Alien Earth. Megan Lindholm
Humans indulging in a mania for possession, I would concede your fundamental correctness. But we are speaking of myself, an Arthroplana. My life span lasts a multitude of yours, and my study of the Humanities will truly transcend time only if I have full access to the entire historical spectrum of Human creativity. I am sure the Conservancy would recognize my need were I to petition them. But until I have time to do so, I take my own small shortcuts. They needn’t concern you. Consider this: the material I bring aboard is then copied onto organic memory filament secreted by the Beast for precisely such a purpose, and the original medium is then biologically degraded with a thoroughness your technology can never hope of achieving. No one suffers, least of all the environment. I am surprised that I need tell you this. Another Arthroplana might actually be offended that you would even consider that one of our race might deliberately choose to do something that was not totally harmonious with the natural environment.” His tone had become progressively colder and more formal.
“I didn’t mean,” Connie began, flustered. She felt chilled, almost threatened by his words. She’d never been lectured by an Arthroplana, let alone scolded like a child with poor manners.
“You are, of course, quite young,” Tug conceded generously. “Even by Human standards, your experience is quite limited. So I forgive you, as is more divine than Human. This time. I don’t think I even need mention it to John.”
“Thank you,” she managed numbly, wondering if she weren’t missing half the conversation.
“Don’t mention it. It’s no trouble. Now, the information I need you to pick up for me should be available within an hour of our docking. Of course, I don’t need it quite that fast. My supplier will be waiting for your visit, and …”
The communication station beeped an alert. “Delta Station to Beastship Evangeline. Dock at Gate Ten for unloading, please.”
“Affirmed,” Connie replied, knowing it was only a formality. Tug would already have relayed the message to Evangeline, and she would already be responding even as Connie answered.
“We’ll talk of this again, later,” Tug said quickly, and surely it was only Connie’s nervousness that made his synthesized voice sound hurried and furtive. Tug switched intercoms abruptly. “Captain John Gen-93-Beta!” His voice rang out throughout all levels. “We’re docking. Your ship has come in!” The heartiness in his voice almost sounded real. “Best come chat with the docking crew while Evangeline and I perform the docking.”
Within his quarters deep inside Evangeline’s body, Tug hunkered into position. Tiny anterior hooks secured him in position within his host. He drew his shortened forelimbs carefully down a nerve trunk. When the ganglion bundle bulged, he darted in to lock minds with her again.
[Docking with Delta again.]
“Yes. Pay attention to the frequency emanations so you line up correctly.”
[I do. Evangeline will have Beast time?]
“Perhaps. Line up correctly.”
[I do. Evangeline would like a mating.]
A mating? Tug decided it wouldn’t fit into the schedule. He matched one of his modified nematocysts carefully to one of Evangeline’s nerve centers and expertly discharged it. So much for that impulse. He monitored her, felt her interest in mating fade as the inhibitor took effect. Docility returned to the Beastship.
[Docking with Delta Station. Tug will play a game with Evangeline?]
“Later. If Evangeline docks well, and does not complain about the unloading, then Tug will play a game. Pay attention to the frequency emanations and line up to match them. Then you will dock well.”
[Evangeline pays attention. Docking with Delta Station.]
2
IN COMPARISON TO the quiet of Evangeline’s gondola, the corridors of Delta Station swirled with life and its accompanying cacophony of noise. John felt all the symptoms of sensory overload syndrome: the headache, the vague nausea, the lassitude of permanent gravity. None of them were enough to completely distract his mind from his most gnawing discomfort: Norwich had expressed polite disinterest in renegotiating their contract. John clenched his teeth and resolutely jerked his mind away from considering it. He had business to conduct, and he’d better be alert about it. He nodded agreement to whatever pleasantry the garrulous little representative from Earth Affirmed was mouthing as John followed him through Delta’s corridors. It irked John that no one else had expressed any interest in hiring them.
Time was when he and Evangeline would have had a dozen offers before he’d even docked. But they’d worked steady runs for Norwich so long now that no one even considered them anymore. He’d posted Evangeline’s availability on the listings screen, but didn’t hope for much from that. Every captain knew that the only decent jobs were the ones that came looking for a specific ship and captain, and they’d been off the open market too long. He’d already had a couple of calls from other captains, wanting to know how he and Norwich had fallen out. Well, he was damned if he knew, he reflected bitterly. The only other call had been from Earth Affirmed, reiterating their interest and setting up this meeting.
“… disorientation and sensory overload when you first come back into a station?”
“Usually,” John replied shortly, guessing at the man’s question. “It’s a hazard of the profession. One learns to live with it.”
Deckenson insisted on talking to him as they walked. John wished he wouldn’t. He was only hearing about one third of what Earth Affirmed’s man was saying, and couldn’t keep his mind on that much. The sights and sounds of Human activity in the station corridors were overwhelming after the years aboard Evangeline. That those years had passed as a matter of months for John didn’t diminish the effect, but intensified it. How could so much have changed so greatly in what felt like such a short time to him?
The wide white corridors of Delta Station swarmed with people of all ages, dressed in every imaginable garment. The brightness diffusing from the high-domed ceilings made it eternally a summer morning. A light wind stirred the plantings and people’s garments, carrying with it a scent of flowers and only a trace of machine oil from the fans that generated it. The utilitarian corridors he remembered had blossomed into something more reminiscent of a botanical garden. Even the people looked cultivated for their diversity. Riotous colors and swirling fabrics of every sort had replaced the sedate white togas and brown leggings that had been in favor when he left. Even stranger was the population change. A Rabby had been a rare sight when last he’d been here. Now they made up about one quarter of the population, and at almost every corner there were discreet jets where they could recharge their breathing tanks. The Arthroplana had recently and somewhat grudgingly granted Humans the privilege of having unsupervised contact with selected Rabby individuals on a face-to-face basis. The grant had been accompanied by many dour warnings that Humans were as yet still too disharmonious in nature to be granted general access to the Rabby race as a whole. From the few Rabby John had ever communicated with, he wondered why anyone would want to talk to any of them, unsupervised and face-to-face or any other way. They were boring as hell. Yet the fact that the Arthroplana had the power to restrict Humanity’s access to the other sentient species still galled him. It all came back to the Arthroplana’s monopoly on interplanetary travel. Didn’t everything? he reminded himself sourly.
The population diversity wasn’t the only change in the corridors. Decorative art seemed to be enjoying a renaissance. The austerity of slag sculptures had given way to living embellishments. John could remember when the export of live plants to any of the dirty-tech stations, for other than edible use, had been a grave offense. He could still remember his very first trip to one of the tank rooms, his small hands secured in front of him lest he yield to any disruptive unadjusted impulses. He’d hated the plants then, because he’d believed they could never be his, could never be touched by him. So often they’d told him he could never be allowed around any living thing except another Human.
Now vinery draped doorways and blossoms dangled from sculptures. Fountains spattered and danced in enfoliated basins