Sentenced to Prism

  He was about to gesture for Azure to plug back in so he could ask what the delay was when a familiar voice said softly, "It's already over, Evan. The installation is complete."

  Installation. Appropriate. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly, his muscles stiff and tired. He'd been half­conscious for more than the couple of minutes he'd envi­sioned. A few drops of blood stained his hand when he put it to his ear, but no more. And still there was no pain.

  "It seems to have gone well," another mental voice said, deeper and more resonant than the scout's. He looked down and saw the first physician eying him speculatively. "How do you feel?"

  "Like I just took a giant step into a vast empty place," the still numb Evan murmured. Gingerly he felt of the area around his ear. He had received an implant tuned to the broadcast and receive frequencies of these creatures, though whether his mind or the device was doing the actual translating of words he couldn't tell. He was in­volved with aspects of science that were beyond him.

  Intimately involved, now.

  The primitive physicians of Prism had just done some­thing no human medical lab could have accomplished. They had done it naturally, without the aid of complex machines, unless you regarded them as machines. Aren't we all machines? he mused. Change the arrangement of atoms within molecules and you have metal instead of flesh. Life defines itself. The rest is nothing more than cosmetics.

  The rest of the Associative went about its daily busi­ness as the search party departed, though it still received something of a triumphal send‑off. Instead of merely part­ing to let the travelers out, the walls formed a temporary arch of majestic proportions, while the flects produced a dazzling display of rainbows and beams of light. Then the walls closed the gap behind them, and the little expedition was on its own, following the course defined by the talk­ers. Evan's beacon grew brighter as they marched, con­firming the accuracy of the talkers' triangulation.

  Evan thought he'd seen the only intelligent lifeforms on Prism when the Vwacorites had fought his friends. The second day out showed him otherwise. Prism was home to several intelligent species, all of them battling the inimical forest forms while competing for dominance among themselves.

  They heard the sounds of battle before they found the source. The noise rose from a valley beyond the ridge they were ascending. As they reached the crest, the bat­tlefield came into view, but it was distant and far below. He couldn't make out individuals clearly, nor could his companions. Except for Azure, who provided a running description for the rest of them. Acute vision was vital to a scout.

  While Azure described, the library recorded for pos­terity. There was nothing unique about the conflict, Evan was told. This sort of thing went on among the Qwacolia all the time.

  From what little Evan could see, the members of this third intelligent race closely resembled the Vwacorites who had attacked the Associative. Organosilicates, their hard exteriors protected softer insides. They fought with spears and clubs fashioned of complex silicate com­pounds. Even at a distance many of the weapons were beautiful to look upon, though their purpose was not.

  "What are they fighting about?"

  "Who knows what soft ones fight over?" the library replied. "Territory? Food? This peculiar drive involving reproduction? All of it is irrational, since any of it could be better achieved by cooperation instead of fighting. But that is not the way of soft things." Evan felt vitreous lenses focused on him, and not only those of the library. "Is it the same with your own kind?"

  "Sometimes. We've learned to cooperate a lot better these past several hundred years, and the thranx have helped a lot, but we still have many conflicts over petty things. As you say, nothing that couldn't be better solved through cooperation."

  "See." The library turned back to survey the ongoing battle. "The soft ones of the nearer tribe are driving the others back."

  As some of the dust settled Evan could make out indi­vidual corpses littering the ground. Azure resumed his commentary.

  "They are all so similar in form. They may differ in external ornamentation, but they have the same number and kinds of limbs, of eyes and other sensory organs. Yet they fight one another while we, who are as different as can be, do not."

  All true, Evan mused. Difficult to imagine two more different beings than a library and a warrior, or flect and physician.

  "Specialization seems to compel harmony," he com­mented, "whereas each of us combines in ourselves aspects of warrior and physician, library and gatherer, processor and scanner. It appears that versatility engenders hostility instead of cooperation."

  "Except in your case," the library observed cogently.

  "Perhaps we are more advanced in the hierarchy of soft things. We have used our minds to overcome many of our ancient instincts. Though physically I'm probably more closely related to those combatants down there, in every other way I have far more in common with you, mentally anal morally."

  "I have seen enough." The library was unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. "We don't want to tarry here."

  As they marched on Evan considered what had just been seen and said. Did the device they had implanted in his head do more than just facilitate communication? Had they decided to work on his mind instead of his body? Distorting his perspective in order to guarantee his friend­ship?

  No, that was nonsense. His opinions remained his own, formed strictly on the basis of cool observations of his surroundings. He was still the same Evan Orgell. A broadcast‑and‑receive unit inside his head and a suit of organic armor hadn't changed that. He hadn't said what he'd said because it was what his new friends wanted to hear. He'd said it because it was the truth.

  He glanced down at his gleaming white froporia armor. Clothing, nothing more. He could remove it at his leisure. He just didn't want to, that's all. It was beautiful as well as utilitarian. He was simply being practical.

  They pushed their way through what looked like a grove of giant asparagus fashioned of solid emerald. Evan declared his intention to take a sample from one of the magnificent growths. His companions were willing enough to assist in this peculiar request but the trunks resisted even the cutting power of the warrior's jaws. This despite the fact that the boles were hollow. Minute creatures of red and blue lived inside, scampering up and down the inner corridors. Another relationship Evan didn't have time to explore.

  As the hours passed he became aware of the changes within his own body. Working behind a desk does little for the muscles. The long walks he took had helped, but not to the extent of his past days on Prism. The slight potbelly he'd acquired over the past five years had van­ished. Legs and stomach alike had firmed up considerably, responding to the recent unusual demands he'd put on the rarely used tissue. He felt stronger and healthier than he had in a decade. All that as a result of having aban­doned his suit.

  But he hadn't really gone suitless. He'd merely traded in the MHW for a local, primitive analog, one which encouraged rather than suppressed the body's own devel­opment. The froporia exoskeleton could not begin to duplicate what the MHW could do, but on the other hand his body was now capable of much more than it had been while he'd been encased in that supreme product of Sam­steadian technology. Which combination was the more practical for traveling about on an alien world: superior suit and weaker body, or better body and primitive suit?

  Not that he'd been given a choice in the matter.

  The equation was slightly tilted when he awoke the next morning. He was more surprised than startled to see one of the warriors standing over him. The physicians were nearby, watching.

  "We have made some improvements to your exoskel­eton," the warrior informed him in its gruff fashion. The mere fact of the announcement itself was unusual. Con­versation was not the warriors' strong suit.

  Evan sat up, blinking and still sleepy. "Improvements . . . what?" He looked over toward the physicians, who voiced concurrence.

  "What kind of `improvements'?"

  "It is not enough to b
e able to withstand an attack. Sometimes vigorous methods of defense must be employed. The other fighters and I have noted you did not possess the facilities for such. We offered suggestions. The physicians agreed with them. Together we oversaw the improvements while you slept."

  "That was very considerate of you." Evan eyed the fighting machine warily. "Uh, how do I make use of these improvements?" He stood, feeling perversely more con­fident now that the warrior was forced to look up at him.

  "Clench tightly the fingers of your right hand."

  Evan complied with the order, jumped slightly in spite of himself when the action caused four ten‑centimeter­long spikes to emerge from his armor just above the knuckles. Flexing his fingers, he observed that the spikes withdrew and re‑emerged like the claws of a cat. His left hand was similarly equipped. The silicate stilettos fit per­fectly into the armor that covered his wrist and the back of his hand.

  Springs of some kind activated the weapons, cued to the contractions of his own tendons. Making a tight fist, he examined the spikes on his right hand closely. They were perfectly transparent. Each ended in a sharp point. They were impressive enough to fend off many silicate lifeforms and were capable of devastating anything organic.

  "Thank you." He spoke directly to the warrior. "It's nice to have weapons of one's own. I've been feeling pretty helpless ever since I had to give up my first suit. It's been embarrassing, having to rely on you for my pro­tection all the time."

  "Why?" the library asked him. "We all rely on warriors for protection. None of us is equipped to defend our­selves. Only warriors."

  "And scouts," Azure chipped in, "which is why the warriors felt you would feel more confident with devices of your own. I agreed." He turned and gestured. "I have been ahead, as is my job. There is another canyon to negotiate."

  Chapter Eleven

  The second surprise of the morning greeted Evan when they broke through the forest and had their first sight of Azure's canyon. Technically the scout's description had been accurate. He had neglected to men­tion one additional fact, however.

  The canyon was full of water.

  "That's a river," Evan exclaimed. Not a stream this time, but a wide, slowly flowing watercourse of consid­erable dimensions.

  His companions hadn't stopped to stare. Azure turned to look back at him, wondering at his friend's hesitation. "A canyon filled with denser air, yes. What is the prob­lem?"

  "I can't just walk through it, you know."

  Azure eyed him blankly. "You can't?"

  "We are forgetting the nature of our companion's energy system," the library declared. "Soft things require the constant ingestion of gas, not liquid, in order to power their bodies. It is therefore apparent that submergence in heavier liquids would prevent the gas from entering prop­erly."

  "Certain soft things can make use of the denser air," one of the physicians pointed out.

  "I'm not a fish, if that's what you mean," Evan informed it. "I'm afraid I can only make use of the thinner gas."

  "Can't you just shut down for a while? We'll carry you across," one warrior suggested.

  Evan shook his head. "Sorry. When my kind shut down completely, the condition is irreversible."

  "Inconvenient," another warrior muttered.

  "I agree, but I'm afraid that's the way it is."

  "I have seen this before." Azure was considering the breadth of the river. "If the flow of gas to an organosilicate is cut off for even a short while, it dies. I should have thought of that."

  "Organosilicates do not possess nonvolatile memories as we do," the library added. "To them, shut‑down and death are one and the same."

  Everyone considered the problem. It was Evan's alone, he knew. Having no use or need for a steady supply of oxygen in the first place, his companions could and doubt­less would simply march right across the riverbed, ignor­ing the water as if it weren't there. To them it was simply a denser part of the atmosphere. .

  "If I were in my MHW," he murmured, "I'd just swim across."

  "Swim." Azure turned the concept over in his mind. "Like the amarex." He pointed upstream.

  Coming toward them and drifting to an unknown des­tination was a long line of rhomboidal shapes. Each con­sisted of a bright olive green pad about a meter across that was filled with an exquisite array of pink and white flowers. Here and there a larger blossom of deep purple announced itself with an explosion of breathtakingly large petals.

  Transparent floats hung from the underside of each pad, supporting the heavy load of flowers. From the center of the pads a single thin silicate blade swept up and back, catching the wind to propel the amarex from side to side and bank to bank as well as downstream.

  "Couldn't you gather a few amarex beneath you and use them to carry you to the far side?"

  Evan considered carefully. The amarex looked stable enough, but a .piece of log would do better. That was a laugh! Cellulose growths were in the minority on Prism. But if floating creatures like the amarex were common out in midstream, skeletons and shells of similarly buoy­ant creatures ought to be tossed up frequently on shore. Surely he could find something that would support him. His suit was not heavy.

  That was not the real problem. The real problem was that he'd never really been swimming in his life and had only the vaguest notion of the mechanics involved. He knew enough, though, to realize that there were important and critical differences between swimming and wading. Floating like the amarex would not be sufficient. A river was not a lake. He would have to contend with a current of unknown strength. That meant propelling himself bodily through the water.

  Not that he hadn't spent time in the water before. He'd taken numerous pleasure trips to the oceans of Samstead‑usually within a self‑contained sea suit which pro­vided thrust, food, oxygen, and complete freedom of movement within its sealed environment. How else did one visit the ocean? The very idea of attempting to cross an open body of water higher than one's own head was appalling. He knew what swimming entailed. Tridees of sports competitions on other, less advanced worlds had supplied that vicarious thrill. The required movements were relatively simple. But he wouldn't dream of trying it without something to keep him afloat. Since there appeared no alternative he was perfectly willing to try swimming‑so long as there was no chance of sinking.

  He left his companions behind and started searching the shoreline upstream. They awaited his return impa­tiently.

  "What do you think of it?" the second physician asked.

  "Quite intelligent and well intentioned." Library and physician spoke by means of communications tendrils so that their conversation would remain private. "Physically repellent. One would think it impossible for such a fragile lifeform to have achieved so much. I am fascinated by its dependence on artificial devices. It seems unaware of the inadequacies of its own body and how this in turn has affected its mental condition."

  "Actually I am surprised at the degree of adaptability it has demonstrated." The physician was methodically cleaning several of its delicate extremities, a never‑ending procedure. It was a matter of efficiency, not sanitation. Silicon is not subject to infection.

  "Evan is more versatile than either of you think," put in Azure, having joined the discussion. "As he has yet to demonstrate. Look, he's returning, and he's found some­thing to help him overcome his physical deficiency. Don't speak of it in his presence. It will upset him. I have found that he is very sensitive about such things. I suspect it is common among his kind."

  "Sensitive about reality?" Clearly the physician had a difficult time accepting this odd concept.

  "We are not dealing with a normal person." Azure has­tened to disconnect. The second physician and the library simultaneously withdrew.

  "I see what you intend," Azure said quickly to his friend.

  "This ought to do the trick." Evan displayed the dis­carded exoskeleton of some unknown organosilicate. It consisted of a series of interconnected transparent ovoids which had washed up in a small
cove. He'd tied several of them together with fibers taken from a willowy growth that grew from the riverbank.

  First he placed his chest against the center of the bundle and practiced drifting in shallow water. When it became clear the ovoid structure would support him easily, he turned and pushed himself out into the river. He was inordinately pleased to find that kicking his legs did indeed propel him forward.

  "About time," one of the warriors grumbled.

  Evan not only could talk to his friends as they started across the river bottom; he could see them easily through the clear water. They marched forward beneath him, war­riors surrounding the others save for Azure, who, as always, was out in front.

  "Everything okay?" he thought at his friend.

  "The bottom is a little soft. It is good that the water is so clear."

  "So that you can see your way across?"

  "No. So that we can still receive the sunlife."

  All the advantages were not with his friends, then. Dark waters would not have troubled him at all‑if he'd had gills.

  We complement one another, he thought. Friends. And for how long? Age was a topic not yet touched upon. Did their internal components wear out like those of any living creature, or were they infinitely replaceable via the skills of the physicians? There was still the matter of memory retention, but he had no idea how long a silicate brain could function without degenerating.

  It hit him suddenly that Azure, the library, the physi­cians, and the other senior members of the Associative might be thousands of years old. Unlikely, yes. Impos­sible, no. What if they did live two or three hundred years, though? What might happen if such intelligent, adaptable beings were given access to advanced technology? There was no telling what they might accomplish. If they could grow a mind‑to‑mind communications device using noth­ing more than their own specialized bodies, what else could they produce if given the right patterns? Could they grow a computer?