Continuum 3, page 7
part #3 of Continuum Series
Beyond that, Alex was human. He was a man; he had no ambition to be a disembodied intellect. He missed Helen. He wanted some gut-cleansing Scotch. He wanted to puff on a pipe that did not reek of oil.
“Come on, Tuck,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”
Tucker Olton grinned. “You mean the Old Man is going back empty-handed? No solution? No fancy scheme up his sleeve? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“Do you have a solution?”
“If I have, it’s invisible.”
“Then you’ve lived to see the day. We’ll save our fancy schemes for another time.”
“Mush!” yelled Tucker Olton. He was not enchanted with the Lupani.
The two men said their farewells.
They splashed through a driving rain to the shuttle.
The spheroid lifted into the stormy sky, having accomplished exactly nothing.
Exactly one month later, the lightship returned.
The landing shuttle touched down.
A grim-faced Alex Porvenir stepped out, followed by a dubious Tucker Olton.
It was almost summer now. The winds of Arctica had softened. There was still snow on the ground, but it was not piled high into drifts. There was cold black water everywhere.
Miraculously, the rains had stopped.
The white fire of Sirius was far from balmy, but there was a trace of warmth in the air.
The two men sloshed through the muddy snow toward the Lupani village. It was easier going than it had been before, although not Alex’s idea of a pleasant stroll.
He was angry at his own previous failure. He blamed himself. He had no hostility toward the Lupani. After all, they owed him nothing. On their own merits, they were a remarkable people. They had a right to be secretive if that was their desire.
Within minutes, it was obvious that the Lupani were still in their winter village. It was impossible, but there they were.
Before he ever actually got into the village, Alex Porvenir knew where the answer to the riddle was. He did not know what the answer was, but he knew where it was.
He stopped short. A chill ran through him that owed nothing to the weather of Arctica.
“Look at that,” he whispered.
Tucker Olton had turned very pale. “I don’t believe it. Alex, you know what this means. Here, among the Lupani, of all the people on all the worlds —”
Alex shrugged. He noticed that he was trembling. His mind fastened on little things: the brownish color of the snow, the wet cold against his boots, the pale blue of the cloudless sky. “Why not here?” he asked. He did not expect an answer. “Why not here?”
The two men knew what they were seeing. They knew it with an instant certainty. It was something they had half-anticipated for much of their adult lives, and yet the reality staggered them.
“Little man, what now?” Tucker Olton released a breath he had not been conscious of holding. “We’d better turn back. This is too big for us, Alex.”
Alex Porvenir hesitated, then made up his mind. “It may be too big for us, but who else is there? I vote we go ahead.”
Tucker Olton searched for a way out and found none. “I guess we’re all there is,” he admitted.
The two men moved forward, their boots squishing in the muck. Their eyes never left the thing that waited for them just outside the Lupani village.
In itself, the thing was not spectacular. The facts about it could be easily discerned. It was a structure of some sort. It was about sixty feet across. It was hemispherical in shape. It was gray in color and appeared to be metallic.
It most certainly had not been built by the Lupani, or by any other people on the world of Arctica.
It had also not been built by anyone from Earth.
The structure was plainly and clearly alien. It had no business being there, but there it emphatically was.
Alex Porvenir was perfectly capable of putting two and two together. It was one of his talents. He knew, at least roughly, what was inside that building.
So did Tucker Olton.
“Let’s check it out first,” Alex said. “We want to be sure of our facts.”
They walked right up to the structure. Nobody tried to stop them. It was no great trick to find the entrance. The pathway was marked by the tracks of many boots. There was a door, almost square, with a handle. There was a simple latch. The door was not locked.
“Naturally,” Alex muttered.
He opened the door and stepped inside. There was interior illumination, apparently coming from the dome itself. The chamber was just a big room, like a vault. It was unheated.
Stacked in orderly rows were little gleaming boxes, about a foot square. There were thousands of them, piled all the way up to the curved roof. They filled the structure.
Alex pulled one of the boxes down. It was not particularly heavy. The glittering covering was simply a wrapping foil. He peeled it off.
There were four brownish cubes inside the box. The stuff was granular and slightly greasy to the touch. It had a faintly aromatic smell.
Alex licked one of the cubes, gingerly. It had a meaty flavor.
“It’s food concentrate of some sort,” he said.
“That was a foregone conclusion. What the devil do we do now?”
Alex considered. “I think we want an analysis of this stuff,” he said. His voice seemed very small in the packed vault. “Take a box and haul it back to the ship. Find out exactly what it is. You’ll have to make a full report, of course. It’s going to cause a bit of a stir.”
“That’s the understatement of the day.”
“It doesn’t matter how excited they get. Keep them out of here until I decide what to do. You’ll have to go straight to Carlos and Captain Dryden. Just keep reminding them that I am the senior cultural officer and this is my responsibility until and unless the U.N. directs otherwise. The ship is in no danger as far as I can see; Dryden will have to make that judgment. You tell Carlos I will look after the interests of Caravans. That should keep him happy. By the time the U.N. ET Council receives a report and acts and gets a message back we’ll be long gone from here. Understand?”
“Oh, sure. Nothing to it. I just go back and calmly inform them that man has made his first contact with an alien civilization operating in space. I tell them that they’re messing around with the Lupani. And I tell our boys just to sit tight.”
“Exactly.”
“And meanwhile, what do I do?”
“You get an exact analysis of that junk. You make damned sure the communications men are on the alert for my instructions and a landing crew is at the ready. Then bring the shuttle back. Park it where I can see it from the village. I’ll tell you what to do then.”
Tucker Olton looked at him with something like awe. “Just what are you going to do?”
Alex Porvenir smiled. “I haven’t the foggiest notion,” he said.
The younger man started to object, gave it up as a bad job, and scooped up a shiny box.
He waved and headed back for the shuttle.
Alex Porvenir put his hands on his hips and stared intently at the food concentrates piled in the dome.
He was quite confident on one point.
For man, for Caravans, for the future —
Nothing would ever be the same again.
The oily heat in the house of Korigh was as bad as ever. The smells were a little different, though. The bubbling food that was stone-boiling in the hide kettle had an aromatic, pungent odor. The smell was stronger than it had been in the alien warehouse.
Alex wiped the sweat from his brow. “We have always traded fairly with our friends, the Lupani,” he said. He knew he was repeating himself. He and Korigh had been getting nowhere fast for two days.
“That is true,” the fat old man with the sharp eyes conceded.
“Why did you not tell me about the food?”
“They said not to speak of it.”
“We are your friends.”
“You trade fairly. They give something for nothing. We no longer must leave our companions and hunt the askaggen. There is much food. Enough to last until the karibu come again. We are happy.”
“Who gives something for nothing?”
“They do. The strangers.”
“What do they look like?”
“They come from the sky.”
“Do they look like us?”
“They are not Lupani.”
“We are not Lupani, either.”
“You are more like Lupani than they are.”
“Do they have a name?”
“They are the Others. They are very powerful. They bring much food.”
“How long did it take them to build the food-house?”
“Not long. The Others came. Then it was there.”
“In the winter, where does the food-house go?”
“It is not there.”
“Why don’t they just leave it?”
“They are not like us. They are Others.”
“And you will not hunt the askaggen again?”
“This food is good. It is easy. We do nothing for it. Why hunt the askaggen?”
“You have always hunted the askaggen.”
The old man grinned and flexed his naked massive arms. “But you have not. It is very hard. It is very lonely. We will find other things to trade.”
“What?”
Korigh shrugged. The folds of fat on his belly quivered. It was plain that he could not care less. There was more food than he could eat. It was free for the taking. That was a bargain that was hard to beat.
“It will destroy the Lupani,” Alex said. “Once, you were strong. Now you will be weak.”
“We still harpoon the karibu. We cannot eat them now. Life has been hard for my people. Now it is easier. If you are my friend, you will understand that.”
“What if the food stops coming?”
“Then we will hunt the askaggen as before.”
Heads we win, tails you lose.
Alex was getting a headache again.
“Korigh, there are some things you do not understand.”
“Do you understand everything?”
Alex shook his head and regretted it. The pain sharpened. He did not understand everything. He did not like what he had to do.
Still, there were some things he understood very well.
And there were some things he could do.
“I will show you why the Lupani must hunt the askaggen,” he said. “I will show you because it is right.”
“My eyes will be open,” the old man assured him. He meant: It had better be good.
Alex Porvenir put on his clothes and left.
Back in the shuttle, Alex explained his plan to Tucker.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Tucker Olton looked more harassed than Alex had ever seen him.
“You don’t think it will work?”
“Oh, it’ll work as far as the Lupani are concerned. I can see the logic of it. But if you think I’m going back up to the ship and set this one up you’re crazy. You don’t know what it’s like up there. Dryden and Carlos are both mad enough to chew nails.”
“I had the authority, as long as the ship was not in danger.”
“I know that. They know that. But be reasonable, Alex. This thing is big.”
Alex sighed. “Okay, Tuck. Take her up. I’ll give them my instructions personally.”
Tucker Olton moved to the controls. “This I have to see.
“You will,” Alex Porvenir promised.
It took them two weeks to get things ready.
The machine itself, which Alex insisted on calling the Converter, was not too troublesome. It was even kind of fun for the shop crew — a dream assignment, except for the pressure involved. After all, it did not have to do much of anything. It just had to look right and perform a few simple functions.
The scout ship that went after the porpoise-like karibu had a tougher job. The sea was large and the karibu were not easy to locate. They were not simple to catch either, particularly the females who were close to bearing their young. Once caught, it was difficult to keep them alive.
Still, a Caravans ship was nothing if not adaptable. It had handled stickier problems than this in its time.
Alex Porvenir did not argue and he explained no more than he had to. That could wait.
If he had self-doubts, he did not express them.
He knew what he had to do.
He did it.
The Converter was ready.
It was assembled not far from the alien warehouse. It stood there in the muck with a solid go-to-hell assurance. It was basically square and it glittered impressively in the pale white sunlight. It had lots of buzzers, dials, lights, and bells. It had a contracting chute at the top. Near the bottom there was a high-visibility slot. It too was square.
The Lupani had gathered to watch — men, women, and children. Old Korigh had been true to his word. The old man stood in front of his people, strong arms folded across his massive chest, his sharp eyes keen and alert.
“Are you prepared?” Alex Porvenir asked.
“We are prepared,” Korigh replied.
“Watch, then. See the source of your new food.”
Alex waved his hand for a signal.
Three traders went to work. They had been carefully rehearsed, but it was still sloppy work. They heaved a tranquilized karibu out of the portable tank. They held it up high so the Lupani could see it.
The Lupani reacted with murmurs and gestures. They knew a karibu when they saw one.
The three men hauled the gleaming sea-mammal up the ladder to the top of the Converter. They held the karibu up high again, giving the Lupani a good look.
They dropped the karibu down the chute.
The Converter went into action. It chugged and whined and hissed. Steam shot out through vents. Needles moved on dials. Buzzers sounded and bells rang. Colored lights flashed.
After ninety seconds of feverish mechanical activity, the Converter gave a conclusive terminal cough. Glittering boxes about a foot square shot out through the bottom slot. There were ten of the boxes, identical to the ones in the alien warehouse. They lay there, in the slush, impassively.
Alex picked one up and handed it to Korigh. The old man peeled back the foil. He sniffed one of the greasy brown cubes. The aromatic smell could not be mistaken.
Korigh stepped forward and selected one of the boxes for himself. He repeated his investigation. Alex waved his hand.
The three men grabbed another karibu and dropped it down the chute.
The Converter did its stuff again.
Alex waved his hand for the third time.
When the Converter finished its dramatic chugging and buzzing, there was a goodly stack of boxes of food concentrate confronting the Lupani.
“This new food the strangers brought to you,” Alex said loudly, “is not new food at all. It is old food. It is made from the karibu, as we have shown you. You have been eating the karibu in the spring and summer. As your friends, we felt that you should know this thing.”
There was a long, slow silence.
Then the Lupani began to back away, expressions of horror on their faces.
They had eaten a lot of that stuff. Karibu! They had violated the most ancient law of their people.
Many of the Lupani became violently ill. Old Korigh led the way into the warehouse. The people went to work angrily. They hauled the gleaming boxes of food concentrate out of the vault. They ran with them to the dark sea and heaved them into the water.
Alex gave the signal to dismantle the Converter.
Tucker Olton stared at the village and shook his head. “Proud of yourself?” he asked.
Alex Porvenir managed a tight smile. “A little,” he admitted. “On balance, just a little.”
The Caravans lightship was flashing through the gray wastes of not-space. Even in dimensional terms, it was already far from the Sirius system.
Alex Porvenir poured himself a glass of Scotch, tasted it, and carefully added two cubes of ice. There were some things, he felt, that could not be improved upon. He stoked up his pipe and lit it. The smoke was a shade on the bitter side. He had expected that. Alex never had much luck with his pipes.
“Want to talk about it?” asked Tucker Olton.
“You’ve read the report.”
“Yeah, but what do you really think?”
“I told the truth.”
“Nobody ever tells the full truth in an official report. You taught me that, Alex.”
“Maybe.” Alex fiddled with his pipe and fired it up again. It was not significantly improved. “Suppose we take the Lupani for openers.”
“You put them in one hell of a spot.”
“No. I didn’t put them anywhere. In effect, I returned them to their traditional way of life. I let them alone.”
“Come on.”
Alex fixed himself another drink. It made the pipe taste better. “Look at it this way. You know the cycle of the Lupani. Basically, they stay put in their villages during the winter, harpooning the karibu. Then they break up into small groups and head for the askaggen range for the summer hunting. Suppose that we had broken that cycle by dumping in enough food to hold them in their villages. We could have supplied askaggen tusks, too, for that matter. Then what?”
“It would have been a clear case of cultural manipulation. The U.N. ET Council would have blown their collective stacks. The Caravans lawyers would have been demolished; there would have been no case to defend. But that’s not the point —”
“It is the point. If we had done that, we would have been in hot water legally. Beyond that, it would have been morally wrong — I’m an old graybeard who still worries about morality, you know. Ultimately, it would have destroyed the Lupani by destroying their culture. This was not a change that they had made. They would just be pawns. When we tired of the game, the food would stop. The Lupani have to work out their own future. It is their right.”
“But —”
“Okay, we didn’t break the cycle. This time, we were completely innocent. We found the cycle broken. It was a bad business, from our viewpoint and from that of the Lupani. We restored the cycle. The Lupani will hunt the askaggen again. They won’t eat food they believe to be karibu during the summer. They have nothing else. They’ll break up and go after the askaggen.”
