“The
splificator died.” Halea pointed to the corresponding panel.
“Mercies!
Our report is almost done, and we do not have any more filaments to start a new
one. What happened?” Laveriat slipped over to the site monitor and
examined the data.
“A human
destroyed it while taking the antenna’s biggest new amplifier. She’ll
probably die.” Halea had never thought she would grow this dispassionate
about knowledge. “It doesn’t matter; we can always notify the Library for
an emergency pick-up by tanbeam. We are probably done with this mission
anyway, are we not?”
“I would say
not. The humans made it to their fourth planet, but whether the colony
remains viable for twelve solar orbits is the determining factor,” Laveriat
reminded her. “Ask Dano’on what he thinks. He has analyzed their space
program more extensively than anyone.”
Halea put
away her headset to head for the observatory, grateful for a break from the
significant transmissions produced by the peoples on this continent.
Skittering up the external surface, it took her 1.14 seconds longer than usual,
for last night’s storm had dislodged a number of her usual hand-holds.
She found
Dano’on expressing grief, beating his chest as he moaned over the central
controls. “Why, oh why did we get assigned to such an awful
planet?”
“What is
happening?” Halea had never seen Dano’on so profoundly upset.
He motioned
for her to take his place before the 5-D holographic mirror. “That device
is called a ‘laser trencher’ by the Earthlings, used to burn holes in soil that
convert the edges to rock-like consistency. Yet that human is using it as
a weapon.” Indeed, the crowded plaza sported gobbets of singed and bloody
parts exploding among the running humans.
“That must
have started just after the splificator died. 422,844 local channels gone
in one instant. Where is that happening?”
“Europe.
Celtea is beaming it to our catchall.” The murderer on the screen was
quickly captured; Dano’on sighed with relief. “Wars are bad enough, but
these individual acts indicate horrific and widespread mental illness. I simply cannot believe the Originators
seeded this planet with the same genetic stock as ours. I wonder if we
will ever find their home planet? I would do anything to investigate it;
perhaps they had answers to the failures of so many cultures in so many star
volumes.”
Halea
massaged his standard to distract him. “Come, love, let us join together
and forget the humans for a while. You will relax thereby.”
“We all need
to de-stress. And Laveriat is still working on the report. You know
it gets a bit jealous when we don’t include it in our joining, for it always
only joins with us together. Plus, joining with our integral is always
the most exquisite experience.”
“True.
I wonder if human behavioral problems are because they never developed integrals?”
She sighed. “I’m willing to bet Laveriat is ready to relax, too.
When I mentioned we should get the Library to retrieve us, it replied that our
mission is not finished according to the twelve-orbit standard. It
appeared determined to see the data complete, but I am certain it was at
nerve’s end over not being able to send the report.”
“What
happened to the splificator?” Dano’on brow creased with worry.
“One of
Katria’s female acquaintances destroyed it while picking the biggest seasonal
amplifier.”
“No!
Not another piece of equipment damaged!” Dano’on rushed toward the
doorway. “We must consult on this immediately.” Halea had never
seen her antipod move so quickly. She scrambled to catch up, and they
darted down the bark of the tree to the lower knothole.
Laveriat was
communicating with Sengaliat by tanbeam. As the latter described the
essential elements of its 60-orbit report, the drought, starvation, and violent
actions of humankind on that continent, Laveriat shook its head. “The humans
on this continent are so gluttonous, they have been calling their own obesity
an epidemic for 30 orbits. I simply do not understand why they refuse to
take care of their brethren.”
Halea and
Dano’on hovered behind Laveriat as Sengaliat finished its rant. “We need
to call the Library for a pick-up. This mission may not be completed, but
it is finished. I do not believe the human colony will survive, not if
they treat each other like they do on Earth.”
Laveriat
turned to Dano’on. “What is your opinion as to the viability of the Mars
colony?”
“They did
profile the members extensively and tried to guarantee stable, cooperative
personalities. I think the colony will survive. I suspect, however,
it might be the only way humankind itself survives, given the state of the
planet.” Dano’on looked at Halea.
She
considered that thought with her Othermind. “I think you are
correct. I estimate 97% of humans with access to communication devices
recognize that humanity’s survival relies on space colonization. I
estimate 76% of that sub-set see it as a method of escaping the prevalent
attitudes of Earth, an opportunity to establish a more benevolent, nurturing
society with a responsibility to care for all its members.”
“What about
the other 24%?” Laveriat and Sengaliat asked in unison, a skill that made
integrals such excellent mission commanders, able to synthesize reports to the
Library with ease.
“They simply
plan to violate all natural resources in the name of profit, not growth.”
At everyone’s neutral expressions, Halea realized they were all struggling to
care about acquiring further data on this planet. “I say we end the
mission. If the humans make it to other stars someday, we will see which
society prevailed.”
Laveriat and
Sengaliat chorused, “Let’s call a Caucus.”
As soon as
Laveriat shut down the tanbeam, Halea asked if it was interested in some
bonding. Laveriat responded to that suggestion with notable enthusiasm.
***
The Caucus
was unanimous. Each female antipod was to communicate their intent to
leave en masse with her chosen human, while each male antipod was to collect
all equipment for pick-up. “Disclosure to the fullest extent your human
can understand,” the Integrals chanted simultaneously, locked together with
their Otherminds. “The Library will initiate pick-ups at 54.Γ5.36.00.”
The Caucus disbanded, each integral mentally returned to its mates, and
Laveriat set the tanbeam on standby.
Halea
sighed. “I hate putting on that suit.”
“What is
hate?” Dano’on was great with technology, but Halea decided he was immeasurably
lucky he only had to compile real-life visual data. The literature on
this planet would give him screaming horrors.
“The human
word for extreme disgust.” Halea went to the locker and began attaching
accoutrements.
Dano’on
checked the wings, concealment function, and sensitivity shield. “At
least it is the last time you will wear it.”
“On this
planet,” Halea reminded him. “Unless we get a team-teaching position at
the University, we will undoubtedly be sent to a new solar system.”
“You have
done a magnificent job,” Laveriat noted magnanimously. “Perhaps our next
assignment will be to a planet on which male antipods would do better with
face-to-face contacts.”
Dano’on
escorted her to the lift. “Those wings are about to give out. Use
the variable-visibility cloak function as soon as you can.” Halea nodded
and entered the lift.
Exiting at
the base of the grandiose oak catchall, Halea consulted her locator.
Katria was in the garden, trying to play with Capitán. After twelve
orbits, Halea was grateful the canine no longer tried to chase her. She
almost regarded the old mutt as a friend, for sometimes, while waiting for
Katria, she and the dog would sit together in quiet companionship beneath the
broad shade of the oak’s limbs.
Halea zipped
over to the garden, initiated her wings, set the cloak to maximum human visibility,
and slowly hovered toward Katria. The girl was nevertheless
startled. “Hello, Katria.” Mindful of the wings, she settled to the
ground and furled them.
“Alea!
I haven’t seen you in so long!” Katria left the dog and scrambled to lie
prone, elbows propped to rest her chin in her hands. Capitán thwacked its
tail upon the nearby flowering strawberry patch, mere spins from producing the
first of this orbit’s crop.
Halea worked
to project just the right amount of sadness. “Sweet Katria, I have been so very busy.
My friends and I are preparing to leave.”
“Leave?
Where are you going?” Katria’s eyes were round with wonder.
“You know
this country is not our home. We are going home soon. I simply
wanted to tell you in person, and I wanted to thank you so much for being my
friend.” She bore a round of Katria’s tears and pleas as her Othermind
calculated this was the 571st human child she would never see again.
Halea’s
conscience reminded her to say, “Oh, Katria. I have something important
for you to do.”
Katria wiped
her face with the sleeve of her dress. “Anything, Alea. I’ll do
anything for you.”
“A lady you
may know picked some mushrooms out in the oak grove. I am afraid she may
try to eat them. If she does, they will make her very sick. She
might even die. Please warn her not to ingest them,” she emphasized as
acutely as possible without trying to scare the child.
“Oh, that was
Tía Marianela. Don’t worry; she says she knows all about mushrooms.
She was so happy to find a really big one.
She digs them out because the roots are the most important part.” Just
like a human, promise instantly forgotten and confident she had all the data she
needed, Katria chattered merrily as Halea tried not to care about the fate of
humans anymore.
It was
surprisingly easy to do.
