cloud. They’re talking to each other!”
We heard cheering in the background.
I don’t know how to describe the exhilaration of those moments. It almost wiped out my discomfort over the events of the preceding hours. It was a good time. I took a moment to congratulate Alex, to kiss him, and hang on to him in the way sometimes we try to hang on to a special moment, hoping it will never end.
A tidal wave of news broke over us. The Gonzalez picked up video signals, music, voices. I tried to get some of it directly using the yacht’s equipment. The sky was filled with traffic.
Alex was ecstatic. Shara pronounced herself dumbfounded. “They’ve been isolated out here more than half of recorded history,” she said. “These people could not have survived.” She literally glowed.
A few hours later, the Gonzalez came alongside, and we crossed over to handshakes and claps on the back. Have a drink. How’d you guys ever figure this out? They’ve got satellites! Look at this over here: A ball game. With three teams on the field. How long did you say they’ve been out here?
They were throwing the incoming images across banks of monitors and relaying some of it back to Survey.
Alex looked happier than I’d ever seen him. He accepted congratulations from everybody. Shara and I got smooched by every guy on the ship. They weren’t fooling anybody. But what the hell, how often did something like that happen?
Shara’s eyes were bright with emotion. When things calmed down a bit she came over.
“You did good, Chase,” she said.
“It was Alex,” I told her. “I’d have let it go a long time ago.”
“Yeah. But I think you deserve a large piece of the credit.” She grinned. “My buddy.”
Those first minutes were filled with images: a tower that had to be part of a radio transmission network, a beach loaded with people, a park with fountains and broad lawns and children. “I guess the lesson,” one of the researchers said, “is that we’re tough little monkeys. We don’t go down easily.”
Brankov stood erect and beaming like a conquering hero. “Biggest discovery in human history,” he said. They raised their cups to Alex, the Margolians, Shara, and finally to me. As I write these words, I’ve a picture of that glorious moment on the wall at my right hand.
We found additional cities. They were all located along the terminator, where weather would be most accommodating. Some had tall needle towers like the City on the Crag, some had vast parks, a couple seemed simply to have spread out haphazardly. One resembled a vast wheel. In each of these places, the inhabitants had beaten back the jungle, literally walled it off.
We saw more aircraft.
And listened to radio broadcasts. “Can’t understand any of it,” said a frustrated Brankov. “I wonder if they know we’re here.”
The AI was assigned to acquire a translation capability.
Brankov had undergone a transformation. The formality and reserve were gone. He stood revealed as a collection of enthusiasms. Loved his work. Loved being out in the field. Loved being on hand when things were happening. Loved his lunch. I’m not sure I ever knew anyone maintain so high a level of exhilaration through so prolonged a period. That first night he tried to talk Shara into his bed. She ducked, and he tried his luck with me. “It would be a way to celebrate,” he told me. “A way to make the event unforgettable.” As if it weren’t already. While he waited for a response, he added, “This seems like a moment when anything is possible.”
All in all, it was a magnificent time.
A debate started over whether it would be prudent to pay our groundside cousins a visit. “They’re an alien culture,” one of Brankov’s specialists argued. “Doesn’t matter that they’re human. We should let them be, to develop as they wish. They should be let alone.”
I wasn’t really invited to comment, but I did anyhow. I pointed out that I didn’t know anything about impeding development, but going down to say hello to people who’d have no clue who we were or what we wanted, could be dangerous. “We might get a missile up our rear end,” I said. “They’ve been alone a long time. Strangers dropping out of the sky might make them nervous.”
It was Alex who made the decisive observation: “They’re not supposed to be out here.
Leave them here, and they’ll remain isolated. They can’t see any other worlds. They probably do not know where they came from. Probably think they’re native to Balfour.
Let them be, and they’re stuck here.”
There was a tall, angular woman who looked as if she worked out a lot. She was an archeologist, whose name I’ve forgotten, determined that we would go down. And that she would accompany the effort. What were we afraid of? For God’s sake, all you had to do, she said, was look at the images. Kids in parks, people walking the streets.
These were clearly not barbarians.
I wondered if the various bloodthirsty governments down the ages had made it a point to keep everyone out of the parks and off the streets, but I let it ride.
She succeeded in making all the males feel as if they were cowardly, so they decided that sure, it was their clear duty to make our presence known. We’d take our chances, what the hell.
Even Alex, who’s usually shrewder than that, bought in to direct contact.
So we organized a mission. Brankov was literally drooling at the prospect of descending onto a capital lawn somewhere, getting out, and saying hello. The female archeologist talked as if there’d be a band and a cheering crowd.
The lander could accommodate seven, plus a pilot. Alex, of course, automatically could claim a seat. Did I wish to go?
I preferred to hear what they were talking about on the surface before I got into anything. I had this image of savages rushing Captain Cook. “No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll wait here. Let me know how it turns out.”
Shara said she’d be happy to take my place.
Brankov and four other archeologists, including the female, would fill out the mission.
They were anxious to get started. There was even some talk of not waiting for the translation capability. But Alex took a stand on that. Let’s hear what they’re saying before we do anything rash, he insisted.