Carlson, Jeff [SS] Planet of the Sealies [v1 0]

















PLANET
OF THE SEALIES

 

Jeff
Carlson

 

 

After his last story for us (“A
Lovely Little Christmas Fire," December 2009), Jeff Carlson returns to Asimovłs
with a futuristic adventure. Best known for his internationally acclaimed
Plague Year novels, Jeffłs short fiction has also appeared in venues such as
Writers of the Future XXIII, Fast Forward 2, and the recent Welcome to the
Greenhouse anthology from O/R Books. His next novel is Interrupt, a stand-alone
thriller out later this year. Readers can find free excerpts, videos, contests,
and more on Jeffłs website at www.jverse.com.

 

* * * *

 

Professor Michaud had set up camp
on the northern slope, which was typically upwind of the site. They wore
respirators down inside the excavationsometimes armor, tooand it was a relief
not to wear any gear in their off hours. There was some risk of contaminants if
the wind shifted or if an eruption surprised their ferrets, but everyone on the
team had been given Level IV gene-mods. They could handle small doses of the
gases, dusts, and bacteria that regularly belched up from the pits.

 

Today the sea wind was thick with
the hot, chalk smell of the shore. A woman in orange strode away from the brown
prefab camp structures. The land was also brown and the sky, too, was a muddy
haze.

 

Her name was Joanna Andrea Löw.
She stretched out both arms as she walked, orange sleeves ruffling, as if to
snare or fight the hard gusts. The blasting wind felt similar to the conflict
alive inside her.

 

This was a short trail but it was
one Joanna took often because there wasnłt anywhere else to go. The eroding
shore cliffs were strictly forbidden, the excavation site dangerous for its own
reasons, and Joanna was young enough to need to stretch her legs even after a
dayłs work. Since earning her job, shełd taken to spending much of her free
time among the field of non-hazardous artifacts Professor Michaud allowed them
to remove as the search continued for the real treasure. They knew the purpose
of only a few of these items and made a game of guessing the names of the
restthe 10,000 Pound Paperweight, the Hyperdrive, and, among Joannałs
favorites, the Make-Me-Blind.

 

The Make-Me-Blind was probably
just a kitchen utensil or mechanicłs device, a saw-edged set of tongs that
opened to the exact spacing of a personłs eyes, but the civilization that had
made these tools and trinkets was both alien and unmistakably aggressive.
Joanna and her line-mates tried to keep things fun during the meticulous, often
tedious dig by inventing ghost stories full of conquest, torture, and weird
sex.

 

She liked the Make-Me-Blind
because she could chase her sisters around with it. Most of the other artifacts
collected here were impressive hulks theyłd lifted in via robot, a Stonehenge of
metals and plastics.

 

Joanna preferred small and
intimate things, not unusual for a crŁche-raised clone.

 

The wind sang queerly through the
crushed alloy pipework of the Hyperdrive, which they assumed had been an
industrial pumping mechanism although it did, with some imagination, resemble
an old-fashioned reaction engine.

 

Joanna rested her fingertips
against its bulk, frowning. Then she hurried across the field to a trio of
orange bins where the smallest artifacts were kept. From there she continued
past to the 10,000 Pound Paperweight. Within a crevice of this deteriorating
stonework, Joanna had hidden a tiny, shiny object she called the Diamond.

 

Why feel guilty? None of these
artifacts were coming back with them. None would be studied or even catalogued.
Of the twenty-six members on the team, just four had training in archeology,
which they used only as another method of predictive analysis. Their sole
interest here, the real prize, was any trace of biological material.

 

Joanna didnłt question their
mission, but she worried at herself. She was committing deceit and true
selfishness, and for what? For nothing. Her so-called Diamond was only a
rust-eaten band of iron crushed around a translucent plastic nub. It was
garbageultimately useless.

 

Could the deepening change in her
be what the matriarch wanted? Her line-mother must have anticipated the
influences of this environment, the effects of separation and competition. Why
else the system of individual bonuses for each find?

 

“I wonder," she whispered,
holding the Diamond up to catch the murky evening light.

 

Joanna felt stronger for her new
independence. The senior members of the team were an example of what she might
becomeaccomplished, opinionated, self-reliant.

 

But she wanted to be allowed home
again.

 

“Löw, Löw." Her implant spoke
while she held the Diamond at armłs length and she brought it in close to her
chest, reacting with shame. Then she understood she was still alone and felt a
sharper fear at the emergency call. “Full crew to the pits. Löw, Löw. Full crew
to the pits."

 

Joanna stepped toward the 10,000
Pound Paperweight and tucked her Diamond away again before running back to
camp.

 

The ferrets were in defensive
mode and altered their hunt pattern as she approached. Worming over the ground,
the lithe, furry cyborgs were briefly attracted to the tremors of her
footfalls. One lifted its concave face to her as if doubtful.

 

Joannałs own uncertainty rose
into a blood scream before her implant spoke again. The hardware theyłd
threaded through her cerebrum before she left the crŁche was a communications
device on many levels, helping line-mates maintain emotional balance, but this
subtle, mostly subconscious process could also be a handicap. Powerful feelings
like fear and pain tended to echo between them. Joanna knew there were many
wounded, and she imagined the worst before her line-senior explained: “Quake,
there was a minor quake, Michaudłs reporting casualties inside the dig"

 

Joanna hadnłt noticed a tremor,
but this coast was riddled with faults. It was constantly settling.

 

Eight figures emerged as she
reached camp, tall giants in mechanized armor. Katarine raised one steel glove
to Joanna as the knot of them pounded by.

 

Inside the barracks she found Hel
in her underwear, prepping one suit, a second outfit hot with the feeds laid
down in order.

 

“Jump," Hel said. “Iłll finish
this one."

 

“No." Joanna shoved her toward
the ready armor. If a stronger quake hit, if there were dust or gas eruptions,
the suits would be their best protection. Joanna couldnłt bear to see Hel at
risk. The two of them were laterals, closer than most, and Hel had already
delayed too long because of her.

 

Joanna rushed into her armor as
their implants spoke again: “Wełve got five hurt on top and two buried. It
looks tight. Letłs put our triage by the shed."

 

“Iłm up," Joanna said the instant
she was dressed, adding a signature pulse. She moved toward the door. But shełd
done a bad job of placing the feed for her left quadriceps. The leg of her suit
dragged, and she strained to compensate.

 

“Joanna, Hel." That was Louise,
their line-senior. “Work your way around on the west rimtherełs a chance it
might be easier to dig through from that side."

 

They bounded away from camp.
Joanna stumbled once and Hel came back to help her stand, patting at Joannałs
arm in her fussy way as if it mattered that Joannałs armor was dirty.

 

“Whatłs wrong?" Hel asked.

 

“My left quadłs only 80 percent.
Iłm okay."

 

They cleared a ravine and two
sink holes, but Hel grabbed Joanna before a larger jump. “Wait. Can you hop
that far?"

 

“Iłm okay."

 

Neither of them had approached
from the west before. In many places, this rim fell away into the brutal surf.
The new perspective heightened Joannałs mute, urgent dread.

 

It was such a strange land,
packed into flat steppes, an artificial mountain that had mostly kept its shape
even after centuries of quakes and storms. Only brown weeds grew from the brown
dirta sterile contrast to the greenery and lush flowers of home. This shore
had its own allure but it was a terrible beauty, so much like her Diamond, a
dead surface concealing wealth beneath.

 

Quickly, wordlessly, Joanna and
Hel coordinated with the others by grid position and their extensive database
of radar scans. The two girls buried in the cave-in had been working Trench
Fifteen, which was among the deepest. Recovery efforts would be difficult no
matter what angle they tried.

 

“Therełs an open rift twenty
meters down on my side," Joanna said. “We might save time going through there."

 

“Letłs anchor and get a probe in."
Hel knelt in a wide, three-point stance, locking her armor as Joanna crouched
beside her, aware of an ache in the ligaments of her hip socket. She grabbed
Helłs free arm to better stabilize herself before pushing a wire drill through
the surface.

 

Even away from the cliffs, this
place could be treacherous. Professor Michaud often compared the site to an
insect mound, a methodical if crude structure, each layer carefully separated
from the next but, inexplicably, containing the same hodgepodge of materials.
Some had decayed, leaving hollows. Gas vents and fires further disrupted the
sediment.

 

The site was a massive garbage
dump, vast enough to swallow Joannałs home colony and six others like it, and
her people had discovered ten thousand of these landfills all across Europe,
Asia, and North America when they emerged from the ice and tundra of the pole
six hundred years ago. Expeditions further south revealed more of the same, a
worldwide scarring.

 

This dump, like so many along the
fallen edge of California, leached poisons into the ocean. Other landfills had
been found near freshwater drainages, which was idiotic yet appeared typical of
the breeder civilization.

 

No one wondered why they were
extinct.

 

Louise made contact again in a
quiet, calming voice. “Howłs that rift look?" she asked.

 

“Not good, itłs top heavy,"
Joanna said, concentrating on guiding the drill. She uplinked her radar to
Louise. “Do you want us to come over?"

 

“Stay there. Keep searching. Iłve
already got twelve people standing back until therełs more room to work."

 

Joanna frowned at the number.
Twelve? A quick grid check showed that her line-mates had been joined by the
remainder of the site crew, the third shift, whołd been asleep.

 

There were three lines
cooperating at this dig in what had been equal numbers of ten before a chemical
burn killed three Löw and then a viral infection decimated the Suhoza.
Replacements, including Hel and Joanna, had brought the total crew back to
twenty-six. The line culture could be superstitious about odd numbers, but the
Suhoza were still understrength and it was the Löw and the Michaud who
alternated the main work details, so it had been a good bet that one of them
would be the next to suffer.

 

“If I send over two robots,"
Louise said, “do you think you can dig into that rift?"

 

“Yes," Joanna said. She felt Hel
tense. Her own reaction, excitement, made her strong with adrenaline even
though it was followed by guilt. Saving the Michaud girls was no contest.
Whoever got to them first wasnłt better than anyone else.

 

“Be careful, cubs," Louise said. “Understood?
I just want a second option available if this side doesnłt pan out."

 

The excavation robots were
towering, ten-legged spiders, capable of squeezing through narrow holes or
extending several legs over a thirty-meter circumference in order to hoist
ton-loads of debris. Unlike the ferrets, the spiders werenłt cyborgs. They
contained no living flesh whatsoever and rarely earned nicknames or affection.

 

Joanna worked her machine
relentlessly, blunting its claws, losing four eyes when she pulled upward too
fast and a load disintegrated into shrapnel. Hel was more studious, fishing
after the smaller junk that Joanna ignored.

 

Louise continued to deny them an
open link to anyone except herself, shielding them from the Michaudsł grief,
but Louise could not completely prevent this misery from ebbing through to
Joanna and Hel each time she checked in with either or both of them to monitor
their progress.

 

The two girls trapped below hadnłt
transmitted since the cave-in. Possibly this silence was due to the
interference of metals. More likely they were dead.

 

At first Joanna paid little
attention to the garbage as she angled toward the rift. The loose debris was
only a frustration. But as ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty-five, her
emotions found new focus. Anger.

 

Her home colony wasted nothing,
recycling even their urine to maintain the nitrogen levels in their box farms.
The line culture was not only genetically poor. For generations they had
overcome energy shortages and cold and isolation. The wealth discarded here was
staggering. This same crew of twenty-six could have extracted a cityłs worth of
iron each work-week if transportation costs werenłt so great. They had too few
spiders, too little fuel, and there were a thousand kilometers between here and
home, which meant the colonies struggled while this wealth decayed.

 

It was wrong. It was hateful.

 

Their line-mother had taught them
to view this immense, upside down grave as a powerful lesson, but over time
Joanna had felt that wisdom slowly die in her. To confront such waste day after
day was irreconcilable with proper thinking. It was as though an entirely new
interior landscape had opened inside her.

 

They had all changed. But Joanna
was afraid for herself and so much of what she was experiencing.

 

She envied the makers of this
dump.

 

“Careful!" Hel swatted Joannałs
shoulder, overreacting to a slide. They both drew their spiders out. Helłs
machine was pinned for an instant, three legs grinding.

 

Joanna shook her head. “Okay, we
need to start setting the larger pieces as containment walls."

 

“We need to move further back!"
Helłs anxiety cut deeper than her voice, a cold contrast to Joannałs
determination.

 

Joanna resisted when Hel nudged
at her again. “No," she said. “This spot is as solid as wełve got." She almost
didnłt ask . . . “Are you okay?"

 

Louise interrupted on their
implants before Hel could answer. “Iłm sending over help," Louise said.

 

Wełre doing
fine, Joanna
thought, but she kept silent, trying to hide her possessiveness.

 

“This dig is no good," Hel said. “The
upper sediment is manufactured items and the next layer down must have been
mostly biodegradable. Itłs sinking."

 

“Itłs our best bet right now,"
Louise said. “We ran into a corrosive spill over here and getting around it
will cost us too much time. Wełll start digging from the south, too, but right
now youłre the farthest ones in."

 

Joanna and Hel were alone for
another six minutes. Their work grew inefficient, uncoordinated, a truth as
unsettling to Joanna as the question still turning like a knife in her heart.

 

Are you okay?

 

Helłs loss of composure was a
weakness and a danger, but eight crew approached before Joanna found the
courage to speak, because this was not a physical hurtbecause she was afraid
Hel might ask her the same.

 

It was normal to feel shock,
fear, impatience. Joanna was experiencing worse. She felt resentment and
mistrust.

 

Night came almost in a blink, so
unlike the long dusks at the pole. Floodlights preceded the mix of human and
spider figures who joined them. The professor herself led the two groups of
Michaud and Suhoza. She had been among those injured in the cave-in, suffering
chest bruises and a fractured cheekbone, yet shełd foregone medical attention
to join the rescue effort.

 

Watching her, the pride Joanna
felt was soothing. The Michaud were well-made and worthy partners.

 

“Your entry reinforcements are
uneven," the professor said, rebuking her, and Joanna only nodded when she
might have looked at Hel as if to pass the blame. The professor said, “Why donłt
you two rest for"

 

“No."

 

“What? Rest for a minute."

 

“Uh, no, we know this substratum
best."

 

“We have your scans." Professor
Michaud walked her machine toward the dig, shrugging four of its legs as well
as her own hands in a gesture of dismissal. “Rest."

 

Joanna turned away, glancing up
for the stars but finding only cloud cover. What was happening to her? Shełd
been right to be concerned. These emotions went against the teachings of the
line. To be selfish, to be disobedient, were the hallmarks of breeder thinking,
especially in the face of trauma, when a line was meant to close into a circle.

 

Louise would know what she was
feeling through her implant. At the moment, Joannałs turmoil might be mistaken
as stress. But Louise would know.

 

Joanna limped away from the
Michaud and was pleased when Hel hurried after her, no matter how shełd been
feeling toward her sister. Joanna put one hand on Helłs arm and was rewarded
with a small, brittle smile.

 

“Iłm not tired, are you?" Joanna
asked.

 

Hel shook her head.

 

Joanna smiled back at her. “Letłs
run a wider sweep in case they need more options," Joanna said.

 

“Stay with me," Hel pleaded.

 

“Yes."

 

They leaned close for comfort as
they marched their spiders outward in a semi-autonomous stop-and-scan, their
visors flickering with radar and thermal displays. Twice Joanna leaned past Hel
to watch the Michaud complete the dig, then drop four spiders into the rift.

 

“Oh!" Hel flinched and said, “Line-senior?"
Her tone was almost embarrassed. “Look at my radar! Iłve located a huge vein of
organics."

 

Jealousy pushed through Joannałs
already crowded head, and she hesitated before joining the link to Helłs
spider.

 

“Excellent work," Louise said. “Thatłs
industrial."

 

“Itłs, um, Iłm estimating two
thousand plus," Hel said, which Joanna thought was conservative. Based on the
size of the twisting cubic area highlighted in the scan, Joannałs own guess
exceeded four thousand. Even if the smaller number was accurate, this find would
be among their best.

 

“What are you doing so far from
your dig?" Louise asked, both stern and pleased.

 

My idea, Joanna thought. This sweep was my idea.

 

“Joanna wanted to make sure we
werenłt missing a better recovery route," Hel said. She was eager to share the
bonus, and Joanna clenched her teeth in self-reproach.

 

Everyone gathered above the rift
as the professorłs team unearthed their missing girls, but in the night, in the
rarely moving cross of floodlights, it was easy to find a shadow. Joanna stood
in semi-darkness.

 

The casualties wore only
respirators and shoulder mecha, which hadnłt been enough to protect them.
Joannałs emotions were too deep to catalogue when the Michaud brought up two
torn, bloody corpses, even though these women were lighter in coloring and
slimmer than the black-haired Löw. Death had become uncommon in the line
culture as they mastered their genetic codes, and violence was unknown, and
Joanna could not have been less prepared for gore and bone.

 

In some odd way she felt honored,
even calm.

 

Hel trembled beside her. Hel was
gripped by a more primal reaction, and yet the Michaud and the Suhoza seemed to
share Joannałs mood, carrying the bodies with slow grace.

 

Standing in the shadows was no
protection, of course. Louise and Katarine found Joanna by homing in on the
signal generated by her implant.

 

As the two seniors approached,
Hel left Joannałs side before anyone spoke, desperate for whatever physical
contact could be had despite their armor. “Line," Hel murmured. Louise and
Katarine both repeated the greeting, embracing her.

 

Joanna joined them a moment too
late and worried again at this visible mistake.

 

“Walk with us to your find,"
Louise said.

 

“I" Hel was still shaking. When
she moved her head from side to side, no, it looked
like a larger spasm.

 

The slightest of glances passed
between Louise and Katarine. Then Katarine brought Hel closer to herself, both
calming her and turning her away from Joanna.

 

“Iłll show you," Joanna said
quietly. She didnłt want to leave the group, but judgment was inevitable.

 

Their foursome split. Hel and
Katarine stayed near the Michaud as Louise and Joanna walked away. Underbellies
split open with lights, two spiders paced ahead of them, slaved to their
movements. One dazzling array of floodlights loped forward smoothly but the
other jerked and then swayed as Joanna looked back at the human silhouettes
gathered in bent, heavy postures of mourning.

 

More spiders hunched above Helłs
find, mapping the chaotic sediment layers but not digging. The lines did not, could
not, trust machines so completely.

 

A culture that had survived only
by tinkering with its very biology was also one intensely sensitive to change.
They could be as hostile towards it as their own hyper-immune systems were
towards infection. With a total population of six thousand, her line allowed no
room for differenceor freedom.

 

Joanna walked after Louise
cautiously, not trying to protect her strained hip but so steeped in thought
that each step was a great process. She recounted each of her failings today,
her head swarming with memory and regret.

 

Their line-mother had celebrated
Joannałs childhood skills as a gardener, encouraging her to experiment with
otherwise useless blossoms because doing so increased her knowledge of selection
and breeding. That had been the start of Joannałs ambition, but always the
lesson was one of care and control.

 

Always the line sought to preempt
risk to itself.

 

Joannałs reverie broke as Louise
led her into the midst of the spiders. The robotsł long, multi-jointed shapes
had never seemed menacing before. Joanna shivered and glanced away but still
there were no stars, only the cloud cover. Her apprehension quieted again into
something more rueful.

 

Violence was unknown to the line,
yet nonviable members were recycled, whether in fetal screenings or much later,
because breeder-like traits persisted among them and must be pruned away.

 

If earning this job had also been
a winnowing of those with anti-social tendenciesif leaving the crŁche was a
test that Joanna had failed by succeedingshe didnłt want anything other than
her fate. Yes, it would be cruel to kill her now. It was also right. And yet
shełd cost the line so much training! Couldnłt she still be useful somehow?

 

Louise stopped beside the nexus spider
and said, “Iłm going to allocate your find to the Michaud."

 

Joanna hesitated, caught between
hope and terror.

 

“Itłs the proper action," Louise
said. “Itłs because of them that we found this batch." Louise watched her
closely, aware of her tension. “You havenłt patched in."

 

The deeper link would be her
truth. Joanna took the hand that Louise extended, a symbolic joining only,
metal glove in glove. Then she tapped her implant

 

The nexus spider collated
information from all the others much like a line-senior directing her mates.
Compilation imaging showed three thousand, three hundred and eighteen Sealies
in the main body of this vein, balled up and bagged together by the dozens.
Another ninety-one had been scattered as far as ten meters by the tidal grinding
of the earth.

 

It was a superior find, no doubt
from a hospital or nursery, and easily worth Joannałs life. On an average day
they were glad to recover just five or six diapers from household garbage, most
of which were badly degraded and worthless.

 

Fortunately, Sealies had been a
dominant brand throughout the twenty-first century. The synthetics used were
almost ideal. Old media advertised Sealies as ultra leak-proof, fluid and odor
absorbent, each one stamped with the distinctive logo of a blue, grinning seal.

 

The breeder civilization had
discarded the feces and urine of their infants in such packets by the
trillions. The population had been impossibly bloated until the pandemicsand
here was their pre-contagion genetic treasure, sheathed in white plastic and
polycotton filaments grayed with age and mold. Only one in thousands had been
mummified by the heat of the rotting landfill, fused with the plastic or
otherwise preserved in ways that the line could extract viable DNA, but the
poor yield had never deterred them from their hunt. Pre-plague samples were
necessary both to reestablish diversity and to further develop superior
immunities, intelligence, and life-spans.

 

There were safer places to dig
than alongside the California sea, but before the pandemics, this region had
been host to an unusual blend of ethnic groups from across the globe. The
landfills here were richer because of it.

 

Joannałs pride was what Louise
singled out among her tangle of emotions. “You were excellent today," Louise
said, continuing to hold her hand.

 

Surprised, Joanna flexed, muscle
memory betraying the secret of her Diamond. “But the things Iłve felt . . ."

 

“You were better than Hel,
tougher and more alert."

 

“The hallmarks of breeder
thinking . . ." Joanna insisted, giddy with relief and love and, still, a razor
of guilt.

 

Louise smiled. “Youłve been
telling yourself too many ghost stories," she said. “Itłs okay. Youłre okay. It
happens to all of us here, especially because of the implants. Most of what you
were feeling was ours."

 

“Line-senior, no. This wasnłt
conveyance. I know when Iłm"

 

“You donłt. When were you ever in
a situation like this? The biggest crisis youłve dealt with before today was
leaving home. Believe me. The feedback can become its own problem."

 

Joanna nodded slowly. Why am I arguing?

 

It was Louise who answered the
thought. “Your actions prove your heart, cub. Above all youłre loyal. And you
endured as well as any of us."

 

“I was selfish."

 

“Good," Louise said, and when
Joannałs gaze lifted suddenly Louise had a new, fierce grin for her. “Yes.
Good. Wełre not just out here to dig up Sealies."

 

Joanna began to smile back. “I .
. . sometimes I thought . . ."

 

“Youłre quicker than most, cub."

 

“Sometimes I thought the
matriarch must have planned for the ways Iłd feel, even wanted
it."

 

“Our line-mother was one of us, a
digger, before you and I were born. Itłs been that way now for three of the
past four generations."

 

Joanna stared. Then she laughed
at the idea of herself ever becoming eligible for a senior position. “But they
teach us leadership is internal," she said.

 

“In the crŁche they have to.
Ninety-five percent of the line never leaves home, cub." Louise grew quiet
again. “Wełre weaker because of it."

 

This notion seemed even stranger,
and yet Joanna understood. In the colony, life had been well-ordered and
predictable. The line itself was equally tame, at least in comparison to the
veterans of this site crew.

 

“Wełre starting to change,"
Louise said. Her voice was more forceful now, like a promise, and Joanna felt a
bright, rising fire of self-worth.

 

The hostile lands stretching
endlessly from the pole held too many resources to be ignored, too much sheer room, but to recolonize Earth would also demand new skills
and capacities, new strength, new destinies.

 

“Thank you," Joanna said.

 

Copyright © 2010 Jeff Carlson

 

 

 

 

 

 








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