Jeff Carlson - The Frozen Sky

ALL SUNFISH: Top quakes / Wind / Freezing death.

CHARLOTTE AND TOM: Old Ones / We remember home.

“This is something they’ve learned by rote,” O’Neal said. “It may be a favorite song.”

“It’s a creation myth,” Metzler said. “We have Great Flood stories from the ocean levels falling with every Ice Age and rising again when Earth warmed. They have cycles of decreased or increased volcanic activity.”

“Listen to them!” O’Neal said. “They’re talking about the empire like they think they’ll find it.”

“Or like it’s paradise,” Vonnie said. “Maybe they believe in an afterlife.”

Koebsch sighed heavily. “Lam, tell them you’re not from the empire,” he said, but O’Neal shouted, “First let them finish! This kind of oral history could tell us a lot of what they know about their neighbors, or if they have religion, or how much they know about planetary science.”

“All right,” Koebsch said. “Let them sing.”

“I think we’re playing with fire,” Vonnie said. “Lam can’t sit and watch while they praise him.”

Charlotte broke from the dance, signing questions of her own as the other sunfish continued. Then they lost the thread of their group song and joined her in quizzing Lam with new animosity.

CHARLOTTE: You are silent / You disapprove?

ALL SUNFISH: Old Ones / We belong to you.

CHARLOTTE: We are strong!

LAM: Strong / Yes / Good and worthy.

CHARLOTTE AND TOM: Old Ones / Take us home.

LAM: My tribe is not the Old Ones / We are younger / From far away / I need your patience.

Their arms writhed slowly, repeating Lam’s shapes as if internalizing his explanation. Among the savage males, the body language was sharper and foreboding, like a brewing storm. They were already forgetting the trust he’d established.

Charlotte maintained control over the males by signing at Lam, using her own belligerence to satisfy them.

CHARLOTTE: Safety / Take us home.

LAM: You are unintelligent / My tribe is far away / Listen / I will give you food now / My tribe comes later.

MALE SUNFISH #2 and #4: Food / Where is food?

MALE SUNFISH #3: Eels / Food.

TOM AND CHARLOTTE: You will show us eels?

LAM: I will give you new food / Great nutrition / New food and new tools.

CHARLOTTE: Show us.

“Okay, here we go,” Koebsch said to Vonnie and Frerotte.

“My boards are green,” she said. Frerotte nodded. The two of them cross-checked the mecha feeds on their displays, verifying their preparations as Lam led the sunfish from the pocket in the ice.

He entered a wider chasm studded with loose gravel. Below, his sonar revealed several nubs of rock. Tom shadowed Lam as the savage males ranged ahead and above, reforming their pack with Charlotte and Brigit at its center. But there was an obvious difference from before. Now the females keyed on Lam instead of Tom, altering every trajectory to keep Lam — not Tom — in reach. If they met an enemy or if they discovered prey, their strategy would stem from his reaction. The intelligent sunfish seemed willing to rely on Lam, accepting his strange conduct and speech in exchange for the riches he’d promised.

He ducked up and sideways through the holes in the ice, which became rock, then ice again. The male sunfish paused abruptly, detecting scuff marks and traces of fresh moisture in the air.

MALE SUNFISH #2 AND #4: Something passed through here before us / Life / Unknown / No scents / Beware.

TOM: Listen! Listen!

CHARLOTTE AND TOM: Silence / Listen!

LAM: No danger / Stay with me.

He stopped, signaling for the sunfish to direct their senses beyond him. The pack resisted, bunching in a defensive knot. When nothing happened, Tom crept forward while the savage males dispersed around Charlotte and Brigit, shielding them, screeching threats into the dark.

Four vacuum-sealed metal containers rested on the ice. Each weighed less than ten kilos — smooth, rounded, alumalloy shells with lateral seams.

Lam stayed back, letting the sunfish familiarize themselves with this treasure. They shrieked in delight, using the same body shapes to describe the containers as they used to name the crude metal tools they’d scavenged days ago. They recognized the substance. They thought they could smash it into chisels and blades.

TOM: Tools / There are tools!

LAM: Tools and food / Not danger / Food.

CHARLOTTE: I smell no food / Only metal / How did you cause metal to wait for us?

LAM: My tribe is strong / Listen and wait.

He scuttled toward the containers, advising the sunfish that there would be noises and smells. As he hit each metal shell, it popped open. The air was drenched with the coppery scent of raw meat.

Vonnie and Ash had taken every last ounce of synthetic tissue from their vats to fill two of the containers with cloned blubber, cartilage, and blood. The organic material had been intended for their next round of sunfish-shaped probes. Instead, they’d activated two probes that lacked any disguise, then raced the skeletal, naked mecha into the ice while the colony slept.

Probes 116 and 117 had carried their payloads to the border of the tribe’s territory, leaving a radio beacon for Lam. Afterwards, the probes moved away and found a hollow where they’d hidden themselves.

Twenty kilos of meat wouldn’t serve as more than one or two meals for the tribe, but easy, extra calories were an unlikely gift in the frozen sky.

The other two containers held pliers, screwdrivers, and hammers. These tools weren’t fitted for sunfish. Vonnie hadn’t had time to develop new equipment, and she’d imagined the sunfish would celebrate steel of any shape.

The pack’s cries were a shrill wail. They stroked Lam in elation as they examined the containers. Brigit, Tom, and Charlotte reached for the tools. The savage males swarmed the containers of blood and gore.

Suddenly they hopped apart. Among their many arms, Tom and Charlotte lifted three screwdrivers and a hammer like weapons.

“What is it?” Koebsch said. “What’s going on?”

“The meat could smell wrong or they recognized one of those tools as something on Vonnie’s suit,” O’Neal said. But the sunfish were searching the blackness. Lam’s telemetry flared, analyzing their new postures.

“Some of those body shapes are welcoming,” Vonnie said. “Look at the males. They recognize whatever’s out there.”

Lam said:

— There are new sonar calls above us. The voices belong to four of the intelligent females in Top Clan Eight-Six.

“Von, they’re moving toward our probes,” Frerotte said as her station lit up with alarms.

“They shouldn’t know we’re there,” Koebsch said. “I thought the rest of the tribe was inside their home.”

Vonnie glanced at Metzler. “You said they might have long-range communications we haven’t figured out yet. Is it possible they have better hearing than our mecha?”

“Absolutely not.”

— The sonar calls are increasing in volume and multitude. There are male voices mixed with the female. I estimate a large contingent.

“Christ. Radar shows twenty to thirty contacts,” Frerotte said. “They brought the whole tribe.”

“Can you move our probes?” Koebsch said.

“Where?” Vonnie asked. “Check your radar. They sent two foursomes to encircle the area from behind. Unless we cause avalanches on all sides and trap the probes in the middle, the sunfish will catch them.”