Page 9 of Sentenced to Prism

  The bail‑bearing drinker had been an organosilicate, a protein lifeform shielded by a silicate shell. He found himself wondering how it would taste if cooked over a slow fire. No, not yet. He hadn't been out of the MHW that long. He made a meal of concentrates, added appro­priate vitamins, and continued on.

  His‑close escape at the hands of the pool‑dweller was forgotten when he noticed a perceptible strengthening of his beacon's light. He was still on course, then, and would not have to waste valuable time by returning to the suit and seeking a different direction. As the long evening set in, the brilliance of his surroundings was minimized. When he was able to see without his crude sunshades, he stowed them carefully in his pack, then reviewed his limited stock of food. He had enough to get him back to the station, but no guarantee that he would find untouched stores of food once he returned. He'd seen how easily the local lifeforms could break into and devour the materials used to manufacture electronic components, witnessed their taste for the basic elements that comprised the human body. He might return in high spirits only to find an empty larder.

  If he was going to have to dine on the wildlife, now was as good a time to try it as any, while he still had some regular food to tide him over the inevitable stomach upsets. He would have to hunt carefully among the organosili­cates for something palatable.

  Might as well take a stab at hunting and gathering now, during the one time of day when he could see without his encumbering plastic eyewrap. He would improvise. Man­kind had progressed somewhat beyond the skills neces­sary for hunting and gathering, and the citizens of Samstead had progressed rather farther than most. Which was another way of saying Evan was acutely aware of his ignorance.

  Still another in the chain of ponds lay ahead, sheltered beneath a grove of what looked like glass poles topped by abandoned birds' nests. The nests were actually clumps of delicate fibers that strained to catch the rays of the slowly setting sun. Evan could see them moving, following the shrinking light, drinking in the photons. In the center of each pole was a greenish vein as thick as his leg. It was impossible to tell where silicate life ended and carbon­based began.

  Piles of shattered trunks and broken fibers provided good cover, but try as he might, he couldn't locate any­thing small and edible. Everything was encased in a sil­icate shell or was composed entirely of inedible silicate materials.

  Disgusted, he gave up before nightfall and lay down to watch the fibers atop the pole‑trees slump against their trunks. Once more the decreasing light brought forth a multitude of night sounds prodigious in their inventive­ness. Constrained screams, shrill whistles, buzzes, and peeps were familiar to him by now. In addition he knew that the air waves were alive with an alien cacophony pitched well above his hearing range.

  Of more concern was the awakening of nocturnal car­nivores, though so far he hadn't been disturbed after dark. That was fortunate, since the only weapons he possessed were a fragile silicate staff and a fragment of broken bub­ble grass. He strove to lie as still as possible.

  Like the day, the night was comfortably warm, a real blessing considering his meager attire. Hadn't his ances­tors made do with nothing at all? But they had been covered with fur.

  Well, he wasn't dead yet, and with each hour of con­tinued survival his confidence increased, if not his real­istic prospects. Hadn't he survived most of a whole day outside on an alien world without a suit? It was a talent the citizens of Samstead had forgone long ago, resurrected by one Evan Orgell out of necessity. He had traversed a respectable number of kilometers by the power of his own muscles, avoided several dangerous lifeforms, and made an attempt, albeit an unsuccessful one, to obtain local food. He had much, he was convinced, to be proud of.

  In fact, it seemed that he had been pretty much left alone by Prism's inhabitants, an observation which led him to consider a radical possibility. If the staff of the research station had not tried to defend their post but instead had abandoned it to the catastrophe which had in the end overwhelmed it, would they too have been left alone? On a world as unpredictable and unexplored as Prism, was passivity better than an active defense in the face of alien attack?

  It took his mind off the night sounds as he sat there, scrunched in between two glassy trees as the stars replaced the sun with their wholly inadequate light. When the rush of adrenaline through his system lessened, exhaustion began to creep in and he became aware of how tired he really was.

  He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he did not expect to awaken until morning. As worn out as he was, it took something spectacular to wake him in the middle of the night.

  What happened was that a star tried to get into his eye.

  It was bright blue and it tickled. He twisted and jerked his head violently. Aware that something had settled on his face, he sat up fast and brushed sharply at the star with his right hand. It flew away as he opened his eyes.

  Until then he'd slept within the womb of the MHW, the visor darkened to shut out any external sights which might have disturbed his rest. No visor stood between him and the night sights of Prism now. One of them had landed on his cheek and tickled him awake.

  The night was alive with dancing jewels. His first thoughts were of the fireflies of Earth or the pinmotes of Hivehom, but it quickly became apparent that the phe­nomenon he was observing was no kin to those familiar luciferase‑producing lifeforms. They were something dif­ferent, strikingly different.

  They were much brighter than their purely carbon­based analogs and they exhibited every imaginable color of the rainbow as they swarmed in the thousands above the pond. As he stared, two more darted close to his face and hovered there. They were bright red, crimson. A third and fourth joined them, one green, the other an extraor­dinary lavender color, all hanging in the night air in front of him like hummingbirds. Their tiny, delicate silicate wings generated a gentle whirring noise instead of a harsh insec­toid buzz. They did not blink but glowed steadily, their lights, like their colors, intense and unvarying.

  He waved at them and they retreated a few centime­ters. The swarm produced more than enough light for him to see by. He tried to imagine what kind of system could produce such a creature, theorized that they must spend every daylight hour soaking up the sun's energy in order to be able to fly and glow at night.

  Surrounded now, he waved both hands to shoo them away and watched as they scattered, like gemstones tossed from a rajah's hand. Rising, he saw that they rested in the trees and bushes, conserving their stored energy for the production of light. The silicate forest, which had been so intimidating by day, was now transformed into a daz­zling display of living light.

  All was not innocent beauty, however. Something moved in the dim, multicolored light, and Evan ducked back between his protective boles. It sounded like a small machine. In a way, it was.

  It was composed entirely of black borosilicates, tough and unyielding, save for a trio of bright pink eyes. With an inflexible, gaping mouth it inhaled the flying jewels, darting and swooping among the dancing clouds on stiff, curved wings. Fingerlike scoops on the end of each wing curled and twisted, blowing still more unfortunate prey into the open maw while driving the predator through the air. Evan had not delved sufficiently into ancient history to recognize such devices as propellers but he admired their efficiency nonetheless. The single predator had little impact on the thousands of dancing jewels, which, obliv­ious to the havoc it was wreaking among them, continued with their nocturnal ballet.

  He watched until his stomach began to complain. He was tempted to dip into his store of concentrates, forced himself not to. Better to continue to ration himself. How­ever, his stomach demanded something, so he left his resting place and strolled to the edge of the pond, con­fident that the black flier would ignore him.

  He tested the water with the tip of his staff. While the silica was neither dissolved by acids nor attacked by some unsuspected subsurface carnivore, it did attract some attention in the form of a knot of round little water strid?
?ers. They were not sharp and slim like the snowflakes who lived on the water tension during the day. They were much plumper, but most of that consisted of a silicate honeycomb that was more air than solid. Like the jewels, they also proclaimed their presence to the night by gen­erating light. They were either blue or blue‑gray, however, disdaining the intense displays of their aerial relations. The presence of the staff in the water seemed to confuse them. They kept bumping into it and swirling away dazedly.

  Picking one out for closer observation was a simple matter. Evan dropped to his knees and scooped one up in his palm. The honeycombed body boasted a long, screwlike tail, a kind of corkscrew flagellum. Beneath the lightly glowing blue shell was a small knot of pink pro­toplasm. The tail pushed weakly at his palm, unable to propel its owner out of Evan's hand.

  After a moment's hesitation, he set it down on the sandy shore, where it twisted and humped about help­lessly. Utilizing a fist‑size rock, he smashed the shell. There was no audible response to this destruction, but the pale blue glow vanished instantly and the creature ceased its thrashing. He was able to pick off the remainder of the honeycomb shell with his fingers. This left him with a lump of pink flesh that lay motionless in his palm. The light of the jewel dancers revealed nothing resembling organs; no mouth, eyes, heart, or anything familiar. Just firm meat and a purely silicate tail.

  Holding his breath and closing his eyes, Evan held it over his lips and bit it off clean at the tail joint.

  The flesh was firm but not tough, with a rubbery con­sistency and practically no flavor at all. There was no blood, only a thin transparent fluid that was salty to the taste. He washed it down with some fresh water, inserted his staff into the pond, and fished out a second honeycomb strider, killed it instantly in the same fashion as the first. After several minutes passed, during which time he had not thrown up, he downed the next course of what was to become a filling late‑night snack.

  He found that the pale‑blue striders went down easiest, while the blue‑grays made him slightly queasy. Therefore he stuck with the pure blues, throwing the grays back, fishing for the diatomous forms with mounting enthusi­asm.

  By the time he finished, sated, he had accumulated a small mountain of cracked shells and discarded tails and a minor bellyache due more to overeating than the in­edibility of his chosen prey. Wishing for a soft cushion but settling for a pile of shed pole‑tree fibers, he leaned back and rested his crossed hands over his full belly. As he did so several brownish shapes descended from above and began to pick noisily at the pile of scraps he'd left behind. If they had eyes he couldn't see them. They seemed to be all teeth and claws.

  It didn't take the creatures long to clean up the after­thoughts of his meal and return to the sky on parafoil wings. They left only pure silicate structures in their wake. Carbon‑consumers, like the scavengers feeding on the bod­ies of the unlucky station staff. Contented or not, he would do well to find a safer place in which to sleep off his repast.

  He rose and began searching, grateful for the clouds of dancing jewels and for their light, which was beginning to fade as their stored solar energy started to run down. He needed a refuge fast, before total darkness reclaimed Prism's surface. A tree would be good, if he could find something climbable that would support his weight.

  As it turned out he found something much more acces­sible: a place where flood waters from the stream which fed the chain of ponds had gouged out a cave in a soft bank. Crawling in, he found that the cave floor was smooth and dry. Blocking the entrance as best as he was able with rocks, he piled cool sand beneath his head and instantly went to sleep . . .

  Sunlight streaming through the opening finally forced him awake. He twisted onto his side, reluctant to part with the last lingering shreds of reassuring sleep. He was stiff and slightly damp but not cold. The sun was insistent.

  He rolled over. As he did so his right hand contacted something hard and slick. It moved, the reaction bringing him to full wakefulness much faster than the intruding sunlight. He had company in the cave! Whatever it was lay between him and the entrance, so he scuttled franti­cally back against the rear wall of his refuge, clutching his pitiful shard of bubble grass in one hand and waiting for what seemed like the inevitable attack.

  The other occupant of the cave watched this activity blandly out of olive green eyes. There were only two of them, but that was all that was reassuring about the alien. It was less than a meter in length and resembled a loaf of french bread baked in dark blue glass. This body was supported by ten canary yellow legs. Body and legs were opaque, so Evan couldn't tell by looking at it if it was an organosilicate or purely silicate lifeform.

  As he eyed it warily it did something no other creature he'd previously encountered had done: it blinked, both green eyes being temporarily covered and then exposed again by a pair of black silicate shades that closed over them from the sides. His gaze moved to the forest of cilia that covered the creature's back. At first he'd thought the yellow growths were some kind of fur. Now he could make out the miniature dish‑shape that tipped each strand. All of them were straining toward the sunlight flooding the outer part of the cave, the tiny silicate cups drinking in the brightness. Another photovore, he decided.

  His suppositions were confirmed when it retreated a few steps in order to place its receptors fully in the light. It kept its gaze on him all the time and the thought occurred to him it might be as fearful of him as he was of it. He relaxed somewhat.

  The cilia receptors fluttered as they were placed in direct sunlight. Not only was the alien charging its system; it was enjoying the early morning heat as well, since the conductivity of silicon increased with the temperature. It leaned forward to nibble at the sand with half a dozen small pincers arranged around its mouth.

  As he watched it eat, his initial panic dissipated. Evan grew aware of a soft, steady humming noise. It emanated from somewhere inside his visitor and sounded much like a small motor set on idle. At first he thought the sound unvarying, but the longer he listened the more he became aware of subtle modulations. It was a disarming sound, soothing, relaxing, almost a mechanical purr.

  He forced himself to concentrate on those crunching mouthparts. How long before the alien came to the con­clusion that the cave contained a more accessible con­centration of useful minerals than raw sand?

  Keeping as much distance between himself and the creature as possible, Evan started crawling around the inner rim of the cave, making for the entrance. As he moved, the alien continued with its breakfast. It also moved its head to watch him. The cilia on its back rose to track the rising sun.

  He was very near the cave opening when the steady hum from the alien suddenly rose in volume. Evan fairly jumped for the outside, scrambling on hands and knees, and promptly bashed his head against something unseen. Dazed, he sat back, gingerly felt his forehead, and waited for his vision to clear. Could he have misjudged his sprint for safety so badly?

  He had not. During the night, a transparent window had been placed over the cave entrance.

  He ran his fingers along the smooth barrier, glanced sharply back at his unexpected roommate. Some kind of protective secretion, he decided. There was no other explanation for the construction. The alien had wandered into the cave sometime during the night, lead ignored or not noticed its other occupant, and had pest the shield in place to keep out undesirables while it slept.

  Unfortunately, in sealing intruders out, it had also sealed Evan in. The humming lessened in intensity. Keeping his attention fixed on the creature, which was eying his own movements with equal alacrity, Evan made a fist and slammed it against the transparency. It didn't look espe­cially thick, and it was riddled with tiny holes, but as with so much he'd already encountered on this world, appear­ances proved deceiving. Despite his efforts, it did not respond to the attentions of mere human muscles.

  He turned away and began looking for a good‑sized rock. As he turned, the alien moved toward him. Scram­bling backward on ha
nds and knees, he backed into a small alcove, determined to defend himself for as long as he was able.

  Except there was nothing to defend against. Ignoring him, the alien approached the barrier. It glanced back once to assure itself of his position, then turned its head to face the glassy wall. A tiny hypodermiclike tube emerged from beneath its mouth, jetted a stream of odorless liquid onto the barrier. Evan stiffened, remembering previously observed secreters of dangerous acids, but this one didn't act like a corrosive. There was no hissing and steaming and the barrier didn't melt into a puddle of silicate slag.

  The stream ceased. The alien settled back and waited. While it did so Evan found himself a rock with some heft. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it made him feel better. The creature continued to ignore him.

  There was a loud cracking sound. As Evan stared, a jagged line appeared in the barrier. It was followed by another crack, then a third. The cracks began to run together and the transparency started to fall apart, crum­bling like spun sugar. In a couple of minutes the wall he'd been unable to dent was a pile of powder on the cave floor. Enzymes or acids, the only difference was one of perspective, he thought.

  But the alien still stood between him and the exit. While he watched, it consumed the silicate powder, much like a spider consuming the fragments of its own web, and then nudged a couple of rocks out of its way. The cilia on its back pointed toward the sun regardless of the posi­tion of the body.

  Apparently satisfied with the exit it had created, it crawled over the few remaining stones and out onto the sandy beach outside. Then it turned to face him. Frowning and keeping his eyes on it, Evan crawled out after it. As he emerged, it backed away from him.

  Its gait was more of a waddle than a walk and he almost smiled. Sharp mouthparts or not, it was hard to take any­thing with so comical a method of locomotion too seri­ously. Besides, if it harbored any malign intentions toward him, surely they would have manifested themselves by now.