The Man Who Loved Carolina Parakeets

by William Kitcher

I came out of Hibernation as scheduled on Subjective-Day 1207, but Lt. Delaet's pod lights were off. He was lying there in stasis, not rejuvenating. He was anxious, emotional, and sensitive as it was. This would frustrate him to no end once he was fully revived. If he could be.

I ran the diagnostics, and Grandma informed me Delaet's pod had shut down about six days previously due to a timing mechanism error. Delaet wouldn't have been affected severely except that his muscles would have atrophied somewhat. And that he would be six days older. Grandma couldn't explain why she hadn't fixed it in the first place.

She reset the pod, rehydrating Delaet and administering electrical charges to his muscles, getting them back into some kind of normal state. This would take about three days.

I asked Grandma how Delaet's brain would be affected but didn't receive a definitive answer. There would be some damage, she said, but had no opinion about how much or what form it would take. “Hibernation isn't an exact science,” she said. “We've never been this far out before, and results from previous undertakings were inconclusive.”

“Grandma, are you OK?”

“I'm at 98.9% efficiency.”

I couldn't remember if that was good enough.

I checked out the craft and everything else seemed to be working. The star we'd reached blazed one hundred million kilometers away. It had shown promise as a very similar star to our Sun, and there was a possibility of a planet around it that had life.

On analysis, the star turned out to be almost a duplicate of the Sun, slightly larger and hotter but with the same basic chemical composition. Grandma detected seven large planets orbiting it, all of them Neptune-sized, gaseous, and probably inconducive to life, and millions of minor bodies.

After a day, Delaet was hammering at the inside of his pod. He hadn't recovered enough according to Grandma's timetable, but his distress was obvious so I opened the pod and helped him out.

He didn't seem like himself at all. Although anxious as normal, he was very quiet and looked around the craft as if he'd never seen it before. In his weakened state, he fell over a few times, and mumbled incoherently, like a toddler learning to talk. I sat him down and tried to reassure him everything was going to be OK. I fed him and gave him some water. He calmed down and fell asleep again.

Three hours later, he woke with a start, looked at me suspiciously, and stood up, balancing himself against the hull of the bridge. “What we doin' here?” he said.

“We've arrived,” I said.

“I need fresh air.”

“You what?”

“Fresh air.”

I turned the oxygen content up, and he took a few deep breaths, but it didn't seem to help. He did a little convulsive dance and sang to himself. He looked at me and giggled. “The lights are brighter.”

“Brighter? Brighter than what?”

“I have to get out of here,” he said.

“Delaet, wait,” I said. “Calm down. Let the oxygen work.”

He ignored me and said, “Gonna check the storage area.”

Before I had time to ask him why, he was gone. “Grandma, what's wrong with him?”

“He hasn't fully recovered. He's still in a post-infantile stage.”

“What can we do about it?”

“I don't have enough data.”

I heard banging and crashing from the back, and then saw on the control panel that the rear hatch had opened.

Banging on the outer shell followed, and then there was Delaet moving hand over hand on the outside of the craft, unsecured by any line. At least he'd remembered to put on a suit.

“Get back in here!” I yelled, but I knew he couldn't hear me. I turned the intercom on. “Delaet! Delaet!” But he hadn't turned his end on.

He peered out into space toward the star, and then back at me. He mouthed something excitedly, but I couldn't tell what he was saying. I gestured to him to come inside. He nodded and made his way back to the rear hatch. I went to the stern and waited. He entered the craft, closed the outer hatch, and I opened the inner door.

He took his helmet off and was breathless. “It's there! It's there!”

“What is?”

“Mercury.”

“No, not Mercury. We're nowhere near Mercury.”

“It's Mercury. There's the Sun, and Mercury is there.” He was shaking.

I tried to remain calm. “John, we're not anywhere near our Solar System. We've been in Hibernation for over three years.”

“But that's our Sun.”

“No, it's not. It's just very similar..”

“Then, the planet. Not Mercury.”

“No, not Mercury.”

“We have to look at it.”

“I don't see anything. Where?”

“Off to starboard, no, portside. About ten o'clock.”

I went back to the bridge as Delaet got out of his suit. I scanned that area of space, and Grandma located a small planetoid among the other rubble. She set the craft toward it.

We were very close to it before I could actually see it. How had Delaet seen it from so far away?

“There! There it is!” said Delaet.

Being so close to the star, it was virtually white. I ran the diagnostics. It was very small, about a sixteenth the diameter of Mercury, but with enormous density. Its atmosphere was similar to Earth's: about 75% nitrogen, 20% oxygen, and traces of other gases, including water vapor. The planetoid's magnetic poles were on the sides, so to speak, and it rotated toward the star, looking as if it was rolling sunward.

We orbited. Its temperature varied throughout the air layers and was about two hundred fifty Celsius on the surface on the sun side. On the shadow side, the temperature dropped to about forty. At the top layer of the atmosphere was a sheet of unknown whirling gas Grandma presumed functioned as ozone.

“How did you know this was here?” I asked. “How were you able to see it from so far away?”

Delaet pondered this. “I didn't... see it. I just... knew it.”

We did another orbit. The planetoid rolled perfectly starward.

“Go closer,” said Delaet. “To the shadow line.”

The craft descended through the atmosphere.

“Go to the pole,” said Delaet.

“What are you looking for?”

Grandma flashed the control panel. Life forms had been detected.

“Knew it,” said Delaet.

“Knew what?”

“Look. There.”

I looked where he was pointing, and saw an occasional flash of light and puff of smoke.

Grandma moved the craft closer. At the demarcation of starlight and shadow, some form of plant life was bursting into flame and then shattering into ashes.

Grandma said, “It would seem to be something akin to lichens.”

We hovered above the fire, and looked toward the pole, seeing many kilometers of brief fires. I moved the craft into the shadow away from the star. Rising perhaps two meters above the surface, large bushes of these lichens fluttered until they rotated into the light and ignited.

Delaet pressed his face up against the port. “Go further toward the pole. Slowly.”

Grandma moved the craft. We drifted over the fire.

“There. Look,” said Delaet.

“Some type of animal life,” said Grandma, and dropped the craft to about three meters from the surface.

Running away from the starlight, no more than fifty meters into the shadows, was a herd of... something. There were dozens of them. They were shaped somewhat like elephants, but about half the size, and even had elephant-like ears and a kind of trunk-like proboscis. But their legs were thinner, like a gazelle's but more muscular, and they ran quickly.

Among them were smaller creatures of the same type. Children? Occasionally, they would stop to graze on the lichens, but would soon start running again when the light approached them.

The craft was silent and it didn't affect the animals even though a few of them looked at us hovering above them. They had no natural fear of us, like a dodo or a Carolina parakeet.

There was one animal that staggered a little, unable to keep up with the rest of them. Finally, it stopped and squatted. It discharged from its body a smaller animal, which dropped to the ground and lay there. The larger animal nudged the baby with its trunk. The baby got up, picked up some lichens with its trunk, put it into its mouth, and then started running alongside its mother.

Farther along the shadowline, we saw it happen again. A mother dropped a baby, pushed it with her trunk. The baby got to its feet, staggered a little, and fell to the ground again. The mother nuzzled it with her trunk again, but the baby was unable to get up.

The light came closer to them, and the mother set off running again, abandoning her baby. The planetoid rolled toward the star. The baby raised its trunk and let out a scream our sensors could detect. The baby smoldered, then exploded into flame.

“Oh God!” cried Delaet. He put his head in his hands and turned away.

Grandma flew the craft poleward until we saw no more animals and no more lichens.

I turned the craft around, and went along the shadowline again, watching the migration staying just out of the starlight.

The sensors told me the rear hatch had opened again.

“He's not...” started Grandma, but she said no more.

I looked down to the surface and saw Delaet hit the ground and roll. He had no suit on, and had nothing with him. He got up, looked back at the approaching light, then up at the craft, and he waved.

He ran further into the shade, and I followed him. Another animal had dropped a baby, and was pushing it with her trunk. The baby had trouble getting up, and Delaet put his back into it. The mother watched Delaet as he pushed the baby to its feet. The baby took a mouthful of lichens, and ran with its mother deeper into the shadows.

Delaet reached down, picked up a handful of lichens, sniffed at it, and then ate it. He looked up at me, gave me a thumbs-up sign, smiled, and started running with the herd.

Then Grandma switched off.