Atlantis And Other Places Part 22

"Surely we did not," I said, "except that we did." I wish I could claim I sounded better than Nessus. In fact, I can. But claiming a thing does not make it true. How I wish it did!

He turned his tail on the chaos, the carnage, the carrion. It was as if he could not bear to see himself mistaken. Again, blaming him is not easy. Who would wish to be reminded of . . . that?

"Did we slay all the mans?" Hylaeus asked.

"I think not." I shook my head, which sent fresh pangs shooting through it. "No, I know not. Some of them fled off into the night."

"That is not good," Nessus said. "They will bring more of their kind here. They will seek vengeance."

There, he was bound to be right. And the mans would have good reason to hunger for revenge. Not only had we slain their warriors, we had also outraged and slain their shes. Had some other folk a.s.sailed us so, we too would have been wild to avenge.

I looked inland. I saw nothing there, but I knew the mans did not yet thickly settle this part of the Tin Isle, the other folk who had lived hereabouts having only recently died out. I also knew this did not mean vengeance would not fall upon us, only that it might be somewhat delayed.

"We would do well not to be here when more mans come," I said. "We would do well to be on our way back toward the Inner Sea."

"There is a coward's counsel!" Oreus exclaimed. "Better we should fight these miserable mans than run from them."

"Can you fight five mans by yourself ? Can you fight twenty mans by yourself ?" I asked him, trying to plumb the depths of his stupidity.

It ran deeper than I had dreamt, for he said, "We would not be alone. The other folk of this land would fight with us, would fight for us."

"What other folk?" I inquired of him. "When the other folk of this land meet mans, they perish." Perhaps the madness of the cerevisia had not worked altogether for ill for us. Mad with drink, we had not fretted over our place in the scheme of things and that of the strange folk who sought to find rules (rules!-it chills me yet) in the G.o.ds' heavens.

Oreus would have argued further, but Nessus kicked him, not too hard, in the flank. "Cheiron is right," he said. "Maybe one day we can sail back here in greater numbers and try conclusions with these mans. For now, though, we would be better gone."

The thought that we might return one day mollified the young, fiery he. Nessus knew better than I how to salve Oreus' pride. "Very well, let us go, then," Oreus said. "The mans will not soon forget us."

Nor we them, I thought. But I did not say that aloud. Instead, I helped the rest of us push the Horse of Bronze Horse of Bronze into the sea, which luckily lay almost under her keel. With all those sacks of tin in her, the work still was not easy, but we managed it. The G.o.ds sent us a fair wind out of the east. I ordered the yard raised on the mast and the sail lowered from it. We left the Tin Isle behind. into the sea, which luckily lay almost under her keel. With all those sacks of tin in her, the work still was not easy, but we managed it. The G.o.ds sent us a fair wind out of the east. I ordered the yard raised on the mast and the sail lowered from it. We left the Tin Isle behind.

Our homeward journey was neither easy nor swift. If I speak of it less than I did of the voyage outward, it is because so many of the hazards were the same. For the first two days after we left the Tin Isle, I do admit to anxiously looking back over my tail every now and again. I did not know for a fact whether the mans had mastered the art of shipbuilding. If they had, they might have pursued. But evidently not. We remained alone on the bosom of Ocean the Great, as far as my eyes could tell.

Sailing proved no worse-and possibly better-than it had on our northward leg. We stayed in sight of land when we could, but did not stay so close that we risked being forced onto a lee sh.o.r.e by wind and wave rolling out of the west. And rolling rolling is truly the word, for we saw waves on Ocean the Great that no one who has sailed only the Inner Sea can imagine. is truly the word, for we saw waves on Ocean the Great that no one who has sailed only the Inner Sea can imagine.

With the Chalcippus Chalcippus more heavily laden than she had been while we were outward bound, I did not like to bring her up on the beach every night. I had learned to respect and to fear the rise and fall of the waters against the land, which seems to happen twice a day in the regions washed by the Ocean. If the waters withdrew too far, we might not be able to get the galley back into the sea. To hold that worry at arm's length, we dropped anchor offsh.o.r.e most nights. more heavily laden than she had been while we were outward bound, I did not like to bring her up on the beach every night. I had learned to respect and to fear the rise and fall of the waters against the land, which seems to happen twice a day in the regions washed by the Ocean. If the waters withdrew too far, we might not be able to get the galley back into the sea. To hold that worry at arm's length, we dropped anchor offsh.o.r.e most nights.

That too, of course, came with a price. Because we could not let the ship's timbers dry out of nights, they grew heavy and waterlogged, making the Horse of Bronze Horse of Bronze a slower and less responsive steed than she would otherwise have been. Had a bad storm blown up, that might have cost us dear. As things were, the G.o.ds smiled, or at least did not frown with all the grimness they might have shown, and we came safe to the Inner Sea once more. a slower and less responsive steed than she would otherwise have been. Had a bad storm blown up, that might have cost us dear. As things were, the G.o.ds smiled, or at least did not frown with all the grimness they might have shown, and we came safe to the Inner Sea once more.

As we sailed east past the pillars said to hold up the heavens, I wondered once more about the mans, and how they they escaped the G.o.ds' wrath. Most folk-no, all folk I had known up until then-are content to live in the world the G.o.ds made, and to thank them for their generous bounty. What the G.o.ds will, lesser folk accept, as they must-for, as I have remarked, the essence of G.o.dhood is power. Were I as powerful as a G.o.d, what would I be? A G.o.d myself, nothing else. But I am not so powerful, and so am no G.o.d. escaped the G.o.ds' wrath. Most folk-no, all folk I had known up until then-are content to live in the world the G.o.ds made, and to thank them for their generous bounty. What the G.o.ds will, lesser folk accept, as they must-for, as I have remarked, the essence of G.o.dhood is power. Were I as powerful as a G.o.d, what would I be? A G.o.d myself, nothing else. But I am not so powerful, and so am no G.o.d.

Nor are these mans G.o.ds. That was plain. In our cerevisia-sp.a.w.ned madness, we slew them easily enough. Yet they have the arrogance, the presumption, to seek out the G.o.ds' secrets. And they have the further arrogance and presumption to believe that, if they find them, they can use them.

Can a folk not given G.o.dlike powers arrogate those powers to itself ? The mans seem to think so. How would the G.o.ds view such an opinion? If they did take it amiss, as I judged likely, how long would they wait to punish it?

Confident in their own strength, might they wait too long? If a folk did somehow steal G.o.dlike power, what need would it have of veritable G.o.ds? Such gloomy reflections filled my mind as we made our way across the Inner Sea. I confess to avoiding the sirens' island on the homeward journey. Their temper was unpleasant, their memories doubtless long. We sailed south of them instead, skirting the coast where the lotus-eaters dwell. I remember little of that part of the voyage; the lotus-eaters, I daresay, remember less.

I do remember the long sail we had up from the land of the lotus-eaters to that of the fauns. The sail seemed the longer because, as I say, we had to keep clear of the island of the sirens. We filled all the water jars as full as we could. This let us anchor well off the coast of their island as we traveled north. We also had the good fortune of a strong southerly breeze. We lowered the sail from the yard, then, and ran before the wind. Our hes were able to rest at the oars, which meant they did not grow thirsty as fast as they would have otherwise. We came to the land of the fauns with water still in the jars-not much, but enough.

That breeze had held for us all the way from the land of the lotus-eaters to that which the fauns call home. From this, I believe-and I certainly hope-the G.o.ds favored our cause and not the sirens'. This I believe and hope, yes. But I have not the gall to claim it proves proves the G.o.ds favored us, or to use it to predict that the G.o.ds would favor us again in the same way. I am not a man. I do not make stone circles. I do not believe a stone circle can measure the deeds and will of the G.o.ds. the G.o.ds favored us, or to use it to predict that the G.o.ds would favor us again in the same way. I am not a man. I do not make stone circles. I do not believe a stone circle can measure the deeds and will of the G.o.ds.

By what has befallen the other folk on the Tin Isle besides the mans, I may be mistaken.

From the easternmost spit of the fauns' homeland to ours is but a short sail. Yet the Horse of Bronze Horse of Bronze came closer to foundering there than anywhere on turbulent Ocean the Great. A storm blew up from nowhere, as it were. The came closer to foundering there than anywhere on turbulent Ocean the Great. A storm blew up from nowhere, as it were. The Chalcippus Chalcippus pitched and rolled and yawed. A wave crashed over the bow and threatened to swamp us. We all bailed for our lives, but another wave or two would have stolen them from us. pitched and rolled and yawed. A wave crashed over the bow and threatened to swamp us. We all bailed for our lives, but another wave or two would have stolen them from us.

And then, as abruptly as it had sprung to life, the storm died. What conclusion was I to draw from this? That the G.o.ds were trying to frighten me to death but would spare me if they failed? That drawing conclusions about what the G.o.ds intend was a risky business, a fool's game? I had already known as much. I was not a man, to require lessons on the subject.

We came home not only to rejoicing but to astonishment. Most of the hes we left behind on setting sail in the Chalcippus Chalcippus had expected to see us no more. Many of the shes we left behind also expected to see us no more. That led to several surprises and considerable unpleasantness, none of which deserves recounting here. had expected to see us no more. Many of the shes we left behind also expected to see us no more. That led to several surprises and considerable unpleasantness, none of which deserves recounting here.

It often seemed as if the tin we brought home was more welcome than we were. Few cared to listen to our tales of the great stone circle or of the strange mans who had built it. The fauns, the sirens, the lotus-eaters we centaurs already knew. The stay-at-homes were glad enough to hear stories about them.

Certainly the smiths welcomed the tin with glad cries and with caracoles of delight. They fell to work as if made of bronze themselves. We have a sufficiency of copper-more than a sufficiency, for we trade it with folk whose land gives them none. But tin is far less common and far more dear; were it otherwise, we would not have needed to fare so far to lay hold of it.

Spearheads and shields and swords and helms began to pile up, ready for use against the sphinxes or whoever else should presume to trouble us. Now we could match bronze against bronze, rather than being compelled to use the softer copper unalloyed. Some of the younger hes quite looked forward to combat. That far I would not go. I have seen enough to know that combat too often comes whether we look for it or not; what point, then, to seeking it?

The smiths also made no small stock of less warlike gear. I speak of that less not because I esteem it less, but only because, when bronze is not measured against bronze, its hardness as compared to copper's is of less moment.

Not too long after our return, I learned that we in the Chalcippus Chalcippus were not the only band of centaurs to have set out in search of tin. A he named Pholus had led a band north by land. There are mountains in those parts that yield gold and silver, and Pholus hoped he might happen upon tin as well. were not the only band of centaurs to have set out in search of tin. A he named Pholus had led a band north by land. There are mountains in those parts that yield gold and silver, and Pholus hoped he might happen upon tin as well.

Although those mountains are not far as the raven flies, our folk seldom go there. The folk who live in those parts are strange, and strangely fierce and formidable. They come out only at night, and are often in the habit of drinking the blood of those they kill. And they are persistent of life, though sunlight, curiously enough, is alleged to slay them.

This Pholus affirmed for me, saying, "After we caught a couple of them and staked them out for the sunrise, the others proved less eager to see if they could sneak up and murder us by the light of the moon."

"Yes, I can see how that might be so," I told him. "Good for you. But I gather you found no tin?"

"I fear me we did not," he agreed. "It is a rich country. Were it not for these night skulkers, we could do a great deal of trade with it. They care nothing for bargaining, though. All they want is the taste of blood in their mouths." His own mouth twisted in disgust.

"Many good-byes to them, then," I said. "Maybe we ought to send a host up that way, to see how many we could drag out for the sun to destroy."

"Maybe." But Pholus did not sound as if he thought that a good idea. "If we did not get rid of them all, they would make us pay. And besides-" He did not go on.

"Besides, what?" I asked when I saw he would not on his own.

He did not answer for a long time. I wondered if he would. At long last, he said, "I swore my hes to secrecy, Cheiron. I did not take the oath myself, for I thought there was no need. I knew I could keep a secret. Perhaps the G.o.ds foresaw that I would need to speak one day, and did not want me forsworn. I know you can also hold a secret close at need. The need, I think, is here. I have heard somewhat of your voyage, and of the peculiar folk you met on the Tin Isle."

"The mans?" I said, and he nodded. "Well, what of them?"

"That is the secret we are keeping," Pholus replied. "Up in the mountains, we met some of what I think must be the same folk ourselves. They were coming down from the north, as much strangers in those parts as we were. They did not call themselves mans, though; they had another name."

"Why did you keep them a secret?" I asked.

He shivered. Pholus is bold and swift and strong. I had never thought to see him afraid, and needed a moment to realize that I had. "Because they are . . . what we ought to be," he answered after another long hesitation. "What we and the satyrs and the sphinxes and those troublesome blood-drinkers ought to be. They are . . . all of a kind, with more of the stuff of the G.o.ds and less of the beast in them than we hold."

I knew what he meant. I knew so well, I had to pretend I knew not. "More of the gall of the G.o.ds, if they truly are like the mans I met," I said.

"And that," he agreed. The hard, bright look of fear still made his eyes opaque. "But if they are coming down from the north-everywhere from the north-how shall any of the folk around the Inner Sea withstand them?"

I had wondered that about the mans, even on the distant Tin Isle. If they had also reached the mountains north of our own land, though, there were more of them than I had dreamt, and the danger to us all was worse. I tried to make light of it, saying, "Well, the blood-drinkers may bar the way."

Pholus nodded, but dubiously. "That is the other reason I would not go after the blood-drinkers: because they might shield us. But I do not think they will, or not for long. The new folk have met them, and have plans of their own for revenge. Do you think the night-skulking blood-drinkers can oppose them?"

"Not if they are mans of the same sort I knew," I said. "Are you sure they are the same? What did did they call themselves?" they call themselves?"

"Lapiths," he answered. The name meant nothing to me then. But these days the echoes of the battle of Lapiths and centaurs resound round the Inner Sea. We are scattered to the winds, those few left to us, and the Lapiths dwell in the land ours since the G.o.ds made it. And Pholus knew whereof he spoke. The Lapiths are are mans. They remain sure to this day that they won simply because they had the right to win, with no other reason needed. mans. They remain sure to this day that they won simply because they had the right to win, with no other reason needed.

They would.

THE GENETICS LECTURE.

This small, silly piece sprang from an e-mail correspondence I got into with the paleontologist Simon Conway Morris, whose work I very much admire. It ran as a "Probability Zero" feature in a.n.a.log a.n.a.log. I wouldn't say the probability is zero, exactly, but I doubt it's very high.

It was lovely outside, too lovely for the student to want to stay cooped up in here listening to a lecture on genetics. The sun shone brightly. Bees buzzed from flower to flower. b.u.t.terflies flitted here and there. The air smelled sweet with spring.

And the professor droned on. The student made himself take notes. This stuff would be on the midterm-he was sure of that. Even so, staying interested enough to keep writing wasn't easy.

If only the prof weren't so . . . old-fashioned. Oh, he was impressive enough in a way: tall and straight, with big blue eyes. But his suit wouldn't have been stylish in his father's day, and those gla.s.ses clamped to the bridge of his beak . . . n.o.body n.o.body wore those anymore. Except he did. wore those anymore. Except he did.

"This complex of Hox genes, as they're called, regulates early bodily development," he said. The student scribbled. However old-fashioned the prof was, he was talking about stuff on the cutting edge. "Like all insects, the fruit fly has eight Hox genes. The amphioxus, a primitive chordate, has ten."

He picked up a piece of chalk and drew on the blackboard. "The amphioxus is sometimes called a lancelet from its scalpel-like shape, which you see here," he said. "In reality, the animal is quite small. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Hox genes.

"All animals seem to share them from a long-extinct Proterozoic ancestor. There is a correspondence between the orientation of the gene complex and that of the animal. The first Hox gene in both the fruit fly and the amphioxus is responsible for the head end of each animal, the last for the abdomen and tail, respectively.

"And let me tell you something still more remarkable. We have created, for example, mutant fruit flies that are eyeless. If we transfer this eyeless eyeless gene to an amphioxus, its progeny will be born without their usual eye spots. Note that the normal gene to an amphioxus, its progeny will be born without their usual eye spots. Note that the normal expression expression of the gene, as we say, is vastly different in the two animals. The amphioxus has only light-sensitive pigment patches at the head end, where the fruit fly has highly evolved compound eyes." of the gene, as we say, is vastly different in the two animals. The amphioxus has only light-sensitive pigment patches at the head end, where the fruit fly has highly evolved compound eyes."

"What about us, Professor?" another student asked. "Why are we so much more complex than fruit flies and the waddayacallit?"

"The amphioxus?" The professor beamed at her. "I was just coming to that. We're more complex because our Hox genes are more complex. It's that simple, really. Instead of a single set of eight or ten Hox genes, we have four separate sets, each with up to thirteen genes in it. The mutations that give rise to this duplication and reduplication took place in Cambrian and Ordovician times, on the order of four hundred million years ago. We are what we are today because our ancient ancestors suddenly found themselves with more genes than they knew what to do with." He beamed again. "Animal life as we know it today, and especially the development of our own phylum, would have been impossible without these mutations."

That intrigued the student almost in spite of himself. When the lecture was over, he went up to the front of the cla.s.sroom. "Ask you something, Professor?"

"Of course, of course." Even with those silly gla.s.ses, the prof wasn't such a bad guy.

"Mutations are random, right? They can happen any old place, any old time?"

"On the whole, yes." The prof was also cautious, as a good academic should be.

"Okay." That on the whole on the whole was all the student needed. "What if, a long time ago, these Hox genes got doubled and redoubled in arthropods instead of us? Or even in, uh, chordates instead of us?" He was d.a.m.ned if he'd try to say was all the student needed. "What if, a long time ago, these Hox genes got doubled and redoubled in arthropods instead of us? Or even in, uh, chordates instead of us?" He was d.a.m.ned if he'd try to say amphioxus amphioxus.

"Instead of in us mollusks? I think the idea is ridiculous-ridiculous, I tell you. We were preadapted for success in ways this sorry little creature's ancestors never could have been." As if to show what he meant, the professor reached out with one of the eight tentacles that grew around the base of his head, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the eraser, and wiped the picture of the lancelet off the board with three quick strokes.

The student flushed a deep green with embarra.s.sment. "I'm sorry, Professor Cthulhu. I'll try not to be so silly again."

"It's all right, Nyarlathotep," the professor said gently-he did calm down in a hurry. "Go on now, though. Have a nice day."

SOMEONE IS STEALING THE GREAT THRONE ROOMS OF THE GALAXY.

The theme of the 2006 Worldcon in Los Angeles (well, actually in Anaheim, but billed as L.A.con IV neverthenonetheless) was s.p.a.ce cadets. Frankie Thomas, of the original IV neverthenonetheless) was s.p.a.ce cadets. Frankie Thomas, of the original s.p.a.ce Cadets s.p.a.ce Cadets TV show, would have been the media guest of honor (sadly, he died just before the convention). Mike Resnick edited an anthology of s.p.a.ce-cadet stories to be sold as a souvenir book at the con. When I told him what I was going to perpetrate, he said he'd buy it before he even saw it, which is the first, last, and only time an editor ever said that to me. I hope he doesn't regret it too much. TV show, would have been the media guest of honor (sadly, he died just before the convention). Mike Resnick edited an anthology of s.p.a.ce-cadet stories to be sold as a souvenir book at the con. When I told him what I was going to perpetrate, he said he'd buy it before he even saw it, which is the first, last, and only time an editor ever said that to me. I hope he doesn't regret it too much.

When thieves paralyzed the people-well, the saurian humanoids-inside the palace on the main continent of Gould IV and made off with the famous throne room (and the somewhat less famous antechamber), it made a tremendous stir all over the continent.

When pirates paralyzed the people-well, the ammonia/ice blobs-inside the palace on the chief glacier of Amana XI and made off with the magnificent throne room (and the somewhat less magnificent antechamber), it raised a tremendous stink all over the planet.

When robbers paralyzed the people-well, the highly evolved and sagacious k.u.mquats-inside the palace on the grandest orchard of Alpharalpha B and made off with the precociously planted throne room (and the somewhat less precocious antechamber), it caused a sour taste in mouths all over the sector.

And when brigands paralyzed the people-well, the French-inside the palace of Versailles in a third-rate country on a second-rate continent with a splendid future behind it and made off with the baroque throne room (and the somewhat less baroque antechamber), it caused shock waves all over the Galaxy.

As Earth has always been, it remains the sleazy-media center of the Galactic Empire. Anything that happens there gets more attention than it deserves, just because it happens there. And so there was an enormous hue and cry.

Something Must Be Done!

Who got to do it?

Why, the s.p.a.ce Patrol, of course. Specifically, s.p.a.ce Cadet Rufus Q. Shupilluliumash, a Bon of Bons, a n.o.ble of n.o.bles . . . a fat overgrown hamster with delusions of gender. And when Cadet Rufus Q. Shupilluliumash (last name best sung to the tune of "Fascinatin' Rhythm") got the call, he was, as fate and the omniscient narrator would have it, ma.s.sively hungover from a surfeit of fermented starflower seeds.

The hero who gave him the call, s.p.a.ce Patrol Captain Erasmus Z. Utnapishtim (last name best sung to the tune of "On, Wisconsin"), was a member of the same species, and so understood his debility. This is not to say the ill.u.s.trious s.p.a.ce Patrol captain-another fat overgrown hamster-sympathized. Oh, no. "You're a disgrace to your whiskers, Shupilluliumash," he cheebled furiously.

"Sorry, sir," Rufus Q. Shupilluliumash answered. At that particular moment, he rather hoped his whiskers, and the rest of his pelt, would fall out.

Captain Utnapishtim knew there was only one way to get to the bottom of things: the right way, the proper way, the regulation way, the s.p.a.ce Patrol way. "Go find out who is stealing the great throne rooms of the Galaxy," he ordered. "Find out why. Arrest the worthless miscreants and make the mischief stop."

"Right . . . sir," Cadet Shupilluliumash said miserably, wishing Utnapishtim were dead or he himself were dead or the omniscient narrator were dead (no such luck, Shup baby)-any way at all to escape from this silly story and the pain in his pelt. "Where do I start . . . sir?"

"Start on Earth," Captain Utnapishtim told him. "Earth is the least consequential planet in the Galaxy, and all the inhabitants talk too b.l.o.o.d.y much. If you can't find a clue there, you're not worth your own tail."

"Like you, sir, I am a fat overgrown hamster," the s.p.a.ce cadet replied with dignity. "I have no tail."

"Well, if I remember my briefings, neither do Earthmen," the s.p.a.ce Patrol officer said. "Now get your wheel rolling."

"Yes, sir," Shupilluliumash said resignedly, and headed off to check out a Patrol speedster, the P.S. Habitrail Habitrail.

Now you should know that there are many kinds of s.p.a.ce drives to span the pa.r.s.ecs of the Galaxy. You should, yes, but since you don't-you can't fool the omniscient narrator (otherwise he wouldn't be omniscient)-you have to sit through this expository lump. There is the hypers.p.a.ce drive: traditional, but effective. There is the hop-skip-and-a-jump drive: wearing, but quick. There is the overdrive. There is the underdrive. There is the orthodontic drive, which corrects both overdrive and underdrive but is h.e.l.lishly expensive. There are any number of others-oh, not any any number, but, say, forty-two. And, particularly for fat overgrown hamsters, there is the wheel drive. number, but, say, forty-two. And, particularly for fat overgrown hamsters, there is the wheel drive.

The wheel drive translates rotary motion into straight-ahead FTL by a clever mechanism with whose workings the omniscient narrator won't bore you (the O.N. knows you have a low boredom threshold, and you won't sit still for two expository lumps in a row). Suffice to say that s.p.a.ce Cadet Shupilluliumash jumped in his wheel, ran like h.e.l.l, and almost before he'd sweated out the last of his hangover he found himself landing outside of Paris-sort of like Lindbergh long before, but much fuzzier.

He got full cooperation from the French authorities. Once local Galactic officials secured his release from jail, he went to Versailles to view the scene of the crime. "This is a very ugly building," he said with the diplomacy for which his race was so often praised.

After local Galactic officials secured his release from jail again-it took longer this time-they told him, "The French tend to be emotional."