Sentenced to Prism

  Evan saw that the introduction of Commonwealth technology to Prism was going to have to be carried out under the strictest supervision. Companionable but cau­tious would have to be the company's byword.

  Meanwhile there was still more than half a river to cross and he'd best concentrate on his kicking or there'd be no exciting future to contemplate. It was quite a boost to his ego to know that he was actually driving himself across the water under his own power instead of having to rely on a suit motor. His leg muscles were doing all the work, muscles which would have been incapable of providing the exertion demanded when he'd first set down on this world but which had subsequently been strength­ened beyond belief by days of strenuous hiking.

  There was no need for the citizens of Samstead to exercise. Why waste time in expending calories on such primitive activities when there were few enough waking hours in the, day to utilize the resources of one's mind? Anything you wanted to do, any variety of outdoor activ­ity, was available without having to waste time on such absurdities. There were suits specialized for flying, for diving, for mountain‑climbing and long‑distance running. Exercise was for the feeble‑minded.

  No doubt that lack of physical conditioning had con­tributed to the disaster at the station. It was an interesting theory, one he would be sure to put to the company direc­tors upon his return. In certain instances, it seemed, there were reasons for using your own body for something other than a mobile container for the brain.

  Three quarters of the way across now and Evan had not only begun to relax but to enjoy the experience. Since his froporia suit was not watertight the river had long since seeped inside. The white suit held the same water next to his skin, where it attained a pleasing warmth. He felt as if he were swimming through a tepid body wash. So soothing was the warm water, the gentle movement of the river, and the soft breeze that barely stirred its surface that he nearly fell asleep. Azure woke him up in a hurry.

  "Evan, we have a problem down here. Evan?”

  Ire blinked. He'd been drifting mentally as well as with the current. "What kind of problem?" He peered down­ward as he asked the question.

  The bright colors of his companions were no longer visible beneath him. There was only the sandy bottom some six meters beneath his dangling feet.

  "Where are you? I can't see you anymore."

  "Behind you, I think."

  Evan managed to turn, taking pride in executing the necessary nautical maneuver, and kicked back toward the middle of the river. From time to time he would check the bottom. On the fourth check he stopped kicking and froze.

  The bottom had vanished.

  In its place was something huge and black. The current rippled its flanks but it held its position by moving cilia that lined its side. It curved out and down like an enor­mous black blanket.

  "There's something below me now," he thought loudly, "covering a lot of riverbed. If it's a silicate lifeform it's the most flexible I've seen yet."

  "It is a soft thing like you, without even a hard shell. It carries its skeleton within," Azure informed him. Apparently the creature's substance was no barrier to communication. "We have seen them washed up on beaches."

  "This is the first grampion I have ever seen alive," the library added. "We were always curious how they hunted, since it was clear even in death they did not live on the sun. Now it is obvious. It simply covers its prey and shuts out the light until they die."

  "It doesn't look very tough. Can't you cut your way through it?"

  "Its inside is very tough." One of the warriors was speaking. "It will not cut. Our teeth slide off."

  "It's waiting for us to become still," Azure informed him, "and it is watching us."

  "It's watching me too," Evan replied. "Interesting arrangement of eyes. Very flexible."

  Disconcertingly flexible, he thought as a second and then a third eye emerged from the blackness to gaze lim­pidly up at him. They were dark gold against the rippling black sheet of flesh. As Evan kicked and circled above it, the grampion's eyes migrated across the black surface to follow his progress.

  It was at least twenty meters across, not counting any unseen portions that might be closing in around his friends. It would be patient, slowly suffocating them. Suffocate seemed the right description to use even though in this case it referred to deprivation of sunlight and not air.

  "We are limiting our activities as much as possible to conserve our strength," Azure told him. "If not for our new battery organs, we would be in great danger already."

  " Maybe when it sees that you aren't going to go belly up it'll think you're not photovores and will move off and leave you alone."

  "I think not. It seems in no hurry to depart and likely can remain in place for as long as is necessary. If we cannot escape before nightfall we will run out of stored energy sometime after dark. Then we will be at its mercy."

  "Since we cannot do anything," the library solemnly said, "you must do something."

  That much was clear, but what could he do? If the warriors couldn't break free, how could he trouble that enormous mass of flesh? He couldn't even swim without the aid of floats.

  A solid blow might discourage it or upset it enough to leave in search of less resilient prey. Plenty of large stones lined the banks of the river, but Evan could not float one out into the middle of the current without sinking himself.

  The library, however, thought the suggestion excellent. "It need not be a rock," it argued. "There is another, more flexible method of dealing the required blow. Something already available and easy to maneuver into position."

  "What's that?"

  "Yourself. You are quite large and heavier than any of us. If you were to hit the grampion solidly where it is not expecting resistance, on its outside, surely it would retreat, if only to locate the source of such an unexpected assault."

  Evan considered. It was a good idea, a sound idea, and if it failed they could always try something else. There was only one drawback.

  "That means," he said slowly, "I would have to put my head under the water. Without any kind of protec­tion."

  "Soft things can do that. I've seen them myself," Azure argued.

  "For a minute or two, sure, but what happens if I succeed and instead of retreating the grampion decides to envelop me the way it has you? I can't sit on the bottom until it gets bored. I'll drown‑that's what happens to us soft things if we're forced to ingest large quantities of water."

  "The shock should be sufficient to induce it to flee," the library said.

  "Should be. What if you're wrong?"

  The library had no reply to that one, nor had Evan expected one. The elements of the equation were unchanged. If he somehow couldn't free his companions from the grampion's grasp, all of them would die.

  Damn morality, anyway. Why did it always have to show its fatuous, grinning self and make garbage of other­wise simple decisions?

  He kicked until he was floating directly over the center of the rippling black surface. How muscular was it? The more he thought about it the less sense the plan of action made.

  "Get ready to divert it if it comes for me." Who said that? Not Evan Orgell, surely!

  "We will do our utmost." That from all the warriors, speaking at him simultaneously. "As we would for any member of the Associative."

  "I'm not a member of your Associative. I'm a carbon­based nonphotovore."

  "What of that?" the library shot back. "An Associative is an organization of compatible minds, not superstructures."

  Too much philosophy, wrong time and place. He con­sidered how best to proceed, then let loose of the floats. His intention was to achieve the maximum possible impact on the grampion's dorsal side. He'd seen pictures of peo­ple diving, of the whales of Cachalot performing. The motion was not difficult.

  Taking several deep breaths, he arched his back and kicked hard. The added weight of his froporia suit helped him gain momentum and he struck the grampion with both fists. Then he turned and kicked
for the surface. In so doing he struck the creature with his feet far harder than he had with his hands.

  The reaction was considerably more violent than he'd anticipated. There was an explosion of water and black flesh. He was tumbled over and over until he was com­pletely disoriented. Instead of a black sheet he saw white sand beneath him.

  Then the blackness was gone. He kicked out wildly with hands and feet, attacking the water and going nowhere until he remembered something read long ago. He forced himself to relax, and it worked. His body oriented itself properly and he began to drift upward. As soon as he was certain of the direction he began kicking furiously again. His chest threatened to explode.

  Air then, filling his starved lungs with a painful rush. After taking several deep breaths he searched for his float. There was no sign of it, not even downriver.

  He discovered that by continuing to kick he could not only move forward but could stay afloat. As he paddled with agonizing slowness toward the far bank he fought to shake the water out of his bulbous sunshades.

  "What happened?"

  "It's gone." There was excitement in Azure's voice. "It was above us and then it was as though a piece of the night was flying down the canyon. You're not injured?"

  "Only mentally." Looking down, he could see them moving across the bottom beneath him. "I wonder why it didn't fight back."

  "Surprise, for one thing. No claws or teeth for another, and it could not be sure of your weapons."

  "Fortunately for me."

  "Where is your float? You are not sinking."

  "No. The suit forces me to work harder than I other­wise should have to, but we humans are a little lighter than water. We're mostly water ourselves. I'm managing. Don't ask me how, but I'm managing."

  "We will stay close to you."

  "Terrific. You can catch me when I sink." He didn't respond to any more questions, needing all his strength for the complex mechanics of swimming. No wonder the advanced citizens of Samstead had chosen to eschew its dubious delights. To think that the inhabitants of other worlds regarded it as recreation.

  At the last he was sure he wasn't going to make the shore, that all his efforts were in vain and he was doomed to sink like a stone to the bottom of the river. But he didn't sink, because suddenly something was supporting him from below. Looking down he saw Azure. The scout was standing atop a warrior, who was standing atop another warrior, who stood atop yet a third. They carried him the rest of the way until the water was shallow enough for him to stand. Once he'd managed to assume an erect posture again, staggering the rest of the way to shore was easy. He let out a long sigh and collapsed onto the beach.

  His companions gathered around him, watched silently as the water drained out of his suit. He lay still while the sun dried him. It was the first time since he'd set foot on Prism that he was glad of its undivided attention.

  He remained in that position no longer than was nec­essary, for fear of burning his exposed face. To the suited inhabitants of Samstead, sunburn was an alien affliction. Evan had no desire to experience it firsthand.

  "You did well," the library finally said.

  "I was too busy to be afraid. It's amazing what the body can do without a suit if it has to. That makes no sense to you, of course. Your suits are your bodies. Or vice versa." He looked past the library and frowned. "What's wrong with the gatherer?"

  "It was badly injured by the grampion when it fled. The rest of us were able to avoid contact. Gatherer was not."

  Even to Evan's untrained eye the creature's injuries looked severe. Several limbs were missing completely. One side had been ripped open, exposing innards that would have confused a biologist and fascinated an engi­neer.

  "What happens now? Is it going to die?" Without the gatherer the physicians would have a much more difficult time healing injuries.

  "Of course not," Azure said.

  The two physicians were conversing with the proces­sor. Clearly they were going to attempt to repair their injured‑damaged?‑companion.

  Evan directed his question toward the motionless, leaking gatherer. "Are you in pain?"

  "Pain?" The voice was gentle, slower than that of library or scout.

  "You don't feel pain? Discomfort?"

  "There is an awareness of bodily damage. It can become serious if not attended to. There is distress at loss of function. Is that what you mean?"

  Evan hesitated. "I'm not sure." Then, as the physicians were ready to begin, he put a question to Azure. "Listen, I don't want to intrude on anything personal. Should I move into the forest so you can have privacy?"

  "Privacy from another member of the Associative? Why would we want that?"

  "But I'm not a member of‑"

  "You are. You have been ever since the night your knowledge helped us to repel the Vwacorites."

  "No one said anything to me."

  "It should not have been necessary. We did not make you a member of the Associative. That you did yourself. We thought you would be conscious of this."

  "I guess I'm a little slow."

  Azure was watching the physician work. "Besides, part of us is in you now."

  Evan touched his temple below his left ear. "What, you mean the communicator? That's nothing."

  "It is enough. That, and what you feel, and what you think, as well as what you have done."

  "I'm honored. I guess I should thank everyone."

  "You should not," the first physician said without look­ing up from its work. "You should remain silent. We are consulting."

  Abashed, Evan complied. A high‑pitched whine tickled his ears and he wondered how much of what was going on he was actually overhearing. Gatherer lay down on its side. The whine continued, directed at their injured com­panion, and Evan surmised its purpose. He'd had a taste of electronic anaesthesia himself.

  What was new and what he wished he could see better was the means by which each physician generated an intense and narrow beam of light from just above their mouthparts. He couldn't see the beams themselves clearly, only the brilliant reflections they produced inside the gath­erer's body cavity. Somehow the light was collected on their backs and concentrated within their bodies.

  They were hard at work, connected to one another by communications tendrils. Joining them in intimacy was processor, who provided them with the raw materials nec­essary for the production of replacement parts. All three worked as one, smoothly and efficiently going about their respective tasks.

  Gradually the damage to gatherer was being repaired, the physicians producing the necessary new parts within their own bodies and then fitting them into place. A task which would have required the cooperative efforts of thousands of humans was being performed with near equal efficiency by a trio of primitive aliens, working without tools.

  On into the afternoon they worked without moving more than a few centimeters from their original positions. Tired as he was, Evan could not turn away from the reconstruction. He found himself becoming sleepy and lay down on the sandy soil to watch. Perhaps it was the effort of swimming the river and driving off the grampion, or maybe there was some leakover from the soporific whine the physicians were generating, but whatever the cause, he soon fell into a sound, dreamless sleep.

  Just before he drifted off he thought he saw Azure arguing with the first physician, but that might have been nothing more than his imagination.

  Chapter Twelve

  He awoke with a pounding headache which drew his attention immediately to the center of his fore­head. He'd slept far too long. The operation must be over and by the look of the sun he'd been out all night. It was midday again, not late afternoon. Too polite to wake him, his friends would be waiting patiently for him to recover so they could continue on their way.

  He rolled over and got to his feet, stretched, and looked down at Azure.

  Or was it Azure?

  The outline matched, but other things did not. Azure was primarily a deep blue. Evan didn't remember those blobs of shifting
red and green light that were now clinging to his friend's exterior. As he stared the red light shifted to yellow in places, fluctuating in intensity even as he looked.

  "Azure, what's happened to you?"

  "I told them." His friend's tone was mildly mournful. "I told them you wouldn't know how to react."

  "React to what?" Evan turned toward the forest‑and recoiled. It was alive with minute crawling things, tiny intensely colored shapes that hadn't been there the morn­ing before. Strange linear forms appeared to grow from the edges of fractal surfaces, surfaces which had previ­ously been nothing more than a blur to him. Even the air was alive with unsuspected life.

  The headache worried him. He put his right hand to his forehead. It failed to make contact with his sunshades, the special glasses Azure had fashioned for him. And yet he found he could see clearly, unaffected by the over­powering light of Prism's star or the blinding reflections of its flora. It was as if there were no glare at all.

  A particularly cloudy day, he told himself. But when he tilted his head back to survey the sky there wasn't a cloud to be seen. By rights he ought to be rolling on the ground by now with the tears streaming from his eyes. Instead, he found he was perfectly comfortable no matter where he looked.

  He became aware he was the center of attention. The warriors, library, the physicians, even the newly repaired gatherer were eying him intently. Their silence was more eloquent than anything that could have been said.

  He looked back down at Azure, spoke slowly. "What do you mean I wouldn't know how to react?" When no reply was forthcoming from his friend he turned his gaze on the staring physicians. "You've done something to me," he said tightly. "What have you done to me?" Like Azure, they did not reply.

  He stalked past them, to the edge of the forest. Several small bushes grew in the shadow of larger growths. From the center of their transparent shells several glassy stalks emerged. At the tip of each was a plate‑size organ that looked like a six‑sided flect. Evan snapped one off and held the reflective side in front of his face.