Proxima (19 page)

So they pulled on their boots, and stuffed backpacks with filtered lake water and food, rain capes and coolie hats.

The ColU was cautious as it scrutinised the patterns of flaring on Proxima’s broad face this morning. Yuri knew it was trying to improve its predictions of flare weather. When it issued a
warning Yuri and Mardina generally listened; it was right perhaps sixty per cent of the time. But this morning, though it spent a long time staring at the star, the ColU issued no such warning.

The ColU led them by a different trail than usual, longer, heading towards the landmark of the Cowpat, and passing other features, eroded bluffs of sandstone seamed by intrusions of granite or
basalt. At one of these the ColU paused. It took samples in its grabber claws of rock, dirt, life forms, and pressed its pod of sensors against rock surfaces. It also had a drill like a mole that
would burrow into the ground or beneath a rocky surface, moving independently, but trailing a fibre-optic cable to pass data back.

All this work disturbed a kite that had been sheltering behind the bluff; it flapped away irritably. There seemed to be at least one solitary species of kite that lived apart from the great
flocks of the forests and the lakes, and nested in the shelter of isolated rock outcrops like these.

Mardina mused, watching the ColU work, ‘You look like a rover. On Mars or Titan. One of those rickety gadgets that they used to control from Earth. Crawling a few centimetres a day, year
after year.’ She glanced at Yuri. ‘Maybe you remember them. Or saw them in the museums.’

Yuri shrugged.

‘The analogy is apt,’ the ColU said. ‘You could say that in some regards I am a remote descendant of such probes. I have an onboard analysis suite, including, for example, a
mass spectrometer so that I can determine the isotopic composition of samples of air or rock or water solutes. I have also improvised an incubation chamber where I am attempting to grow samples of
Arduan life in controlled conditions. In that regard I am imitating the Vikings, early probes that landed on Mars and—’

‘What’s the point?’ Yuri snapped. ‘You’ll never be able to report any of this.’

‘Earth will recontact Per Ardua one day, though not, as Major McGregor promised, for a century at least.
I
will long have been terminated before then. But there is no reason to
believe the results of my investigations will not survive; I have a number of hardened stores, which if deposited beneath a cairn or some other suitable monument—’

Yuri laughed. ‘I’ll carve you a statue.’

The ColU didn’t seem offended. ‘In any event my studies are of their very nature long term. I am endeavouring to establish the story of life on this world. Its origin and its
relationship, if any, to Sol life; the key stages of its development such as the emergence of photosynthesis, of multicellular life—’

‘A
big
statue, then. Anyhow you’re
too
curious, about the Arduan life. Too theoretical. You’re only supposed to be helping us exploit it.’

‘Artificial sentience,
all
sentience, is untidy, blurred at the edges; it is difficult to constrain curiosity, once imbued. That’s one of the reasons the big AIs constructed
in the age of the Heroic Generation would now be considered illegal. Indeed, to equip ColUs like myself for this expedition, the ISF and other off-world agencies were given special dispensation by
the sentience-law regulators. And besides, Yuri Eden, I was programmed to support a minimum of fourteen colonists, soon growing in number as the births began. I have the time to wonder.’

‘Oh, we aren’t stimulating enough for you?’

‘It is as if my mind expands to populate the emptiness. Is this a common property of sapience?’

Yuri said brutally, ‘You only ever had twenty-five years, and the clock’s ticking, right? Then you’ll shut down and rust. And all the plans and dreams you’re cooking up
under that plastic dome and in your expanding mind will just be lost for ever, forgotten.’

‘All mortal creatures must face termination. Yuri Eden, I’m surprised you speak to me this way. Is it because I am a made thing? I mean, made by humans. A golem, of sorts. In myth,
such creatures are always less than human, because they are one step further from God. Is that how you see me, Yuri Eden?’

‘I see you as a symbol of the blind, stupid powers who thought it was a good idea to dump me and Mardina on this alien world.’

‘But I, too, am a victim of that blind stupidity, as you put it. As for myself, I can assure you that—’

‘Shut up. I only talk to you about this stuff because I’m bored.’ That much, at least, was true.

‘Enough, Yuri,’ Mardina said. ‘You can talk to me if you like, ColU. So how are you progressing with this great project of yours?’

‘With difficulty. The geology of this world is singularly unhelpful. None of it is
old
, Mardina Jones. And by “old” I mean in excess of a few hundred million years. At
least in the local geological unit.

‘Take this bit of sandstone in my grabber claw.’ It held out the sample. ‘You can see strata, laid down in some vanished ocean over a few million years. Then came the tectonic
spasms that uplifted it, breaking the strata. There was an age of erosion as the strata were exposed to the weather. Then more geological turbulence resulted in the injection of molten granite into
the weaker strata; you can see intrusions
here
and
here
. But even the rock from which the original sandstone formed, eroded relics of volcanic products from a still earlier era,
was comparatively young, as a dating from traces of radioactive elements establishes.’

Yuri’s head spun with this mishmash of geological events. ‘I can’t get all that in order. What you’re saying is—’

Mardina said, ‘That the surface of the planet is recent, geologically speaking. Like Venus. Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes,’ said the ColU. ‘Venus appears to undergo a global resurfacing event every few hundred million years. The crater record shows this clearly. Here the resurfacing may be
region by region, rather than the entire surface at once. Per Ardua is evidently geologically active; we’ve seen active regions ourselves, the mud pools, the evidence of uplift to the north.
But it is an older world than the Earth, or Venus; Proxima is older than the sun. Maybe this localised activity, this geological bubbling, is something to do with that greater age. A given region
may wait tens, hundreds of millions of years for such an event. But when it comes it is enough to wipe out much of any fossil record I might have found.’

‘Frustrating,’ Mardina murmured.

‘But there are ways forward,’ said the ColU. ‘Mostly through study of the extant biology.’

‘The DNA.’

‘The Arduan creatures do not have DNA. But yes. A comparative study of their genetic material reveals deep relationships. I can already draw up a family tree based on the Arduan genetic
record. With estimates of mutation rates I should soon be able to come up with a skeleton chronology. It is already clear, for instance, that the Arduan stromatolites, or their ancestors, must
predate the stem forms.
When
did multicellular life begin here?
When
did the first multi-stem-architecture creatures emerge, and what were they like? Do they have any analogous
survivors today? And—’

Yuri said, ‘I still say you’ve got big dreams for a bit of farm machinery.’

Mardina suppressed a laugh.

‘It is in the nature of sentience,’ the ColU said, ‘to dream. My work is done here, at this bluff. Are you ready to go on?’

They walked on, pausing once to eat, coming at last to the western shore of the lake.

This was the domain of the builders, on the fringe of the great stem beds that extended far out into the water where the birds flocked. Mardina had labelled this part of the shore the
‘nursery’, because there was a concentration of families with their young. If you could call them families. Certainly the area was studded with the low, nest-like constructions that the
ColU now believed, based on Yuri’s clumsy explorations, were Proxima storm shelters for the young.

And here, today, on patches of the native analogues of mosses and lichen, young builders were basking in Proxima light. They gathered in clusters of a couple of dozen or more, each basically a
tripod leaning on one rear leg and tilting back so it faced the star hanging in the sky. Their triple main stems were rooted in the lichen patches, and Yuri saw masses of fibres, tendrils, reaching
down from the stems into the lichen – or maybe vice versa.

While the ColU plucked samples with a fine manipulator arm and scanned around with its sensor units, Mardina got down on her knees before the cluster of little builders, being careful not to
block the light. ‘You know, I’ve seen them being born,’ she said. ‘ “Born”, I suppose you’d call it that. The three parents – and there are always
three of them – get together in a cluster, upright, and they kind of pull bits out of each other. Stems, especially the fine ones from the dense core sections. Then they put them together,
like they’re assembling a kit-part model. But it stops being methodical after a while. They start to move, whirling around, the three of them joined together around the newborn.’ She
rocked, her kneeling body swaying in a gentle circle, imitating the movement she’d seen. ‘A dance of conception, of birth. Some deep biology going on. And when they separate,
there’s a new little guy.’

‘Wow,’ Yuri said. Mardina had never told him about these observations before. ‘Builder sex, huh?’

‘If you can meaningfully call it sex,’ the ColU said, rolling back. ‘There would presumably have to be
three
sexes, not two. I’ve seen no evidence of the sexual
differentiation observed in many species on Earth. But the peculiar sexual congress you describe is clearly a way for genetic material from the parents to be mixed up in the infants, at the level
of the stems, at least.

‘And there’s more. Notice how they make junctions between their bodies and the lichen bed. I think these builders are something like some of the earliest plants on Earth. Such plants
hadn’t yet evolved proper root systems, but instead formed a symbiotic relationship with fungi. The fungi would feed nutrients and water to the plant, in return for sugars manufactured by the
plant. I think what we’re seeing here is a complex symbiosis between the builders and the photosynthesising bacteria and fungi of the lichen.’

‘You mean,’ Yuri said, ‘these little guys are feeding.’

‘I’ve observed the adults, too, spending time on lichen beds like this. But the youngsters are presumably more in need of nutrients; their stems need to grow. So the youngsters spend
more of their time plugged in, so to speak. Other Arduan creatures, like the kites, must have similar rooting sites. If we look hard enough we’ll find them. Certainly these creatures, which
are a mixed-up compound of what we call animals and plants, are never more plant-like than at such moments. Perhaps their animal-like consciousness, a sense of self-awareness and identity, briefly
dissolves into a deeper green . . .’

Mardina wasn’t listening, Yuri saw. All her attention was on the young builders.

He said to her, ‘You like these little guys, don’t you?’

She looked defensive. He knew she didn’t like having her feelings questioned, any more than he did himself. But she admitted, ‘Look, I’m no noble savage. But I grew up with the
old stories – you know? Of the
gengas
, the spirits of my ancestors infusing the land. Well, I have no ancestors here, there are no
gengas
for me. But these builders –
this is their world. They honour their dead, we know that. Maybe their
gengas
will look after me. I know it makes no sense—’

The ColU said, ‘Careful.’

There was a clatter, like a bag of chopsticks being shaken. Yuri, standing over Mardina and the infants, turned to see a pair of older builders bearing down on them, spinning, limb stems
clattering.

‘Hey, take it easy, you guys.’ Mardina stood up. She whirled around in her orange jumpsuit, shaking out her arms and legs. ‘We’re just looking, we won’t harm these
little fellas.’

The ColU abruptly rolled back a half-metre, a sure sign in Yuri’s experience that it was surprised, and raised its sensor pod on its arm high in the air. ‘Lieutenant . . . what are
you doing?’

‘What does it look like? Can’t you see these blokes are warning us off?’

Yuri said, ‘You mean they’re talking to us? What, with the dance?’

‘In the dance, in the way they clatter their limbs – I don’t know, I don’t speak builder. I’m just trying to reassure them, that’s all.’

The builders slowed their spinning and backed off a little, but they did not root in the lichen bed with the infants. Instead they stood at the edge of the bed, spinning slowly, evidently
watching warily. Yuri thought he saw a glimmer of opening eyes, eerily human, eye-leaves hidden in their structures.

‘ “I don’t speak builder,” ’ the ColU repeated. ‘Yet, in a sense, you clearly do, Lieutenant. Fascinating. I must explore this further.’ And then it
froze, camera-eyes staring at the builders, sensor pod held high.

Mardina picked up her pack. ‘Come on. The ColU will be stuck here for hours, observing away. You know how it is when it gets into this kind of mood. Let’s get out of here. We ought
to stop spooking the builders.’

‘All right.’ Yuri hefted his own pack.

They walked on in silence, back around the southern shore of the lake, leaving the ColU behind. They kept well clear of the stems, the builder beds, the dome-shaped
nest-shelters.

Builders moved everywhere, bent on their mysterious errands, working on peculiar, unidentifiable structures, sometimes even dipping into the lake water. In there, Yuri had learned, underwater
creatures swam, more multi-stem forms, perhaps analogues of crabs or fish or crocodiles.

And at the water’s edge the builders came together in pairs, triples, larger groups, and they spun and clattered and buzzed around each other. Yuri had seen this kind of behaviour before,
but had never thought much about it. Some failure of his own imagination. Yes, he thought, it
was
as if they were talking to each other. He wondered if it would ever be possible to
translate what they were saying. If it was possible, he supposed, the ColU would figure it out.