Forbidden Planets (39 page)
Vins didn’t answer this at first; he didn’t think it was really addressed to him. But Murphy wouldn’t let it go.
“Left the mess and just ran away. Cold and snow and rain and deserts of broken rock. That’s downright irresponsible. Why
not
mend the mess they’d made? Why not?”
not
mend the mess they’d made? Why not?”
“I suppose,” said Vins, reluctantly, “it’s easier to manage a model like this one. Even a rather large model, like this one. The climate of the whole Earth—that’s a chaotic system, isn’t it? That’s not a simple circular body of air a thousand miles across, that’s a three-dimensional vortex tens of thousands of miles arc by arc. Big dumb object, he called it.”
“He?”
“Maybe they can’t crack the problem of controlling chaotic systems any more than we can.
He
is the
homo sapiens
I met. When I said
he
called it that, I meant Ramon Harburg Guthrie called it that.”
He
is the
homo sapiens
I met. When I said
he
called it that, I meant Ramon Harburg Guthrie called it that.”
“Doesn’t sound very godlike at all.”
“No.”
“And doesn’t excuse them from fleeing their mess.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that it did.”
“And what
were
you suggesting?”
were
you suggesting?”
Vins coughed. “I’ll tell you—I’ll say what I’m suggesting. Ramon Harburg Guthrie said that the elder
sapiens
, the wealthiest thousands, fled throughout the system. They built themselves little private utopias of all shapes and sizes. They’re living there now, or their descendents are. But these should be our lands. Why would we struggle on with the wastelands and the ice—or,” and he threw his hands up, “or Mars, for crying in the wilderness, Mars?” He spoke as an individual who had lived two full terms on Mars, once during his compulsory military training and once during his scientific education. He knew whereof he spoke: the extraordinary cold, the barrenness, the slow and stubborn progress of colonization. “Why would we be trying to bully a life out of Mars, of all places, if the system is littered with private paradises like this one?”
sapiens
, the wealthiest thousands, fled throughout the system. They built themselves little private utopias of all shapes and sizes. They’re living there now, or their descendents are. But these should be our lands. Why would we struggle on with the wastelands and the ice—or,” and he threw his hands up, “or Mars, for crying in the wilderness, Mars?” He spoke as an individual who had lived two full terms on Mars, once during his compulsory military training and once during his scientific education. He knew whereof he spoke: the extraordinary cold, the barrenness, the slow and stubborn progress of colonization. “Why would we be trying to bully a life out of Mars, of all places, if the system is littered with private paradises like this one?”
“I like the cut of your jib, the shape of your thinking, young Vins,” said Murphy, saluting him and then shaking his hand. “But what of the man who scratched your head, there? What of that bold
sapiens
fellow himself?”
sapiens
fellow himself?”
“He thinks he’s hunting us,” said Vins. There was something nearly sadness in his voice, a species of regret. “He doesn’t yet realize.” He pulled the gun out of the bag.
They sat for a while in silence. From time to time Murphy would go, “Remind me what we’re waiting for, here?” And Vins would explain it again. “He’ll come back,” he said. “He’ll get his skull bandaged, or get it healed-up with some high-tech magic-ray, I don’t know. But he’ll be back. He has to eliminate all four of us before we can put a message where others can hear it.”
“And shouldn’t we be doing that? Putting the message out there for others to know where we are—to know that such a place as
here
even exists?”
here
even exists?”
“That would require us to stay at . . .” prompted Vins.
“Stay in the shuttle,” said Murphy. “I see. So you reckon he’ll? You think he’ll?”
“What would
you
do? He came before with some sort of personal flying harness, like a skyhook, and a handgun. He’ll come back heavier. He’ll hit the ship first, to shut that door firm.”
you
do? He came before with some sort of personal flying harness, like a skyhook, and a handgun. He’ll come back heavier. He’ll hit the ship first, to shut that door firm.”
“I guess we already tried the radio. Broadcast, I mean. But who’d be listening? Who’d be monitoring this piece of sky? Nobody.” He picked some bark from the bough and crumpled it to papery shards between his strong fingers. “I suppose,” he continued, “that this
homo sapiens
feller, he’s not to know how long we’ve been here. For all he knows we just crashed here, this morning. Or we’ve been here a month.”
homo sapiens
feller, he’s not to know how long we’ve been here. For all he knows we just crashed here, this morning. Or we’ve been here a month.”
“He’ll have to take his chances,” agreed Vins. “He’ll come back and hammer the ship, smash and dint it into the dirt.”
“Then what?”
“There are several ways it could go. If he’s smart, if he were as smart as me, he’d lay waste to the whole area. I’d scorch the whole thousand-square-mile area.”
“But he lives here!”
“He lives on the other side. He don’t need here. But he won’t do that. He’s attached to it, he’s sentimentally connected with the landscape, its beauty. With its vacuity and its possibility. He won’t do that. So,
if
he’s smart, he’ll do the second-best option.”
if
he’s smart, he’ll do the second-best option.”
“Which is what?”
“He’ll wait until dark and then overfly the area with the highest-power infrared detection he can muster. He’d pick out our body heat. Or, at least, it would be hard for us to disguise that.”
“You think he’ll do that?”
Vins bared his teeth and then sealed his lips again. “No I don’t think so. He’ll want to hunt us straight down. He’ll blow the ship and then come galloping down these paths we’ve trailed through the long grass. He’ll try and hunt us down. He’ll have armor on, probably. Big guns. He’ll have big guns with fat barrels.”
“Other people? Other
sapiens
?”
sapiens
?”
“That,” said Vins, “is the real question. That’s the crucial thing. He called this world
me
-topia. Does that suggest to you, Murphy, a solitary individual, living perhaps with a few upgraded cats and dogs, maybe a metal mickey or two?”
me
-topia. Does that suggest to you, Murphy, a solitary individual, living perhaps with a few upgraded cats and dogs, maybe a metal mickey or two?”
“I’ve no notion.”
“Or does it suggest a population of a thousand
sapiens
, or a hundred thousand, living in the clean open spaces on the far side of this disk—living a medieval Europe, perhaps. Riding around dressed in silk and hunting the white stag?”
sapiens
, or a hundred thousand, living in the clean open spaces on the far side of this disk—living a medieval Europe, perhaps. Riding around dressed in silk and hunting the white stag?”
“I’ve really no notion.”
“And neither have I. That’ll be what we find out.”
“You’re a regular strategos,” said Murphy, and he whistled through his two front teeth. “A real strategic thinker. And then?”
“Then?”
“Then what?”
“Well,” said Vins. “That’ll depend, of course. If it’s just him, I don’t see why we don’t take the whole place to ourselves. There’s a lot of fertile ground here, a lot of settlement potential for people back home. And if it’s more than just him—”
“Maybe the far side is crawling with
homo sapiens
.”
homo sapiens
.”
“Maybe it is. But
this
side isn’t. We could pile our own people onto this side of the world and see what happens. See if we can arrive at an understanding. Who knows? That’s a long way in the future.” He peered through the leaves at the luster of the meadows, the beaming waters, the warm blue sky.
this
side isn’t. We could pile our own people onto this side of the world and see what happens. See if we can arrive at an understanding. Who knows? That’s a long way in the future.” He peered through the leaves at the luster of the meadows, the beaming waters, the warm blue sky.
Murphy dozed, and was not awakened by the brittle sound of something scratching along the sky. But he was awakened by the great basso profundo
whumph
of the shuttle exploding: a monstrous booming, then a squat eggshaped mass of fire that mottled and clouded almost at once with its own smoke, and pushed a stalk of black up and out in an umbrella-shape into the sky. Some moments later the tree shook heartily. After that there was the random percussion and thud of bits of wreckage slamming back to earth.
whumph
of the shuttle exploding: a monstrous booming, then a squat eggshaped mass of fire that mottled and clouded almost at once with its own smoke, and pushed a stalk of black up and out in an umbrella-shape into the sky. Some moments later the tree shook heartily. After that there was the random percussion and thud of bits of wreckage slamming back to earth.
Murphy almost fell out of the tree. Vins grabbed him.
Their ship was a crater now, and a scattering pattern of gobbets of plasmetal flowing into the sky at forty-five degrees and crashing down again to earth at forty-five degrees, the petal pattern all around the central destruction.
“Look,” Vins hissed.
A ship, shaped like the sleek head of a greyhound, flew through, banked, and landed a hundred yards from the crater. It ejected a single figure and lifted off again.
The sound of the explosion was still rumbling in the air.
“Was that our ship?” said Murphy, stupidly. “Did he just destroy our—”
“Shush, now,” said Vins, in a low voice. “That’s him.”
“Then who’s flying the ship?”
“It’ll be another
sapiens
or else an automatic system; that hardly matters. The ship will circle back there, in case Edwards or Sinclair are nearby and come running out to see what the noise is. But
he’ll
come after us. He knows I won’t be fooled by—” And even as Vins was speaking, the figure, armored like an inflated figure, like a man made of tires, turned its head and selected one of the trails through the grass and starting trotting along it.
sapiens
or else an automatic system; that hardly matters. The ship will circle back there, in case Edwards or Sinclair are nearby and come running out to see what the noise is. But
he’ll
come after us. He knows I won’t be fooled by—” And even as Vins was speaking, the figure, armored like an inflated figure, like a man made of tires, turned its head and selected one of the trails through the grass and starting trotting along it.
“That’s a big gun he’s carrying,” Murphy pointed out. “He’s coming this way with a very big gun.”
“He’s coming this way,” said Vins, taking the gun out of his sack and prepping it, “with his eggshell skull and his sluggy reactions.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Murphy.
“Do you think he’ll look upward as he comes under this tree?”
“
I
don’t know.”
I
don’t know.”
“Don’t you?”
“And if you kill him, what then?”
“I hope not to kill him, not straight off,” said Vins, in a scientific voice. “I’ll need him to get that plane to come down so we can use it.”
He was coming down the path. Vins and Murphy waited in the tree, waiting for him to pass beneath them—or for him to notice them, the two of them, in the tree and shoot them down.
He was armored of course. He came closer.
Maybe that’s the way it goes. It’s hard for me to be, from this perspective, sure. Indeed it’s hard, sometimes, to tell the difference between the two different sorts of human. These neanderthals, after all, are not created
ex nihilo
via some genetically engineered miracle; they were ordinary
sapiens
adapted and enhanced (strengthened, given more endurance) the better to carry on living on their home world. The stay-at-homes. The ones sentimentally attached to where they happened to be. They’re the same people as the
sapiens
, whom they—perhaps
surprisingly
quickly—supplanted. Does it matter if they come swarming all over Guthrie’s bubble-wrapped world? Is that a better, or a worse, eventuality than that place remaining the rich man’s private fiefdom?
ex nihilo
via some genetically engineered miracle; they were ordinary
sapiens
adapted and enhanced (strengthened, given more endurance) the better to carry on living on their home world. The stay-at-homes. The ones sentimentally attached to where they happened to be. They’re the same people as the
sapiens
, whom they—perhaps
surprisingly
quickly—supplanted. Does it matter if they come swarming all over Guthrie’s bubble-wrapped world? Is that a better, or a worse, eventuality than that place remaining the rich man’s private fiefdom?
It’s all lotus.
The seventh day.The sun rose in the west, as it did. Clouds clung about the lower reaches of the sky like the froth on the lip of a gigantic ceramic mug of cappuccino: white and frothy and stained hither and thither with touches of golden brown.
The grasslands rejoiced in the touch of the sun. I say
rejoiced
in the strong sense of the word. Light passed through reality filters. Wind passed
over
the shafts of grass, moving them, pausing, moving again; but light passed
through
them. Wind made a lullaby song of hushes and then paused to make even more eloquent moments of silence. But the light shone right through. Light passed through
two
profound reality filters. This is photons. These are photons. Photons were always already rushing faster than mass from the surface of the sun. They were passing through a hunk of crystal in the sky, modified with various other minerals and smart-patches, and were deflected onto the surface of the world. This globe served the world as its illumination. The photons passed again through the slender sheaths of green and yellow, those trillions of close-fitting rubber bricks we call cells; cells stacked multiple-layered and rippling out in all directions, gathered into superstructures of magnificent length and fragility; and in every single cell the light chanced through matter and came alive, alive, with the most vibrant and exhilarating and ecstatic thrumming of the spirit. That’s where it’s at. The light, the translucence of matter, the inflection of the photons, the grass singing, and just after.
rejoiced
in the strong sense of the word. Light passed through reality filters. Wind passed
over
the shafts of grass, moving them, pausing, moving again; but light passed
through
them. Wind made a lullaby song of hushes and then paused to make even more eloquent moments of silence. But the light shone right through. Light passed through
two
profound reality filters. This is photons. These are photons. Photons were always already rushing faster than mass from the surface of the sun. They were passing through a hunk of crystal in the sky, modified with various other minerals and smart-patches, and were deflected onto the surface of the world. This globe served the world as its illumination. The photons passed again through the slender sheaths of green and yellow, those trillions of close-fitting rubber bricks we call cells; cells stacked multiple-layered and rippling out in all directions, gathered into superstructures of magnificent length and fragility; and in every single cell the light chanced through matter and came alive, alive, with the most vibrant and exhilarating and ecstatic thrumming of the spirit. That’s where it’s at. The light, the translucence of matter, the inflection of the photons, the grass singing, and just after.
Forbidden Planet
Stephen Baxter
I
f you have a nodding acquaintance with the long history of
Star Trek
, you’ll probably know that the original 1960s series was allowed not just one but two pilot episodes before its final green light. But if you watch the classic 1956 movie
Forbidden Planet
, you might be forgiven for thinking you’re viewing an even earlier
Trek
pilot. And in a sense you are.
f you have a nodding acquaintance with the long history of
Star Trek
, you’ll probably know that the original 1960s series was allowed not just one but two pilot episodes before its final green light. But if you watch the classic 1956 movie
Forbidden Planet
, you might be forgiven for thinking you’re viewing an even earlier
Trek
pilot. And in a sense you are.
It is the year 2257. Under the command of brave and handsome Commander Adams (Leslie Nielsen, who eventually morphed into the straight-faced hero of the
Naked Gun
comedies), United Planets space cruiser C57-D lands on the planet Altair IV, in search of the lost spacecraft
Bellerophon.
They discover obsessive scientist Dr. Morbius (Walter Pidgeon), living in an impressive home with a sophisticated robot, Robby, who speaks 187 languages and can make diamonds, and Morbius’ teenage daughter, Altaira (Anne Francis). Nobody else survives.
Naked Gun
comedies), United Planets space cruiser C57-D lands on the planet Altair IV, in search of the lost spacecraft
Bellerophon.
They discover obsessive scientist Dr. Morbius (Walter Pidgeon), living in an impressive home with a sophisticated robot, Robby, who speaks 187 languages and can make diamonds, and Morbius’ teenage daughter, Altaira (Anne Francis). Nobody else survives.
Morbius warns Adams he must leave, before his crew are hunted down by a “planetary force” that destroyed the
Bellerophon
—a horror we come to know as the “id-monster.” Adams wonders how come only Morbius, his wife (now dead), and Altaira were spared, and how philologist Morbius, a language expert, managed to build Robby. Meanwhile, the crewmen drool over Altaira. In the end Adams bags her for himself, and Morbius shows disturbing signs of jealousy.
Bellerophon
—a horror we come to know as the “id-monster.” Adams wonders how come only Morbius, his wife (now dead), and Altaira were spared, and how philologist Morbius, a language expert, managed to build Robby. Meanwhile, the crewmen drool over Altaira. In the end Adams bags her for himself, and Morbius shows disturbing signs of jealousy.
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