Alien Earth (20 page)

“What are you talking about?”

A tone of tolerant amusement came into his voice. “Come, come, Connie, don’t dissemble with me now. You
gave me the hints plainly enough. ‘Put a bug in my ear’ to use the old idiom, as you doubtlessly intended, with your questioning about the real reasons for this mission. I considered your words well, and I knew what you were trying to get me to see. There has to be more to this errand than a simple information-gathering effort by Earth Affirmed. I admire your loyalty in refusing to speak of it directly; you, of course, had faith in my ability to unravel this little mystery. But now that I have come so close, surely you can at least give me another hint.”

Connie shook her head. She tried to smile. “Tug, I think you’re attaching more significance to this than it has. Humans exaggerate, even in poetry. I don’t think he was saying anything more than that we can’t know what we missed by not living on Earth. Never having animals, stuff like that. And I never tried to hint to you about a secret mission. I was just saying I didn’t understand it. You’re putting too much value on my words. Like when you interpreted that poem about the balloon seller for me, and told me it was full of sexual innuendo about child molesters and birth-control devices. I thought it was just a poem about the changing of the seasons.”

“You won’t give me another hint?” There was a playful rebuke in Tug’s voice, but also something more. Suspicion?

“I never hinted at anything in the first place. And I don’t think there’s as much in that poem as you’re finding.”

“All right.” He sounded tolerantly amused. “I think I understand. But what if I reminded you that it’s on record that Illya Dubowski was a major force in the creating of Earth Affirmed? His direct, physically fertilized, and naturally gestated son left Terra as the head of Earth Affirmed’s contingent. And the Center for the Preservation of Earth’s Heritage, the creator of this series of ‘education’ recordings, was a subsidiary of Earth Affirmed. You knew I’d be able to make that connection.”

Connie finally made the connection herself. “That’s the corporation that hired us to do the data gathering.”

“Exactly.” Tug was smug.

“But, Tug, that’s nothing more than coincidence. At least, as far as I know, it is.” Connie fought against a sudden sense that she was smothering. She had a sudden sense of
wrongness, that nothing was as it seemed, that she could trust nothing and no one, not Tug, not John. What if Tug was right, and John had some ulterior motive for this mission, something she knew nothing about? What if he was involved in the wrong sort of politics, and was dragging her into them as well? They’d be caught, people always got caught, and even if she could prove she had known nothing about any of it, she’d still be sent for Readjustment therapy. It was a standard precaution. But she didn’t think she could take it. Not again. They’d leave her like a contained vacuum, and the first time anything touched her, she’d implode.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me about? Before it’s too late?” His tone was tolerant, a teacher coaxing the correct response from a shy and backward child.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said faintly.

“Don’t you? Connie, do you remember what we discussed the last time you were awake?”

She groped after it. “Sherlock Holmes.” It was the only thing she could think of.

“Exactly. And do you know why I wanted to share those stories with you?”

She shrugged. She refused to say, I thought because we were becoming friends. It sounded childish, even to her.

Tug spoke into her silence. “That ancient worthy solved the most obscure puzzles simply by reading the clues left him. As I have, and shall continue to do. It was my hint to you that I was on the trail of your mystery.”

Connie was silent. She could think of nothing to say. Had he been a Human, she would have walked away from him. But there was no place on this ship she could go to escape him.

“John helped you bring my recordings from Talbot aboard the ship, didn’t he?”

Connie didn’t reply. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Instead she moved to the reader and deliberately popped the tape free. She replaced it in its case and snapped it shut. Crossing the room, she returned it to the stack.

“He needn’t have, you know. I had already provided that you would be allowed to pass. But he did. A very unusual action for John. Why did he do it? I have to ask myself. To
keep Connie out of trouble is the obvious answer. But why? Why should he care? Obviously he holds you in no high personal esteem. So why should he trouble himself about you? Could it have something to do with the conversation I observed you two having in the lift? John is well aware I have no method of monitoring sound in the lift. But I can observe. Whatever the conversation was, it seemed very intense.”

Connie found her voice. “He was simply telling me not to do anything so stupid again.”

“Of course he was. Connie, do you remember what Sherlock Holmes told Watson about solving a case? Eliminate the false, and whatever remains, however unlikely, is the truth.”

She didn’t think he had it quite right. Probably another one of his updatings. It hardly mattered now. “So?”

“So let me do so for you. Look at all the peculiar facts with me. You exhibit an overdeveloped need to conform to rules, to be adjusted. Yet at my first request for you to do something mildly illegal, you acceded. And accomplished the errand as if well practiced at it. That interested me. More interesting still was John’s intervention, to be sure you returned safely to the ship to be the crew for this mission. Why? If I eliminate any personal regard John might have for you, as I believe I safely can, then I must assume it is because John needed you for this mission. Why Connie, and not someone else? Because she knows something that makes her essential for this mission. What could it be about this mission that requires some sort of special knowledge, and what is that knowledge? These things I do not know—yet. But I am aware that these are not the only new recordings of information John has brought aboard. I am aware he is sleep learning on a circuit he has managed to exclude me from. What he has not taken into account is my ability to solve puzzles, my sleuthful skills, if you will. Sooner or later, Connie, I will know what the true aim of this mission is. Why not tell me now?”

Connie felt breathless, as if something were wrong with the atmosphere. Tug’s convoluted reasonings seemed more like mad rantings than logical conclusions. “Tug,” she said very carefully. “You’re taking a lot of random incidents and reading deep meaning into them, a meaning that doesn’t exist.
I did what you asked me because I didn’t want to offend you. John got me out of a tight spot to avoid trouble for himself, I think. You know he would have been questioned about a crew member possessing contraband. As for some secret mission, I think you’re putting a lot of weight on one recording of a poem that John just happened to bring aboard. You got most of your ‘clues’ from translating it. Are you sure John could even understand that old language?”

Tug’s silence stretched long. Connie found herself relentlessly dismantling the reader and returning it to its storage case. Tug seemed to become aware of what she’d done as she returned it to the locker.

“I still want to review the entirety of that recording,” he said, but his tone was milder, more the Tug she knew.

“Then you’ll have to ask John,” she found herself answering.

“Reconsider, Connie. With what I know about you, I could guarantee this would be your last trip out on the Evangeline.”

She ducked her head to hide a bitter smile. “Doesn’t work, Tug.”

“Aren’t you afraid I know enough about you to testify that you are unbalanced and unadjusted? Would you really want to face another Adjustment?”

Vivisection? Close. Threats that cut. “Guess I’ll have to face what comes.” She turned and started to leave the chamber. The corridor before her remained dark. “Enough games, Tug.”

“Precisely. Assemble the reader and reload the tape.”

“Why? So you can find more imaginary clues?”

Tug snorted softly. “Connie, you misjudge the depth of my knowledge. I know much more about it than you do. My knowledge of the Great Evacuation literature is great. And at one time, thousands of accounts of such partings existed. And in every song or poem or story about the Great Evacuation, one theme recurs over and over. That those who left didn’t really understand what they were leaving. They all speak of something precious, something central to Humanity, but none of them specifically names it.”

“Tug …”

“What could it be that would be so important that Earth
Affirmed would risk its existence to claim? I don’t know its exact nature yet. But what else could be so important as to be worth the expense of this mission?”

“Tug, you’re mistaken.” She was desperately tired of the argument. “There is no secret treasure of Humanity that was abandoned on Earth. The whole idea is silly. Our mission is to gather data by deploying probes and satellites. That’s all. When you talk of mysteries and secret messages, you’re just being silly. Nothing’s there but a dead world. That’s the legacy my ancestors left me; a dead planet, destroyed by their carelessness and greed. What a wonderful heirloom. How can anyone look at it without being reminded of their stupidity and selfishness? Look what they made of the Human race. You want to know what we are, Tug? We’re a race of exiles. And we all know it.”

Her rising voice broke suddenly. The silence that followed crushed her. She stood in the darkened corridor, staring back into the chamber. What if she just turned and walked away into the dark. What would he do?

“Your pulse and respiration levels were far outside your normal range,” Tug observed at last. “They are now close to normal again. What upsets you so? That I’m getting so close so fast?” A sly inference in his tone.

“I’m not upset. I’m just tired of arguing with you, especially about something as nonsensical as this.”

“I see.” His tone was suddenly kindly again. The chamber dimmed, and the corridor lights came up. “Well, let us let the matter lie, then. Obviously, I was mistaken in thinking you knew more about this mission than I did. Come. Let us turn our minds to other things. Would you like to consider another of the famous Sherlock Holmes cases?”

Connie suppressed a shudder. No more clues and deductions. “Not right this moment, Tug.”

“Well, I’ve another idea then. Come back to the main command chamber. I’ve discovered some old puzzle filaments, involving words. New York Times Crosswords, they are called. The archaic spellings make them especially challenging.”

“I’m going to go to my quarters and rest,” she said flatly.

A silence, and then, “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

She left the brightly colored chamber behind and went runging through the softly lit hallways, back to a more familiar environment. She wished she could leave her new doubts and fears behind also, but they clung to her like her sweaty tunic. For the first time in the years she had marinered, she had glimpsed the complete control the Arthroplana had over the Humans aboard their ships. She didn’t like it.

“B
Y THE WAY
,
Talbot is dead.”

John paused, his hand on the door handle to the cleanser cubicle. His Wakeup had begun less than fifteen minutes ago. So nice of Tug to get it off to a wonderful start. He blinked his eyes; they felt gritty and sticky. A prickle of tears. No. It had been too long ago for that. Too high a wall of differences for caring to reach across it.

“Thanks for breaking the news so gently,” he told Tug, a dry trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“Not at all. I was rather curious as to how you’d react.”

“And, of course, observing my reaction was a lot more important than considering the feelings of a Human.”

Tug was unapologetic. “I’m a scholar, John, not a social worker. My observations of Humans and their interactions are more than half of why I’m within Evangeline.”

“Yeah. And the rest of the reason you’re here?”

“To generate income for the Arthroplana race; to serve my people in the interstellar trade, of course.”

“Of course.” John proceeded into the cleanser, shutting the door tightly against its seal. He activated the chamber, and felt the humidity come up as he began to spread the gel over his body. “Is Connie awake yet?” he asked the omnipresent Tug.

“No. She is still within the safety limits for Waitsleep. There is no need to disturb her for the next three years.” Tug
paused. “I confess, I expected a sharper reaction from you to the news of Talbot’s death. You saw him quite recently, I believe—just the last time we were in port, wasn’t it? And it seems your meeting must have been productive, to judge from the number of bootleg recordings you brought on board.”

John snorted sourly as he began to strip set gel and skin from his leg. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Tug.”

“Clarify your idiom, please,” Tug requested stiffly after a moment. John grinned at having miffed him. It wasn’t often that he could come up with a phrase that Tug couldn’t interpret.

“It’s quite basic, really. Goes back to the time of Humans as predators, and refers to the ancient Earth practice of using canines as coursing beasts. If the dogs got on the wrong scent, or followed the wrong tracks, they might end up barking up the wrong tree. As you are.”

“Meaning the tapes didn’t come from Talbot and that you didn’t see him?”

“Meaning that I’m not an idiot to be distracted so easily. This is not a request, Tug. Wake up Connie. When it comes to the Human crew, need I remind you that my authority is final and absolute?”

“Of course not. If you choose to squander packaged rations with an unnecessary Wakeup for a crew person, so be it. Such additional expenses come out of your share of the—”

“Is Wakeup initiated for Connie yet, Tug?” John cut across his words.

“It is,” Tug replied stiffly after a moment. “It will take some little time, you know. It is not as if I just press a button and—”

“I’m familiar with Wakeup procedures, Tug. As soon as Connie is awake, order her to report to me.”

“Acknowledged.”

The silence became absolute, save for the internal workings of the cleanser cubicle. John finished his gel strip, then toweled himself roughly to get rid of any dead skin he’d missed. No matter how many trips he made, he suspected he would always hate this part of a Wakeup.

Leaving the cubicle, he punched up some stim and a light snack, and then requested Morgen’s rendition of “Twin
Planet Suite” to cover Tug’s icy silence. He sipped his stim and watched from his lounger as the double holos kicked in. Castor’s rain-forest region to his left, and the small northern desert of Pollux shimmered into being on his right. From the one came the gentle rattle of Shinto cane leaves in the ever-present wind, while the other harmonized with the breathy rasping of eternally shifting dunes forming and re-forming among the anchor lichens. He was just starting to relax as he nibbled at the spiciness of a pepperbiscuit when Tug’s voice broke through.

“I had thought you would at least ask how Talbot had died.”

Something in Tug’s peace offering only made John more wary. “Humans that old die all the time, Tug. We call it natural causes.”

“Such was not the case with Talbot.”

John sat silent for a moment. Then some small shred of patience snapped and he demanded, “Why don’t you just tell me what it would cost me to find out, and I’ll decide if I want to ante up?”

“It’s hardly a game, John,” Tug rebuked him. But after a pause he added, “I’d be happy to share my news and resources with you if you would only reciprocate. Why cannot we simply treat each other as members of civilized races?”

“Because most civilized races share an appreciation of privacy and trust, Tug. Did you find the poetry on the tapes in my scanner enlightening? You’ve probably already got it transferred to filaments, haven’t you?”

A pause. Then, “My pursuit of complete knowledge demands that I utilize every possible reference, John. How can ancient poetry be considered private? If I must—”

“What a shame it’s all ersatz. Not a genuine bit on all those tapes. It’s all ‘a tribute to’ and ‘in the tradition of’ trash. The demand for the old stuff has gone up as the Conservancy has been wiping it out. So you get a lot of unscrupulous people pandering to that taste. And some are dishonest enough to leave the disclaimers off the front of the credits. Shameful, isn’t it? Of course, you and I, being scholars and poets ourselves, would instantly recognize such tawdry imitations. Montemorossi—who would be fooled by a hack like that? Surely not you or I. We wouldn’t bother entering it into
our collections and referencing and cross-referencing it, would we?” John grinned randomly around the chamber. He’d teach Tug to snoop through his personal stuff. He didn’t intend to leave any of the materials from Earth Affirmed in such easy access, but at least now, if Tug managed to get at them, he’d have to wonder if they were genuine.

“Tug?” he queried genially when the silence had grown long, save for the dual whispering of the waves of Castor’s Kings Sea and the rattling of Jacob’s Inlet on Pollux combing through a pebbly beach. “Tell Connie I’ll be down doing my laps. Send her to me there when she’s awake, okay?”

John bounced merrily off his lounger and runged swiftly down the corridor. He banished Talbot’s puzzling ghost to the back of his mind. Tug could never keep a secret, anyway. Not when he could use it to somehow club at John. Sooner or later, Tug would tell him how Talbot had died. He suspected that when he did, Tug would find a way to make it hurt. That he could wait for.

“Is he angry at me?”
Connie asked bewilderedly. She blinked, trying to clear her sticky eyes. John had ordered her wakened, wanted to see her right away, Tug said. So strange. She felt half-asleep, more as if she’d been booted awake than gradually brought up to consciousness. She began to shiver uncontrollably and reflexively curled her body into a ball on the floor of the womb chamber. Her auto-training kicked into focus. Wakeup shock, brought on by too quick a return to active state. Standard remedy: body immersion in warm water to stabilize body temperature and administration of glucose-rich nourishment in liquid form. Summon Human assistance if available. She clenched her teeth tightly for a moment to still their chattering. When she could speak, she croaked out, “Tug, call John for me. Tell me I’ve got Wakesickness. Tell him, I mean.” Another wave of shivering and disorientation rattled her.

She came out of it to Tug’s voice. “You’re going to be okay, Connie. You’re going to be fine. Come on, now, you have to get up. Reach for the wall rung, that’s a girl. You can do it, you’ll be fine. You’re not that bad off. You can do it, Connie.”

She found herself listening and obeying. He was right,
she could do it. Halfway out of the womb chamber, it occurred to her that something was wrong. “John didn’t come?” she queried woefully. Even to herself her voice sounded juvenile, whiny.

“I knew you wouldn’t want him to see you like this. You can do it, Connie, you can take care of yourself. You don’t want to lose his respect, do you? Come on, Connie. Med chamber is only a little ways, at the very next juncture of the corridors. You’ll make it.”

She thought that moving was actually helping her, until another wave of shaking forced her to pause and simply cling to a rung until it had passed. “What happened?” she wailed aloud to the dim corridor. “What’s gone wrong, what happened to me?”

“You’ll be okay,” Tug repeated. “Move to the next rung, come on, you can do it.”

And she found she could, one rung at a time, and then she was in the med chamber, and Tug sealed the door behind her and she felt the welcome rise in temperature. He already had a cocoon in readiness. She stumbled into it and snapped it shut. Shakily she pulled up the flexible hood and adjusted the facial seal. “Seal tight?” she asked Tug weakly.

“The monitors say so,” he replied, and a moment later she felt the warm rush of water against her skin. The cocoon swelled gently, enveloping her body in water and warmth. She felt the swift current of the water around her body and knew it was carrying away dead skin even as it stimulated her circulation. Her knees gave suddenly, but the cocoon supported her and continued its work. Across the room, she dimly heard the chunk of the food dispenser and saw a large tumbler drop into a warmer. It would be ready for her when the cocoon released her. As her temperature stabilized, she suddenly found she could think more clearly.

“What happened?” she demanded in an almost-steady voice.

“I misjudged,” Tug replied honestly. The rush of water within the cocoon muffled his voice slightly. “I wanted to have a private word or two with you before you spoke with John. So I hurried the Wakeup process, so there would be some time for us before he expected you to report. I guess
your metabolism is touchier than I realized. I’m sorry, Connie. Truly I am.”

Her mind digested it for a few moments. Then, “It’s okay,” she muttered, mostly because she couldn’t think of what else to say. Wakesickness could be fatal in extreme cases. But surely Tug had seen it before, and if she’d been that bad off, he would have called John. Wouldn’t he? Once again she realized her complete dependence on his goodwill. It was not a reassuring feeling.

The cocoon seemed to judge that she was recovering. Gradually the water was suctioned away. A warm wind replaced it, drying her body gently and completely. Moments later the seal on the cocoon popped open. She stumbled out and accepted a warm moist towel from a dispenser. She cleansed her face, gently working the gook from around her eyes, and then used it to clean up the fragments of loose skin between her toes and fingers that the water hadn’t been able to swirl away. Better. Her body felt better, but that did nothing for the torn feeling within her. She longed to rung down the corridor as fast as she could, find John, and hand the problems to him. He was the captain, he should know what to do about all of it. And he had, she realized dully as she removed her drink from the warmer. He’d warned her about solitary Wakeups with Tug. He’d just never told her how to avoid them.

She took a long draw of the warm sweet liquid, and then punched up a fresh uniform. As she drew on her tunic and trousers, she noticed that the fabric was thicker, warmer, and softer than normal issue. Probably standard procedure after someone had had a rough Wakeup. She took up her drink again and curled up with it in a lounger. She tried to frame some remark to Tug, but could come up with nothing. She waited for him to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Connie,” he said again. “I just wanted some time to talk to you before John did.”

“So you said,” she replied a bit testily. “I said it was okay. Now. What did you need to talk to me about?” For that matter, she wondered why John wanted to talk to her. She was sure the two were connected.

“I know I upset you on your last Wakeup. I shouldn’t have enlisted you to play that tape for me. I certainly
shouldn’t have tried to coerce you into replaying the entire thing. And I shouldn’t have been so insistent that there was more than what you were telling me. I realize now I probably was reading more into the situation than it merited. So I wanted to apologize. I didn’t want you going before John feeling upset with me; or feeling that you had done anything wrong. I tricked you into it, you know. None of it was your fault.”

“Okay,” she said after a guarded moment of silence. She waited for what she was certain would follow.

“Are you going to tell John about it?” Tug asked softly.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

“I did apologize, you know. And I promise nothing of the sort will ever happen again.” He paused hopefully.

Connie was silent.

“We did agree, at the very beginning, Connie, to keep one another’s confidences. I guarantee to you, I have never betrayed even one of your secrets to John.”

“My secrets?” she asked numbly. Other than ransacking John’s recording for Tug, she hadn’t thought she had any. A sudden cold pit opened in her stomach. The warm sweet liquid she sipped churned unpleasantly; she felt a wash of acid up the back of her throat.

“Well, not secrets, exactly. Just perfectly normal things about you that might somehow change John’s opinion of you. Such as that you don’t really approve of our present mission.”

Connie relaxed slightly.

“And that your underwent Readjustment, and that the records indicate it was involuntary. Oh, not the records that John has access to, of course. Only the ones that I, as owner of the vessel, can access in the name of ship’s security.”

For a moment she thought the Wakesickness was coming back, the chill she felt was so real. She held her breath for a count of ten, then asked, “Any other little threats you’d like to make, Tug?”

“Why, Connie!” His astonishment sounded so genuine. “I’m shocked that you could construe my remarks in such a way!”

“Just my badly adjusted nature, I suppose.” She rose, dumped the drink, cup and all, into the disposer, and runged
toward the chamber entrance. She tugged at the handle; the door didn’t budge.

“Connie …”

“John is going to wonder what took me so long.”

“I simply wished to add one last remark to our conversation. Act in your own best interests. This time, at least, you will find it the harmonious thing to do.”