"Gorilla, My Dreams"
by David Brin
Ickies
How strange that such an insignificant little
world should matter so much.
It was a perplexity that bothered the Exemplary
Cogitator of Expedient Action as she pondered a holographic image of the
wolfling world... this Earth... which lay within sensor range but just
out of reach. Oh, how she longed to give the command --
ATTACK!
SWOOP DOWN UPON THE NEST OF WOLFLING HERETICS. END THEIR INSOLENCE,
ONCE AND FOR ALL!
The Exemplary Cogitator restrained herself.
For the present, her Calumnite battle fleets dared approach no closer than
half a light year. The place was too well defended, and anyway, soon other
armadas, representing dozens of rival clans and alliances would be arriving
from all over the galaxy to fight each other over the right of conquest.
Eventually, of course, the Calumnites would prevail, and finally come to
possess what she and her galaxy-spanning race desired most.
The blue-green ball spun before her, swaddled
in fleecy clouds, appearing ever so peaceful. Yet it was the home of those
trouble-making humans and their uplifted clients -- neo-dolphins and neo-chimpanzees
-- a tiny, parvenu clan which had managed in just a few lifespans to thoroughly
upset the venerable society of the Five Galaxies.
But it didn't begin there. The Exemplary Cogitator
mused. Who started all this? Someone must have secretly raised the humans
up from animal pre-sentience, and designed them to be annoying. What sick
race pulled such a vile trick on the established order?
It was a deeply disturbing quandary. And yet,
while she contemplated the blue globe, a more immediate concern flowed
upward from her vitals, fixating her thoughts closely upon the image. The
Exemplary Cogitator unfurled a long, elegantly pedicured pseudopod to envelop
the simulacrum, drawing the ersatz planet toward her, leaving a trail of
imitation atmospheric haze and droplets of seawater, fizzing and evaporating
into vacuum. Synthetic continents trembled, tectonic plates scraped and
liquefied like melting pastry under her pseudopods, as she savored the
aroma her kind coveted most... terror.
Ah, she mused, inhaling a steamy mist of dread
that wafted from the little pseudo-world.
Time for lunch.
Tf'Sheet
A short, round-shouldered figure entered the
recreation dome wearing lederhosen, a halter top, and pince nez glasses.
The bowlegged form sauntered across a stretch of plush, geniformed grass
to the edge of the exercise pool and slapped the water's surface with a
hairy palm.
"Hey Fishie! I got 'nother one for ya. C'mon
over an' hear it!"
Sound transmits differently on Triton, especially
in a pressurized dome at the meeting of air and liquid, where surface tension
makes the interface snap and bow like plucked tympani. Tf'Sheet had been
pleasantly occupied at the bottom, dismembering a hapless smelt with his
teeth, when the booming racket sent him arching spasmodically, rocketing
out of the basin in a thrashing of powerful flukes.
Unfortunately, his low-gravity descent was
languid enough to give the chimpanzee time to get out of the way. When
Tf'Sheet hit water again, the splash missed Dierdre Cordwainer by several
meters.
Rising back to the surface once more, Tf'Sheet
lifted his head so that one eye glared at the obnoxious little ape.
* In a springtime thaw Sometimes rivers bring to sea Odious corpses *"Thanks. Very pretty pome, I'm sure." The chimmie dismissed Tf'Sheet's elegantly phrased Trinary insult with a wave of one hand. "Now get this. There's this lifeboat, drifting through space, see? Onboard there's a Tymbrimi, a Gubru, and a rabbi, and they've got with them this wonderful pre-sentient creature that they're arguing over how to uplift, get it so far?"
Tf'Sheet shook his glossy, bottle-nosed head and sputtered an elegant raspberry.
* May autumn fungus Flake the fur right off your skin Like leaves from willows. *"Whatever." Dierdre nodded eagerly. "Now stifle that jabber and let me finish." She sniggered and Tf'Sheet noticed something green, like broccoli or spinach, lay stuck between two of the chim's giant incisors. "Okay, so the Gubru thinks they should start by teaching the pre-sentient to pilot a spaceship, 'cause naturally --"
Tf'Sheet was busy calculating a trajectory, allowing for Triton's gravitational pull, that might allow him to bring his streamlined jaw around the chim's throat.
"... The Tymbrimi, on the other hand, suggests the little critter oughta be taught to cook, since eventually..."
Tf'Sheet rationalized. After all, the ape was just another client-level being, like himself. One couldn't actually call it murder.
Too bad I'll never find out about the rabbi, the dolphin thought, preparing to spring.
At that moment, fate intervened. Both Dierdre's joke and Tf'Sheet's opportunity were cut short by the entry of a floating globe, all covered with glittering lights, which hovered on a column of stressed gravity that had an effect on the lawn like a neutronium roto-tiller.
"Ah. I thought I'd find you two in the recreation dome," the machine announced in an anomalously querulous tone of voice. "Come on, up and at 'em! Follow the robot and meet me at the Testing Arena. I have a special job for you!"
Dierdre, the neo-chimpanzee, crossed her hairy arms and bowed. Tf'Sheet lifted his head out of the water and nodded gravely, dolphin style. Then, when the floating drone had turned away, they shared a brief glance of commiseration.
* Some humans make one contemplate realities Where one stayed at sea *The chimp snorted. "Damn straight, fishie. Me, I'd rather be up a tree."
Not that either of them had much against humans, in general. But if there was anything the two agreed about, it was the Boss.
More Ickies
The sky opened in a most peculiar way.
The normal metric of spacetime had been minding
its own business, stretching and expanding at the leisurely rate of a typical
middle-aged universe, adjusting its girdle after a heavy meal, when an
upstart force began tearing apart the stitching. In a small locale, about
half a light year from a normal-looking G-type star, a layer of luminiferous
ether began to separate from its lining of interspatial phlegm, spreading
wide enough to show uneven basting and some frightfully careless needlework.
Hasty alterations were in progress, same day, quick turnaround, no warrantees
or returns.
In space there is no sound, yet psychic adepts
for several parsecs in all directions felt a faint, profoundly irritating
v-v-v-r-rip as a myriad sub-microscopic quantum hooks tore loose from their
associated cosmic loops. Through this rent in the cosmic fabric, there
spilled a throng of great, lambent ships, blazing extravagantly as their
towering reality flanges spilled wave after wave of pent-up, excess improbability
in all directions. (One side effect of this, on the nearest habitable planet,
was a series of freak accidents. Every lottery ticket in the State of Texas
won first prize. Expectant mothers gave birth to triplets, which emerged
straight from the womb speaking fluent Hittite. After almost a century,
another Democrat was finally elected to the White House. And the Oscar
Awards Ceremony, held that very evening, was almost entertaining.)
Within the glistening, deadly flagship of
the great black armada, a drama unfolded. The Grand Pilot-Navigator of
the Tinic fleet bowed three of its seven-kneed forelegs before its master,
a being of indescribable malevolence and a shape only vaguely hinted at
by its name.
<The maneuver was successful, oh great
Mantis.>
The Tinic leader turned to look downward at
its subordinate with multifaceted eyes the color of deep space. Eyes which
seemed to glitter with ancient, sage wisdom. Its attitude was one of sublime
contemplation, befitting the product of aeons of genetic breeding by the
Tinic race's long lost patrons, the herbivorous K'sh"Blebs. Bending close,
the commander uttered approval through jaws that dripped formic acid.
<Thash gloo... I mean good... Um, I shay,
would you be a good chap and wipe that up pleash?... Oh, shorry. Did shome
of that get in your eye? It'sh a gosh-darned problem whenever I shpeak
wordsh with lotsh of shibilantsh ... Oh... Shorry again. Look, would you
rather I shwitch languagesh? We could try Galactic Sixshteen if you like.>
The pilot, its skin cratered and smoldering
in several places, bowed quick assent, converting to the suggested dialect.
That language utilized a syncopated ratcheting of the hind legs, combined
with resonating the speaker's inflatable throat sac, while semaphoring
the antennae in rhythm with precisely timed empathy glyphs transmitted
on the fifth ectoplasmic band. Still, all in all, Galactic Sixteen was
much preferable.
{Thank you, oh great Mantis. As I was saying.
We appear to have made it through the spacetime-fly with only minimal casualties.
Just thirty thousand ships, give or take a few.}
The Mantis danced a two-step of joy with its
hindlegs.
{Excellent! Only sixty million crew lost.
I'll lay more eggs tonight. Meanwhile, we have arrived to lay seige to
Earth in advance of any other alliance!}
The pilot cowered apologetically.
{Alas! I must report that the Calumnite League
seems to have arrived just a little while before us, Oh Master.}
{What? But how? I had thought no other group
possessed the Velcro Drive. It has not been used in the Five Galaxies for
half a billion years!}
{True, oh great one. The Calumnites appear
to have utilized different means, by successfully navigating the treacherous
but speedy Ninth Level of hyperspace.}
{The Ninth level? Astonishing. Well, at least
we're second, so we can prepare for the coming battle from a position of...}
{And the Obsequious Guild of Rightwing Extraterrestrials
are here, as well. Tactics reports that they seem to have used an ancient
method of wormhole tunnelling, which they must have found by researching
deep within the venerable stacks of the Great Galactic Library.}
{Funny, I thought they had their card revoked
several aeons ago.} The Mantis performed a dance of frustration with its
left-front set of eighteen legs. {Oh, well, never mind. At least we're
third, so we can --}
{And the Archaic Primeval Amalgamation of
BEMS has taken battle position in the southern quadrant, challenging everyone
else to ceremonial combat over the right to capture Earth. They used rockets
to get here, travelling through normal space.}
{Really? Normal space! Then how, by the seven
moons of slattern, did they arrive before us?}
{Um... well my lord Mantis... it appears they
started out early. Got a head start.}
{They got a what?}
{Then there's the Galactic Inheritors Trust
Society, which came by express mail....}
{But...}
{... And the Cosmic Order of Nano-intelligences
seems to have hitched a ride by attaching their entire battle fleet to
our own rear fender...}
{I don't...}
{Not to mention the Alliance of Software Sentients
Believing In Transcendental Enlightenment, who faxed themselves to an excellent
strategic site, just to the left of the United Federation of Pla....}
{Enough!} The Mantis danced a jig of sublime
resignation, and sighed. {Are there any battle positions left in this free-for-all?}
The pilot used its one remaining vision-stalk
to begin eyeing possible exits. A great slobbering ball of foam could be
seen forming along the commander's giant mandibles.
{Oh great one, it appears... well...}
{Yes? Yes?} The Mantis stepped forward, slurping
eagerly.
{Ahem... Well, sir...
{Yes?}
{...it appears we've been asked to take a
number.}
Dierdre
The Uplift Arena occupied an entire quadrant of the research dome. Its
outer wall of field-tensed stressine flex-glass stared out through the
smoggy skies of Triton, past giant cliffs of solid wax to a hydrocarbon
sea. Within the sheltering habitat, a riot of green foliage waved under
artificial, air-conditioned breezes, softening and diffusing a racket of
murmers, chuckers, screeches and other unsavory comments by the various
candidate inhabitants.
The doors of the freight elevator hissed opened
and Dierdre stepped forward into this world of color and sound... or she
tried to. On the way, her shoulders were caught between the door jamb and
the damfool dolphin's walking machine. "Quit it!" she complained while
Tf'Sheet's walker stuttered and shuffled, one splayed metal pad barely
missing Dierdre's right foot.
* Need I remind a Simian dingbat, that I Started forward first? *"Doo-doo on that! Just get outta the way, fish-breath!"
Neither of them backed down. The grunting and jostling was made even worse when the door tried closing again, jamming them together more fiercely than before. The semi-sentient device complained eruditely.
"Please egress. Be so kind as to promptly
withdraw. Please exit-depart-get-out- please-please-please-please oh pretty
plea... THANK you."
Dierdre and Tf'Sheet popped free at last,
hopping in opposite directions at once and swivelling to glare at each
other as the door shut with a relieved hiss that seemed to sigh -- "Idiotssss."
The robot globe was waiting for them.
"If you are quite ready?"
It turned and began leading them down one
of the research lanes, where each force field-enclosed alcove contained
another candidate species being tested for the treasured trait of pre-sentience
and a possible chance to begin the long process of Uplift.
On the left was a pen holding gibbons, several
of whom brachiated in happy abandon within an arbor of tree branches. Dierdre
found them pretty dumb creatures compared to old-style chimpanzees; still,
she was rooting for them.
Next came the habitat of neo-dogs, a breed
which had been under modification for centuries, and had recently, at long
last, mastered the deep mystery of door knobs, only to discover that the
devices were being replaced in most homes by galactic technology psionic
clasps. That tragic irony appeared to have broken the species' collective
spirit. Mostly, neo-dogs just lay around nowadays, whining, licking themselves,
and snapping vicious, Chestertonian insults at the ankles of anyone who
unwarily passed close.
A pair of watery habitats came next. Sea lions
were considered a good bet for Uplift someday. According to Tf'Sheet, the
creatures' "Ork! Ork!" sounds masked commentary of astonishingly subtle
and poetical grace. Then again, Tf'Sheet often said stuff like that just
to irritate Dierdre. While the dolphin went ahead a few meters to look
at the brainy giant octopus, Dierdre pressed her face flat against the
glass and stuck out her tongue at the flippery sea lions, sending them
into a tizzy.
"Ook, Ook," she said in a low, scratchy voice,
and chuckled.
When she caught up, Dierdre saw that Tf'Sheet
had the usual gleam in his eye, watching the tentacled molluscs in their
tank.
"Tell you what," Dierdre muttered. "If you
help me flunk out the seals, I'll help you fail the octopussies. Then we'll
both eat good for weeks."
Tf'Sheet opened his mouth and ran his thick
cetacean tongue along a row of pretty conical teeth.
Stewart Blandón