NABC Chapter 35: Bob – July 2165 – Delta Eridani
Chapter 35: Bob – July 2165 – Delta Eridani
Chapter 35: Bob – July 2165 – Delta Eridani
“The Deltans are under attack!”
I looked up at the call from Marvin. I’d been checking in with the autofactory to make sure everything was on track. Quickly, I suspended the autofactory link and brought up all Deltan feeds to the foreground.
A group of what looked sort of like the natives was attacking one of the tribal hearths. Most of the males were off hunting, and the few that had been left to guard were having a hard time of it.
The attackers were similar to the Deltans the same way a gorilla is similar to a human, both in size and strength. They didn’t employ weapons at all—just teeth, claws, and overwhelming aggression. I watched in horror as one of the attackers ripped open the throat of a defender with its teeth.
The gorilloids concentrated on taking down individuals. They didn’t seem to be trying to take over the encampment or steal anything. As a Deltan was taken down, several gorilloids would drag the body away, fighting over it. I started to have a really bad feeling.
The attack was over in a couple of minutes. One gorilloid had been killed when enough Deltans managed to get pointed sticks into it. But six Deltans were gone. In a war of attrition, the gorilloids would win.
I ordered one of the drones to follow the gorilloids. They headed into the dense forest and split up, each group dragging a Deltan body. There didn’t seem to be any organization. In fact, the longer I watched them, the more certain I was that there was nothing more than animal intelligence there.
When the drone caught up with one of the groups, I found them tearing the body of the Deltan apart and eating it. I hadn’t felt that ill since I died.
I looked around in my VR. The other Bobs had been following the whole thing. I noticed that Marvin looked especially upset, and I raised my eyebrows at him.
He looked around at the rest of us and shrugged. “This kind of explains what I’ve found while I’ve been looking around. I’ve discovered a number of abandoned Deltan camps, and the farther they are from the current camp, the longer it’s been since they were abandoned. I think the gorilloids have been hunting the Deltans for a long time, and the gorilloids are winning.”
Luke piped up, “Bender and I have been venturing farther afield, and we haven’t found any other large tribes of Deltans. We’ve run into occasional small family groups, but they’re nomadic and inhabiting marginal territory.”
“So they’re being hunted to extinction,” I said.
There were several seconds of silence, before Bender spoke up, probably trying to be funny. “Remember the Prime Directive.”
Luke looked at him in disgust. “Right. When people show up in a hundred years, and we have to explain to them that they missed meeting the only other sentient race we’ve ever found by less than a century, I’m sure they’ll be mollified by the knowledge that we didn’t break a fictional law from a TV show.” Bender turned away, upset, and Luke seemed surprised at his outburst. “Sorry.”
Marvin looked over at me. “It’s a fair question, though. How much, exactly, are we going to interfere? Prime Directives notwithstanding, there are real examples from Earth history of cultural contamination and outright extinguishment.”
“I consider it a given that we’re not going to let them die out,” I answered, looking down at my hands. For some reason, I couldn’t keep them still. Anxiety? “I don’t have an answer beyond that, Marvin.”
“What are we going to do, though? Set up armed drones around the perimeter? Become some kind of sky god that protects them?” Marvin looked from one person to the next, waiting for an answer.
Luke spoke up before I could respond. “This is the type of environmental pressure that forces swift evolution. In fact, they may be becoming intelligent specifically because of the gorilloids. Maybe we have to let nature take its course.” ŔAŊoᛒЁs
I turned to Guppy, who as usual was standing at parade rest over to the side. I think I caught him by surprise, and I was positive that I had detected active interest in his expression and posture before he quickly went into fishy poker face.
“Guppy, what’s the total population of Deltans at the campfire sites?”
[412, allowing for today’s deaths]
I turned back to the group. “That’s down below estimates of the low point for humanity back in Africa. I don’t think we have any leeway to just let things go.”
“So we’re back to guarding them with drones,” Bender said. “They’re at the rock-and-pointy-stick stage. That’s not good enough to hold off the gorilloids.”
“Not all of them,” I countered. “You’ve seen Archimedes. That kid is smart.”
Marvin pulled up a map. “Speaking of which—sort of—I found the flint source. One of the old villages. And interestingly, there’s some worked flint there and in a couple of villages nearby. I think at least some of the Deltans have known what to do with it, so Archimedes isn’t unique.” Marvin looked around at us to make sure we would get his next comment. “I think there’s a recessive gene for increased intelligence that’s spreading through the population. It just needs the opportunity to be expressed, in every sense of the word.”
I nodded. “Let’s give them that chance. Take a couple of drones, pick up some flint, and we’ll drop it in the area where Archimedes normally hangs out. Let’s see what happens.”
***
There was a lot of wailing and growling when the hunting parties came back to camp that evening. The Deltans obviously understood death. We didn’t know yet how they handled their dead, since the gorilloids had taken the bodies. One of the hunters seemed especially broken up, and was curled up on the ground, shaking. I checked the records, and yep, he spent a lot of his down-time with one of the Deltans that had been killed.
Mm, yeah, I’m definitely getting personally involved. Sue me.
I decided right there and then that I didn’t like the gorilloids.
“I’ve got something for you,” Marvin said, interrupting my thoughts. I looked up at the schematic floating in my holotank. It showed plans for an observation drone that had been reinforced internally and given twenty-pound steel caps at each end—a sort of personnel-buster. Even with the modest acceleration capabilities of the drones, they could probably deliver a punch equivalent to a cannonball. Whether the drone would survive was an unknown.
“I guess rail guns weren’t an option?” I asked.
“No, even ignoring the complexity of the loading system, the SURGE drive in the drones just can’t support enough acceleration to make a small-caliber missile dangerous.”
I sighed and, for the umpteenth time, wondered if I should reconsider my policy on explosives. And for the umpteenth time, I decided not to.
“I can produce a dozen of these in a few days if we bump all the other stuff,” Marvin added. “It’s not an ideal solution, but it is a quick one to implement.”
“Yeah, he’s going to own the place by the time he’s full-grown,” I said. “And hopefully, he’ll have lots of opportunity to spread his genes.”
I can’t say that I looked forward to the next gorilloid attack, but I did look forward to the gorilloids maybe getting their asses kicked.
***
I noticed over the next week that the Deltans seemed to be eating better. Better cutting tools meant more tubers with less work, and better pointy sticks meant better hunting results.
The Deltans seemed to particularly favor something that I would consider a large wild-pig-analogue, with the same general feeding habits and sunny disposition. It took a half-dozen Deltans to bring one down, but the carcass would feed twenty or so Deltans for several days. Good return on effort.
Part of their strategy involved bracing the butt of the pointy stick against the ground or a rock or tree and letting the charging pigoid impale itself. Since the pigoids never seemed to learn, it was a dependable source of food. The new, straighter pointy sticks did a much better job and resulted in dinner with less effort overall.
Meanwhile, Archimedes had risen significantly in stature. He and his mother were now closer to the campfire, and the other juveniles were deferring to him. In fact, since Archimedes seemed to be pretty close to puberty, from what I could tell, some of the female juveniles were giving him a whole lot of attention. Way to go, kid.
***
Then came the day I’d been both looking forward to and dreading. Another gorilloid attack. By now, Archimedes had armed everyone with the good pointy sticks, and the improved hunting prospects meant more adult males stayed home to guard.
A small group of gorilloids appeared out of nowhere and attacked group E. The Deltan females and cubs scattered, and the gorilloids seemed to somehow agree on a couple of specific victims to concentrate on. The gorilloids chased their chosen prey in groups of three. I noted in passing that they had chosen adult females rather than cubs. Maybe because the cubs were quicker, or perhaps because they provided less meat.
One of the female targets ran right through a pack of approaching males, with the gorilloids hot on her heels. The Deltans stopped, rammed the butts of their pointy sticks in the ground, and stood fast with as much courage as any medieval pikeman facing a cavalry charge. The effect was every bit as dramatic as I could have hoped for. The two leading gorilloids each took a couple or three sticks right in the chest. They were lifted into the air as their momentum converted to leverage on the sticks. As they hung suspended in the air for a moment, the gorilloids let out ear-piercing screams of agony. They came down to earth as their momentum reversed and fell over, still screaming. Although their huge arms still made them dangerous, the gorilloids were obviously badly wounded and couldn’t get up. The Deltans fell upon them with pointy sticks, and within seconds, the screaming had stopped. The third gorilloid of the group got a rush of common sense to the head and made for the trees.
The other group of three gorilloids had caught their intended victim but stopped when their compatriots started to scream. Now the Deltans, flush with their victory, rushed headlong toward the second group of gorilloids, yelling what were probably battle cries. The gorilloids were momentarily frozen with beastly astonishment but finally managed to figure out that something was different. Dropping their victim, they sprinted for the forest, empty-handed, in full rout.
The Deltans followed them to the edge of the camp, screaming and yelling. Again, I made careful note of the verbalizations. Pretty sure there were variations of “your mamma” in there. The first official English/Deltan dictionary would not be suitable for all ages if I had a say in it.
One of the Deltans, in an excess of zeal, hauled off and threw his pointy stick at the fleeing gorilloids. In one of those moments that change the universe forever, the stick flew a trajectory that would make an Olympic decathlete proud and buried itself in the back of the neck of one of the targets. The animal fell over like it had been pole-axed, and skidded face-down to a full stop. The other two didn’t even miss a step.
The Deltan defense force fell silent, and I discovered that slack-jawed amazement was probably a universal expression. A dozen Deltans stared at the dead gorilloid for several beats, then a dozen Deltan heads turned as one to stare at the spear chucker. Oh, please shrug. Oh please, let a shrug be in their repertoire. No such luck. I catalogued the ear movement as a probable shrug-analogue, swallowed my disappointment, and watched as the Deltans moved as a group toward the downed gorilloid.
“What’d I miss?” Marvin said, as he appeared beside me.
“Just watch the replay. You will not believe this.”
The Deltan spear chucker pulled his pointy stick from the dead gorilloid and poked it a few times. Getting no reaction, he turned to his friends and grinned. Not literally, of course, but I was getting used to interpreting the Deltan expressions in human terms.
They all started talking at once, jabbing the carcass, and slapping and hugging each other. After a few minutes, they picked up the carcass and carried it back to camp.
“Well, fair’s fair,” Marvin observed.
I laughed. “Now that’s payback!”
The Deltans ate well for the next few days. And gorilloids could be converted into many useful items, from hide strips to bone tools.
The spear-chucking story was the hit of the campground. Deltans were just as prone as humans to act things out, and every retelling had a rapt audience. The spear chucker got the lion’s share of the gorilloid that he’d taken down, and an apparent large bump in status. He looked tired but very happy.
Archimedes was fascinated by the story as well. Any time he saw or heard a retelling, he would run over to join the audience. Like many of the Deltans, he began to experiment with this technological innovation. The Deltans already understood throwing, but it seemed they’d never considered applying it to anything other than rocks. It was getting quite dangerous around the camp, until some of the elders put their collective foot down. After much yelling and gesturing, the experimenters took their sticks outside the camp to practice.
Unfortunately, even very straight pointy sticks didn’t fly dependably true. The spear-chucker really had been lucky. Very few spears actually stuck into anything when thrown, and some of the Deltans had already given it up as a fad.
Archimedes wasn’t having any better luck with his spear-chucking, but unlike the others, he took his pointy stick, sat down, and stared at it.
I knew that look. I’d worn that look many times. He was working it out.
It only took a few hours for Archimedes to find a flake about the right size, split the end of the pointy stick, and tie the flake onto it. The difference in weight wasn’t much, but it moved the center of gravity forward of the grip point. That was all that was needed. The next time Archimedes threw the stick, it embedded itself in the ground in a most satisfactory manner. The other experimenters watched as Archimedes repeated the result twice more.
After the third toss, one of the adults grabbed the spear and examined it. This resulted in another raucous town hall meeting. After Archimedes got his spear back, there was some further discussion. Then Archimedes headed off toward his cache with half the encampment following him. By this point, I was grinning like a fool. You go, boy!
There was a lot more gabbling when Archimedes brought out his two remaining flint nodules. I think some people were angry with him for holding out. There was some pushing and shoving, and I readied the drone to bash some heads if necessary. We hadn’t deployed the buster drones yet, but I was quite prepared to sacrifice one of the light-duty units. I was certain that it would only take one to clear the room.
Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary. The Deltans that Archimedes had given the first, good pointy sticks to—the largest members of the tribe—were firmly on his side, and the others seemed understandably reluctant to challenge them.
One of the support group was a particularly impressive specimen that I had named Arnold. When Arnold leaned over an opponent and started yelling, there was generally very little further debate.
Arnold made a gesture and said something that included “get” and the name that the Deltans used for Moses. Several Deltans ran off, and a few minutes later, Moses was escorted over. It looked like he was being hustled along a bit more quickly than he really found comfortable. I could pick up a few words, and I’m pretty sure Moses compared the members of his escort to pigoid droppings. Smelly ones.
To the extent I was able to follow the discussion, it sounded like Archimedes would volunteer his nodules to make spear points for everyone, and in return he would get part of every kill from then on. Moses said something in an angry tone, and the agreement was amended to include him. I’m positive that I heard a comment to the effect that that wouldn’t be for long anyway. Moses looked offended but seemed otherwise satisfied. He and Archimedes set to work on the nodules, with half the camp watching.