Sundiver

  There was almost always a part of the anatomy that one learned to address as the seat of another awareness. Among humans and very often among E.T.’s, this focus was in the eyes.

  A Kanten has no eyes. Jacob guessed that the bright silver objects that made the sound of tiny sleigh bells were Fagin’s light receptors. If so, it still didn’t help. One had to look at the whole of Fagin, not at some cusp of the ego. It made Jacob wonder which was the larger improbability: that he liked the alien despite this handicap, or that he still felt uneasy with him despite years of friendship.

  Fagin’s dark leafy body approached from the window in a series of twists that brought successive root-knots to the fore. Jacob gave him one medium-formal bow and waited.

  “Jacob Alvarez Demwa, a-Human, ul-Dolphin-ul-Chimp, we welcome you. It pleases this poor being to sense you today, once again.” Fagin spoke clearly, but with an uncontrolled singsong quality which made his accent sound like mixed Swedish and Cantonese. The Kanten did much better speaking dolphin or trinary.

  “Fagin, a-Kanten, ab-Linten-ab-Siqul-ul-Nish, Mi-horki Keephu. It pleases me to see you once again.” Jacob bowed.

  “These venerable beings have come to exchange their wisdom with yours, Friend-Jacob,” Fagin said. “I hope you are prepared for formal introductions.”

  Jacob set his mind to concentrate on the convoluted species names of each alien, at least as much as on their appearance. Patronymics and multiple client names would tell a great deal about the status of each. He nodded for Fagin to proceed.

  “I will now formally introduce you to Bubbacub, a-Pil, ab-Kisa-ab-Soro-ab-Hul-ab-Puber-ul-Gello-ul-pring, of the Library Institute.”

  One of the E.T.’s stepped foward. Jacob’s initial gestalt was of a four-foot, gray teddy bear. But a wide snout and fringe of cilia around the eyes belied that impression.

  This was Bubbacub, director of the Branch Library! The Branch Library at La Paz consumed almost all of the meager trade balance which Earth had accumulated since contact. Even so, much of the prodigious effort of adapting a tiny “suburban” Branch to human referents was donated by the huge galactic Institute of the Library, as a charity, to help the “backward” human race catch up with the rest of the galaxy. As head of the Branch, Bubbacub was one of the most important aliens on Earth! His species name also implied high status, higher even than Fagin’s!

  The “ab” something-to-the-fourth meant that Bubbacub’s species had been nurtured into sentience by another which had in turn been nurtured by another, and so forth back to the mythical beginning at the time of the Progenitors . . . and that four of these generations of “Parentals” were still alive somewhere in the galaxy. To be derived from such a chain meant status in a diffuse galactic culture whose every spacefaring species (with the possible lone exception of humanity) was brought up out of semi-intelligent savagery by some previous, space-traveling race.

  The “ul” something squared said that the Pil race had in turn fostered two new cultures on their own. This too was status.

  The one thing that had prevented the complete snubbing of the “orphan” human race by the Galactics was the fortunate fact that man had himself fostered new intelligent races twice before, the Vesarius had brought Contact with the E.T. civilization home to Earth.

  The alien made a slight bow.

  “I am Bubbacub.”

  The voice sounded artificial. It came from a disc that hung from the Pil’s neck.

  A Vodor! The Pil race required artificial assistance to speak English, then. From the simplicity of the device, much smaller than those used by alien visitors whose native tongues were twitters and squeaks, Jacob guessed that Bubbacub could actually pronounce human words, but in a frequency range beyond human hearing. He decided to assume that the being could hear him.

  “I am Jacob. Welcome to Earth.” He nodded.

  Bubbacub’s mouth snapped open and shut a few times silently.

  “Thank you,” the Vodor buzzed, in clipped, short words. “I am happy to be here.”

  “And I to be of service as your host.” Jacob bowed ever so slightly deeper than he had seen Bubbacub do when he came forward. The alien seemed to be satisfied and stepped back.

  Fagin recommenced his introductions.

  “These worthy beings are of your race.” A twig and a bunch of petals gestured vaguely in the direction of the two human beings. A gray-haired gentleman, dressed in tweed, stood next to a tall brown woman, in handsome middle age.

  “I will now introduce you,” Fagin continued, “in the informal manner preferred by humans.

  “Jacob Demwa, meet Doctor Dwayne Kepler, of the Sundiver Expedition, and Doctor Mildred Martine, of the Department of Parapsychology at the University of La Paz.”

  Kepler’s face was dominated by a substantial handlebar moustache. He smiled, but Jacob was too amazed to reply to his pleasantries with more than a monosyllable.

  The Sundiver Expedition! The research on Mercury and in the solar chromosphere had been a football in the Confederacy Assembly, of late. The “Adapt & Survive” faction said that it made no sense to spend so much for knowledge that could be “ pulled out of the Library, when the same appropriation could employ several times as many unemployed scientists here on Earth with make-work projects. The “Self-Sufficiency” faction had so far had its way, though, in spite of abuse from the Danikenite press.

  But to Jacob it was the idea of sending men and ships down into a star that sounded like insanity of the first degree.

  “Kant Fagin was enthusiastic in his recommendations,” Kepler said. The Sundiver leader smiled, but his eyes were reddened. They bore puffy outlines from some inner worry. He pressed Jacob’s hand in both of his own and pumped quickly as he spoke. His voice was deep but it did not hide a quaver.

  “We came to Earth only for a little while. It’s an answered prayer that Fagin was able to persuade you to meet with us. We really hope you can join us on Mercury and give us the benefit of your experience in interspecies contact.”

  Jacob started. Oh no, not this time you don’t, you leafy monster! He wanted to turn and glare at Fagin but even informal intrahuman propriety required that he face these people and make small talk. Mercury indeed!

  Dr. Martine’s face fell easily into a pleasant smile but she looked a little bored as he shook her hand.

  Jacob wondered if he could ask what parapsychology had to do with solar physics without sounding as if he were interested, but Fagin beat him to it.

  “I intrude, as is generally considered acceptable in informal conversations among human beings when a pause has occurred. There remains one worthy being to introduce.”

  Oops, thought Jacob, I hope this Eatee’s not one of the hypersensitive ones. He turned to where the lizardlike extraterrestrial stood, to his right, next to a multicolored wall mosaic. It had risen from its cushion and now moved on six legs toward them. It was less than a meter in length and about twenty centimeters high. It walked right past him without a glance and proceeded to rub itself against Bubbacub’s leg.

  “Ahem,” Fagin said. “That is a pet. The worthy whom you are about to meet is the estimable client who brought you to this room.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Jacob grinned, then forced a serious expression onto his face.

  “Jacob Demwa, a-Human, ul-Dolphin-ul-Chimp, please meet Culla, a-Pring, ab-Pil-ab-Kisa-ab-Soro-ab-Hul-ab-Puber, Assistant to Bubbacub, of the Libraries and Representative of the Library with the Sundiver Project.”

  As Jacob had expected, the name had only patronymics. The Pring had no clients of their own. They were of the Puber/Soro line, though. Someday they would have high status as members of that old and powerful lineage. He had noticed that Bubbacub’s species was also out of the Puber/Soro and wished he could recall if the Pila and Pring were Patron and Client.

  The alien stepped forward but did not offer to shake hands. His hands were long and tentacular with six fingers each at the ends of long slender arms. They looked fragile. Culla
had a faint odor, a bit like the smell of new mown hay, that was not at all unpleasant.

  The huge columnar eyes flashed as Culla bowed for the formal introduction. The E.T.’s “lips” curled back to display a pair of white, gleaming, grindermashie things, one on top and one on the bottom. The partially prehensile lips brought the cleavers together with a white porcelain “clack!”

  That can’t be a friendly gesture where he comes from, Jacob shuddered. The alien probably pulled his huge dentures out to imitate a human smile. The sight was disturbing and at the same time intriguing. Jacob wondered what they were for. He also hoped that Culla would keep his . . . lips curled back in the future.

  Nodding-slightly he said, “I am Jacob.”

  “I am Culla, Shir,” the alien replied. “Your Earth ish very pleasant.” The great red eyes were now dull. Culla backed away.

  Bubbacub led them back to the cushions by the window. The little Pil sprawled into a prone position with his quadrilaterally symmetric hands dangling over the sides of the cushion. The “pet” followed and curled up next to him.

  Kepler leaned forward and spoke hesitantly.

  “I’m sorry we dragged you away from your important work, Mr. Demwa. I know you’re already heavily engaged . . . I only hope that we can persuade you that, that our own little . . . problem is worth your time and worthy of your talents.” Dr. Kepler’s hands were knotted together on his lap.

  Dr. Martine looked on Kepler’s earnestness with an expression of mildly amused patience. There were nuances here that bothered Jacob.

  “Well, Dr. Kepler, Fagin must have told you that since my wife’s death, I’ve retired from the “mystery business,” and I am pretty busy right now, probably too much so to get involved in a long journey off planet. . .”

  Kepler’s face fell. His expression became so bleak so suddenly that Jacob was moved.

  “. . . However, since Kant Fagin is a perceptive individual, I’ll be happy to listen to anyone he refers to me, and decide on the merits of the case.”

  “Oh, you’ll find this case interesting! I’ve been saying all along that we need fresh insight. And, of course, now that the Trustees have agreed to let us bring in some consultants . . .”

  “Now, Dwayne,” Dr. Martine said. “You’re not being fair. I came in as a consultant six months ago, and Culla brought the services of the Library even earlier. Now Bubbacub has kindly agreed to increase the Library support for the project and come personally with us to Mercury. I think the Trustees are being more than generous.”

  Jacob sighed.

  “I wish someone would explain what this is all about. Like you, Dr. Martine, perhaps you can tell me what your job is . . . on Mercury?” He found it difficult to say the word “Sundiver.”

  “I am a consultant, Mr. Demwa. I was hired to perform psychological and parapsychological tests on the crew and environment on Mercury.”

  “I assume they had to do with the problem Dr. Kepler mentioned?”

  “Yes. It was thought at first that the phenomena were a hoax or some sort of mass-hallucination. I’ve eliminated both of those possibilities. It’s clear now that they’re real and actually take place in the solar chromosphere.

  “For the last months I’ve been designing psi experiments to take down on solar dives. I’ve also been helping as a therapist for a number of Sundiver staff members; the pressures of conducting this kind of solar research have been telling on many of the men.”

  Martine sounded competent, but there was something about her attitude that put Jacob off. Flippancy, perhaps. Jacob wondered what else there was to her relationship with Kepler. Was she his personal therapist as well?

  For that matter, am I here just to satisfy the whim of a sick, great man who must be kept going? The idea wasn’t very attractive. Nor was the prospect of getting involved in politics.

  Bubbacub, head of the entire Branch Library on Earth—why is he involved in an obscure Terran project? In some ways, the little Pil was the most important E.T. on the Planet outside of the Tymbrimi Ambassador. His Library Institute, the biggest and most influential of the galactic organizations, made Fagin’s Institute of Progress look like a drum and tambourine outfit. Did Martine say he’s going to Mercury?

  Bubbacub stared at the ceiling, apparently ignoring the conversation. His mouth worked as though singing in some range inaudible to humans.

  Culla’s bright eyes were on the little Library Chief. Perhaps he could hear the singing, or perhaps he too was bored by the conversation so far.

  Kepler, Martine, Bubbacub, Culla . . . I never thought I’d be in a room in which Fagin was the least strange! The Kanten rustled nearby. Fagin was obviously excited. Jacob wondered what could have happened in the Sundiver project to get him so fired up.

  “Dr. Kepler, it just might be possible that I could spare the time to help you out . . . maybe.” Jacob shrugged. “But first, it would be nice to find out what this is all about!”

  Kepler brightened.

  “Oh, didn’t I ever actually say it? Oh my. I guess I just avoid thinking about it these days . . . just skirt around the subject, so to speak.”

  He straightened and took a deep breath.

  “Mr. Demwa, it appears that the Sun is haunted.”

  PART II

  In prehistoric and early times the Earth was visited by unknown beings

  from the cosmos. These unknown beings created human intelligence by a

  deliberate genetic mutation. The extraterrestrials ennobled hominids

  “in their own image.” That is why we resemble them and not they us.

  Erich Von Daniken Chariots of the Gods

  The sublime mental activities, such

  as religion, altruism and morality, all

  evolved, and have a physical base.

  Edward O. Wilson

  On Human Nature

  Harvard University Press

  4. VIRTUAL IMAGE

  The Bradbury was a new ship. It used a technology far ahead of its predecessors on the commercial line, taking off from sea level under its own power instead of riding to the station at the top of one of the equatorial “Needles,” slung beneath a giant balloon. Bradbury was a huge sphere, titanically massive by earlier standards.

  This was Jacob’s first trip aboard a ship powered by the billion-year-old science of the Galactics. He watched from the first-class lounge as the Earth fell away, and Baja, California became first a brown rib, separating two seas, then a mere finger along the coast of Mexico. The view was “breathtaking, but a bit disappointing. The roar and acceleration of a jetliner, or the slow majesty of a cruise-zep had more romance. And the few times he had left Earth before, rising and returning by balloon, there had been the other ships to watch, bright and busy as they floated up to Power Station or back down the pressurized interior of one of the Needles.

  Neither of the great Needles had ever been boring. The thin ceram walls that held the twenty-mile towers at sea-level pressures had been painted with gigantic murals—huge swooping birds and pseudo science-fiction space battles copied from twenty-century magazines. It had never been claustrophobic.

  Still, Jacob was glad to be aboard the Bradbury. Someday he might visit the Chocolate Needle, at the summit of Mt. Kenya, for nostalgia’s sake. But the other one, the one in Ecuador—Jacob hoped never to see the Vanilla Needle again.

  No matter that the great tower was only a stone’s throw from Caracas. No matter that he would be given a hero’s welcome, if ever he came there, as the man who had saved the one engineering marvel on Earth to impress even the Galactics.

  Saving the Needle had cost Jacob Demwa his wife and a large portion of his mind. The price had been too high.

  Earth had gained a visible disc when Jacob went off to look for the ship’s bar. Suddenly he was in the mood for company. He hadn’t felt that way when he came aboard. He’d had a rough time making excuses to Gloria and the others at the Center. Makakai had raised a fit. Also, many of the research materials on
Solar Physics he’d ordered had not arrived and would have to be forwarded to Mercury. Finally, he’d let himself get into a stew wondering how he’d been talked into coming along in the first place.

  Now he made his way along the main corridor, at the ship’s equator, until he found the crowded, dimly lit Saloon. Inside he squeezed past clots of talking, drinking passengers to get to the bar.

  About forty persons, many of them contract workers bound for skilled labor on Mercury, crowded into the Saloon. More than a few, having drunk too much, spoke loudly to their neighbors or simply stared. For some, departure from Earth came hard.

  A few extraterrestrials rested on cushions in the corner set aside for them. One, a Cynthian with shiny fur and thick sunglasses, sat across from Culla, whose great head nodded silently while he sipped daintily with! a straw between his huge lips, from what appeared to be a bottle of vodka.

  Several humans stood near the aliens, typical of the Xenophiles who hang on every word of an eavesdropped E.T. conversation and who wait eagerly for chances to ask questions.

  Jacob considered edging through the crowd to get to the E.T. corners The Cynthian might be someone he knew. But there were too many people at that end of the room. He chose instead to get a drink and see if anyone had started storytelling.

  Soon he was part of a group listening to a mining engineer tell an enjoyably exaggerated tale of blow-ins and rescues in the deep Hermetian mines. Though he had to strain to hear over the noise, Jacob still felt he could conveniently ignore the headache that was coming on . . . at least long enough to listen to the end of the story, when a finger jabbed in his ribs made him jump.

  “Demwa! It’s you!” Pierre LaRoque cried. “How fortunate! We shall travel together and now I know that there will always be someone with whom I can exchange witticisms!”