Майкл Бишоп - The Final Frontier - Stories of Exploring Space, Colonizing the Universe, and First Contact

“The atmosphere is drugged with hallucinogenic vapors from the plants,” Natalie said. “They want you here, but they don’t want you to know where ‘here’ is.”

“Who wants me?”

“They. The jungle. The sentient life on this planet. It’s gynoecious, by the way, and it’s been sweeping open space, seeking first contact. They detected you and Mona and evidently became entranced by the possibilities of companion male energy. Frankly, they have a point.”

“Where the hell do you get all that?”

“I asked. Or Mona did, actually. She’s been frantically investigating language possibilities since you disappeared. They communicate telepathically.”

Natalie led him through a sort of tunnel made from over-arching branches. They had to duck their heads.

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. She turned, a curl of dark red hair flipping over her eye. “Did you bring a weapon?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Well, where is it?”

“They sort of disarmed me.”

“I see.”

“Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here. As long as you’re not breathing the air they can’t mess you up too much. I think they’ll let us leave. I have a theory. Now let’s keep moving. It isn’t far to the ship.”

They emerged from the tunnel. The ship was there, but they were cut off from it by a wall of the tree-things, the crooked things with hungry amber eyes. They encircled the ship, knobby limbs entwined to form a barrier.

“You were saying?” Michael said, straightening his back. “Anyway, have Mona fly the ship over.”

“I can’t. Mona was hinky about landing after your Drop Ship sank. Also, I think they got into her head and spooked her. I had to engage the emergency override, same as you did.”

“Wonderful.”

“At least the security repulsion field is keeping them away from the ship.”

“At least.”

Hands on her hips, Natalie appraised the situation. After a minute she touched the com button on her wrist and spoke into it.

“Mona, we need help. Send the Proxy to clear a path.”

The aft hatch swung up and the Proxy appeared. It climbed down and disappeared behind the tree-things. A moment later the circle tightened. There was a the flash and pop of a blaster discharge. One of the tree things erupted in flame. It stumped out of the ring and stood apart, burning. The others closed in. A violent disturbance occurred. There were no further blasts. The Proxy’s torso arced high over the line, dull metal skin shining. It clanked once when it hit the ground. The line resumed it’s stillness.

“It’s a female jungle, all right,” Michael said. “Care to reveal your famous theory?”

Natalie held his hand. “We’re walking through,” she said.

“Just like that.”

“Yes. If we’re together they’ll let us. I mean really together.”

“That’s your theory?”

“Basically. Mike, trust me.”

They started walking. When they came to the Proxy’s torso, Michael held her back.

“I’ll go through alone,” he said. “If I make it to the ship I’ll lift off and pick you up in the clear.”

He tried to pull his hand free but she wouldn’t let go.

“No,” she said.

“Nat—”

“No. Don’t you see? If you go alone they’ll take you again. If I go alone they’ll rip me apart like the Proxy.”

“And if we go together?”

“If we go together they… will see.”

“See what?”

“That you aren’t solo, that somebody else is already claiming your male companion energy, another of your own species. Unlike Mona, whom they felt justified in severing you from. They know I’m imprinted in your psyche. You said yourself they always used my name. You just have to stop fighting us.”

Michael scratched his cheek, which was whiskered after a few days in the sentient jungle. Natalie squeezed his hand.

“Mike?”

“No.”

“We have to move.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Come on. It’s now or never.”

He felt himself collapsing inside, and then the old detachment. The cold, necessary detachment. She saw it in his eyes and let go of his hand.

“I’ll go through myself, then,” she said, and started walking forward.

He grabbed her arm.

“You just said they’d tear you apart.”

“I’m already torn apart,” she said.

“Don’t, Nat. Let’s think about this.”

“Just let me go, okay? You don’t want me. I get it.”

He held on. “There has to be another way to the ship.”

She pulled loose.

“I might get through. Wish me luck.”

“Nat—”

A cringing, huddled piece of him behind the cold wall stood up, trembling.

Natalie again started for the picket line of tree-things, walking quickly, leaving Michael standing where he was.

The tree-things reacted, reaching for her.

Michael got to her first and pulled her back into his arms. “Damn it,” he said. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

They lifted out of the jungle, accelerating until they achieved orbit. He sat tandem behind Natalie in the narrow cockpit of the Drop Ship.

“You really like to force the issue,” he said.

“Do I?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea.”

“No.”

“I mean, a little push doesn’t hurt.”

“Hmm.”

A few minutes later they acquired the starship and Natalie resumed manual operation and began docking maneuvers. She worked the controls very competently. Michael watched over her shoulder. But his gaze returned again and again to rest upon the nape of her neck, where a few silken hairs escaped and lay sweetly over her skin.

“The Dorothy thing,” he said, “that was another old movie reference. A child is swept away from family and friends and finds herself estranged in a hostile world.”

“How does she get back home?”

“She discovers a way to trust companions who initially frighten her.”

“I like that one.”

“It works for me.”

Natalie tucked them neatly into Mona’s docking bay.

Nancy Kress is the author of thirty-three books, including twenty-six novels, four collections of short stories, and three books on writing. Her work has won six Nebulas, two Hugos, a Sturgeon, and the John W. Campbell Memorial Award. Her most recent work is Tomorrow’s Kin (Tor, 2017) which, like much of her work, concerns genetic engineering. Kress’s fiction has been translated into Swedish, Danish, French, Italian, German, Spanish, Polish, Croatian, Chinese, Lithuanian, Romanian, Japanese, Korean, Hebrew, Russian, and Klingon, none of which she can read. In addition to writing, Kress often teaches at various venues around the country and abroad, including a visiting lectureship at the University of Leipzig and a recent writing class in Beijing. Kress lives in Seattle with her husband, writer Jack Skillingstead, and Cosette, the world’s most spoiled toy poodle.

Iwatched the probe launch from the Kepler’s top-deck observatory, where the entire Schaad hull is clear to the stars. I stood between Ajit and Kane. The observatory, which is also the ship’s garden, bloomed wildly with my exotics, bursting into flower in such exuberant profusion that even to see the probe go, we had to squeeze between a seven-foot-high bed of comoralias and the hull.

“God, Tirzah, can’t you prune these things?” Kane said. He pressed his nose to the nearly invisible hull, like a small child. Something streaked briefly across the sky. “There it goes. Not that there’s much to see.

I turned to stare at him. Not much to see! Beyond the Kepler lay the most violent and dramatic part of the galaxy, in all its murderous glory. True, the Kepler had stopped one hundred light-years from the core, for human safety, and dust-and-gas clouds muffled the view somewhat. But, on the other hand, we were far enough away for a panoramic view.