McCollum - GIBRALTAR STARS (11 page)

Likewise, musculature and limb arrangement revealed the gravitational pull of the home world, as well as offered a clue as to biotic conditions. Fins and hydrodynamic sculpting pointed to an aquatic origin; while quadrupeds and centaurs tended to be ground dwellers. Most bipeds were descended from arboreals.

Further, bipeds could be divided into Brachiators and Striders. Brachiators, like Dos-Val himself, were descended from animals whose physical size made it difficult for them to scamper atop vines. They found it more efficient to swing beneath the stalks.

Striders were arboreal quadrupeds whose ancestors were forced out of the vines early in their evolution. They were vertically oriented animals forced to live in the horizontal world of the dangerous ground. The fugitives were obviously Striders.

From the structure of their eyes, he assumed they evolved under a star that emitted yellow-white light, with either a tint of green in its spectrum or a canopy of chlorophyll-laden leaves overhead. Their naked skin spoke of a mean planetary temperature well above the melting point of water. Their well-regulated body temperature put an upper limit on the temperature of their world. The fact that they cooled themselves by evaporation spoke of a planet with a low average humidity, at least in the areas where their kind originally developed. This, in turn, suggested large, continent-sized land masses.

In other words, they came from a planet not unlike Ssasfal. This was not exactly ancestor-astonishing news. Most intelligent beings came from worlds that were at least passable imitations of the Home World.

It was not possible to tell from their eyes whether their yellow star was a giant or a dwarf. However, knowing its approximate spectrum narrowed the search parameters. There were fewer yellow stars in Civilization than orange, and substantially fewer yellow than red; but still far too many to launch a physical search on the little information he possessed.

The fugitives’ biochemistry was nothing special. They shared the basic life code of all carbon-based forms and were close enough to Broan that the two species could consume the same food, with only minor supplements to maintain health.

It was that very fact that gave him an angle from which to approach the problem.

Carbon biochemistry replicates itself so consistently from world to world that the phenomenon had long been a matter of debate among biologists. One faction maintained that the building blocks of carbon-based life are unique, and therefore, must be found wherever “life” has appeared. Other biologists held that space-borne precursors of life were responsible for spreading the code throughout the galaxy.

Even though the constituents of the bipeds’ life code were common to all living things, the arrangement of those building blocks was unique, as it is on every isolated world. Dos-Val was in possession of their chromosome map, which gave him the key to identifying their home planet.

#

The code of all living organisms was supposed to be filed in the central data banks of Ssasfal. Indeed, the collection of such data was something of a fetish among Those Who Rule. Thus, when the bipeds’ life code did not surface during a search of the databanks, its absence had caused alarm horns to sound at the highest levels of the Ruling Council.

It was one thing for the sector data banks to be incomplete. Civilization was large and unwieldy. It could take as long as a generation for data to percolate from one side to the other. However, it was much less likely for the strangers’ life code not to be in the central databanks. The only logical explanation was that someone had deliberately expunged the data. Such an act was a violation so blatant as to suggest a nefarious intent.

Still, difficult as it would have been to do, it was theoretically possible. A powerful faction or clan with access, opportunity, and resources might have erased a single species. But erasing a whole planet was infinitely more difficult. In fact, it was a task so complex that Dos-Val refused to believe it possible.

Whoever these bipeds were, they were the end product of eons of evolution in the system of the yellow star. An isolated world is a closed evolutionary system. Dos-Val was biologically related to all of the animals of Ssasfal, and to a lesser extent, its plants and microorganisms. These fugitive bipeds were likewise related to the 12
9
species that evolved with them on their home planet. Of special interest were the microorganisms dutifully recorded during their two medical exams. If he could identify the microorganisms that cohabited within them, then he could find their home world.

Dos-Val’s search had been extensive and costly. The algorithms involved consumed the power of several massive computers for so long that the Minister of Science expressed concern he was wasting resources. Still, the work had the imprimatur of the Prime Councilor, so no one could overrule him. Eventually, all the permutations were tested against every life code in the data banks. There were matches, to be sure. Considering the number of organisms on record, pure chance dictated some codes would be within his search parameters. However, further analysis showed these to be random hits.

One lesson Dos-Val learned as a pup was that when an experiment fails, it is time to question one’s assumptions.

He considered the question for several planetary rotations, becoming ever more frustrated. Eventually, as a mind often does when it is perplexed, a stray thought entered his brain.

It was a tiny thing, little more than a passing whim. For most members of The Race, it would have disappeared as quickly as it formed. Only his long habit of scientific objectivity caused him to isolate the thought and consider its ramifications.

He got no sleep that night and little over the next three. From its first wisp-like appearance, the idea grew into an obsession. The implications were fantastic, and horrifying.

Finally, exhausted, Dos-Val fell onto his sleeping mat, pillowed by
langol
rushes, and slept from Faalta-zenith to its rise the following day. Yet, even rested, he could see no flaw in his logic. Unable to dispose of the horrid thought, he entered a confidential code into his communicator.

His news would soon cause sleeplessness across the breadth of Civilization.

#

Zel-Sen, Prime of the Ruling Council, sprawled on his resting frame and watched the latest report scroll across his workscreen. His mood teetered between boredom and exasperation. Having achieved the pinnacle of power among Those Who Rule, it was his job to protect the gains made by the Ancestors. And, of course, to make gains of his own.

Despite his exalted status, his job was surprisingly mundane. Mostly it consisted of what he was now doing… reading reports. This particular report involved a minor, but politically sensitive, matter. Some young scion of one of the Greater Clans had made a mess of his stewardship over a second-tier subservient world, causing widespread disruptions in agricultural output. The Hunt Master of his sector relieved the pup and reassigned him where he would be less disruptive. Unfortunately, the head of the pup’s clan demanded discipline for the Hunt Master. That, in turn, brought it to Zel-Sen’s attention.

Like most problems that survived to his level, there was no easy solution. The Hunt Master was correct in the matter. Too many of the young owed their positions to influence rather than ability. The problem was exacerbated by the perennial shortage of personnel to rule subject worlds.

The correct thing to do would be to tell the Clan Master to concern himself with the quality of his offspring. Unfortunately, he dared not antagonize the pup’s forebear. So the problem was one of finding a way to assuage hurt feelings while upholding the Hunt Master’s authority. He was contemplating the dilemma when the call of a hunting
torpor
sounded in his ears.

The signal announced his next appointment. He glanced at the screen. Dos-Val of the Ministry of Science had requested an emergency audience.

He signaled his acceptance. The door opened and Dos-Val knuckle-walked to the resting frame across from the Prime Councilor. As he settled in, Zel-Sen noted that the scientist appeared agitated.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Dos-Val began without preamble.

“Is this about the missing accountant of the Sar-Dva Clan?”

“Yes, Councilor.”

“Have you discovered where the aliens who kidnapped him may be found?”

“No, Councilor. I have found no clue as to the location of their world.” Dos-Val went on to briefly recount the parameters of the search he had launched. Zel-Sen, who understood the complexity of central data, was impressed — impressed and confused.

Like the scientist, he found it impossible to believe someone had the power to make an entire planet disappear. That is, unless…

“Are you suggesting that our initial suspicions were correct? Has one of the clans discovered a new world and failed to register it?”

“No, Councilor, I do not think so. There should have been an initial record of the discovery, even if the discoverers later decided to keep it to themselves.”

Zel-Sen made the gesture of confusion. “Then we have exhausted the possibilities.”

“Not all of them, Councilor. There is one more we must consider, fantastic though it might seem.”

“Yes?”

The scientist fidgeted in his frame, obviously uncomfortable. Zel-Sen gave him a reasonable time before chiding, “I have a great deal to do today, Philosopher.”

“I believe, Prime Councilor, that we may have a wild species loose in Civilization, using the stargates.”

#

Chapter Eleven

Lisa Rykand stirred in her sleep, stretched, slowly opened her eyes, and then smiled. After a long, troubled time, everything was again right with the universe.

She was floating in mid-air, and she wasn’t alone. Mark was floating with her. They were intertwined, wrapped in the lover’s embrace that is the natural position when two people sleep together in zero gee.

When a spacer sleeps, the biceps exert more tension at the elbow joint than do the triceps. This causes a sleeper’s arms to bend upward to float in front of them, not unlike the position used by some religions while in prayer. If two people wrap their arms around one another before drifting off to sleep, the natural motion of their arms causes them to remain locked together throughout the night.

At least, that was the way physiologists described the phenomenon. Lisa preferred to believe that God had exercised His Divine Foresight to design the connubial embrace into the human genome long before the species ever experienced the absence of gravity.

Of course, God benefitted from some technological assistance, as well. While preparing to make love, both she and Mark donned coital leg straps — elastic bands loosely wrapped around their calves just below the knees. The first time they intertwined, the straps engaged, loosely tethering hairy right leg to smooth left, and vice versa. The straps tied them together during coitus, preventing their exertions from setting them adrift. The arrangement eliminated the need for conscious effort to cling to one another, freeing them for the serious business of giving one another pleasure.

Both she and Mark preferred the leg straps to any of the elastic belts of ingenious design that had long served the same purpose. And, despite elaborate and loving descriptions of the act of microgravity coitus in romance novels, the simple act of penetration did nothing to anchor a floating couple. Male ego notwithstanding, the forces involved vastly exceed the holding capacity of even the strongest penis.

Lisa lay comfortably in Mark’s unconscious embrace, her nose tucked into the fold of his armpit. Each breath brought with it the strangely erotic aroma of his perspiration. She listened to the rhythm of his slow breathing and felt the slow rise and fall of his chest as it massaged her flattened breasts. Everywhere save where her skin was pressed against his, she felt the cool air wafting against clammy skin. Wherever they touched, she felt the burning contact of a kindred soul.

She pulled Mark closer, purposely rubbing her pubic mound against his now-flaccid member. He moaned in his sleep and she felt a delicious chill of wickedness flash down her spine. Momentarily, she considered waking him in one of several ways a wife has to bring her husband back to consciousness. Then her lips curled into a broader smile as she decided against it. Considering the number of times they had made love since her arrival aboard
Amethyst
, she decided that he needed his sleep.

Yet, sleep for her seemed to have fled, to be replaced by a gentle languor. Lifting her head, she glanced at the chronometer on the bulkhead. The numbers were hazy, as though viewed through a thick fog, but sufficiently distinct for her to make them out. The hour was halfway through mid-watch, and still a couple to go before they were due to get up.

Turning her head, she made out the indistinct outline of the wash basin with its cluster of glowing automatic controls, barely visible in the dim bluish light of a starship pretending that night has fallen. That outline, too, was indistinct, this time appearing as through a spider’s web; as indeed, it was.

In addition to the elastic leg straps, their bed was equipped with a loose fitting cocoon — a descendent of the ancient mosquito net. It was large enough for two people to move within without being overly constrained, yet sufficiently confining that they could use it to brace themselves if their lovemaking required one or both parties to be anchored.

The cocoon served two basic functions. Primarily, it was to restrict lovers to the vicinity of their bed, lest they smash their heads into a bulkhead (or worse, a delicate piece of machinery) during the throes of passion.

It had another function, one that was understood, but not often spoken of. Its weave was sufficiently loose to allow the passage of cooling air, but tight enough to trap errant globules of fluid that might escape the act of love. Several embarrassing incidents in the early days of spaceflight had been caused by glandular discharges shorting out critical electrical equipment.

Lisa had arrived aboard
Amethyst
eight hours earlier as part of the first contingent of Stargate Project people. Her early arrival was no accident. Dr. Phonouvong knew her husband was Executive Officer of the
Amy
and arranged for her to be one of the first to transfer from Sutton to the ship. He’d explained with a smile that it was her reward for working so hard at translating the stargate’s operating instructions.