Shiva and Other Stories by Catska Ench, Barry N. Malzberg, Cory Ench
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Short Stories, Time travel, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Anthologies, Anthologies & Short Stories
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mineral formations on this minor asteroid, ate and drank the atmosphere, conversed endlessly, seemed to have no need whatsoever of sleep. Perhaps at a later stage. It was apparently a very young rock. “You won’t be able to keep this up much longer,” it pointed out to Hawkins in its high flutelike voice. “Sooner or later you’ll have to fall asleep and I’ll gobble you up for a meal just like everything else. It’s been twenty-two hours now and you’re approaching your fatigue limits. Why don’t you just tell me the attack plans and we can bring an end to all of this?”
“No,” Hawkins said. He shook his head. His only hope was that his wrecked craft would be visually sighted and the rescue fleet would come but the administrators had, as the rock had pointed out, a major attack to worry about and would hardly be looking for an isolated scout at the present time. Nevertheless, pride held him back and an admiration for consistency: he would not be a traitor and reveal to the rock the exact time and nature of the attack, facts which were desperately needed, of course, so that the sentient minerals of this place, all in constant contact, could protect themselves. It would cost him his life, he knew; if he was not eventually eaten by the rock, which had pinioned him by his right ankle since he had crawled from the downed craft, he would perish in the attack itself . . . but one had limits. You were what you were or nothing. “I won’t tell you,” he said, “and I really wish you’d stop with this incessant chatter. It won’t get you anywhere, you know.”
“Oh, it passes the time,” the rock said cheerfully, “and besides it’s keeping you awake. If you fall asleep for an instant, that’s the end of you, you know. It isn’t often that I get a chance to talk to a different life form, you understand, although I must say that I find you quite dull and so xenophobic about everything. Don’t your kind do anything besides hate?”
“We hate the likes of you,” Hawkins muttered. This was quite true; the sentient minerals of the Sirius asteroids had, for the last several decades, exerted powerful influence upon plans to profitably settle the terrain; they had eaten twenty or thirty explorers and had driven several hundred more, unprepared for singing stones and chattering boulders, quite mad; and they had then begun to transmit a series of ultimatums demanding that the Sirius system be abandoned. The circumstances left no alternative: a pulverizing attack had been planned and at this very moment several hundred ships were massing behind invisible screens to deliver the long-delayed blow which would destroy all of the asteroids; but Hawkins, unfortunately, sweeping the terrain to see if the sentient minerals had devised any counterforce of their own, had had the misfortune to crash and to fall into the interrogative arms or, putting it another way, the interrogative ledge of the rock. The rock appeared to know that an attack was in the offing but, unless it could deduce the actual timing, could not mass defense, which meant that Hawkins’s task was quite clear . . . still, he was in an awkward position, quite tired and beginning to fear death more than he had thought was possible through his training. Perhaps it was because he did not think that he would end his life in early middle age bantering with a rock.
“You are so silly,” the rock said, “you say that you understand everything but you understand nothing at all. Do you really think that we posed any danger to you? We merely did not like our own terrain being invaded, and you were conveying many of us to museums and laboratories for study. We have feelings, you know; we are just as viable as are you. Come on,” the rock said innocently, “tell us the time and the nature of the attack. I’ll release you and you can even call for help. There’s no reason why you have to take such a strong position.”
“No,” Hawkins said again. For
“No,” Hawkins said. He shook his head. His only hope was that his wrecked craft would be visually sighted and the rescue fleet would come but the administrators had, as the rock had pointed out, a major attack to worry about and would hardly be looking for an isolated scout at the present time. Nevertheless, pride held him back and an admiration for consistency: he would not be a traitor and reveal to the rock the exact time and nature of the attack, facts which were desperately needed, of course, so that the sentient minerals of this place, all in constant contact, could protect themselves. It would cost him his life, he knew; if he was not eventually eaten by the rock, which had pinioned him by his right ankle since he had crawled from the downed craft, he would perish in the attack itself . . . but one had limits. You were what you were or nothing. “I won’t tell you,” he said, “and I really wish you’d stop with this incessant chatter. It won’t get you anywhere, you know.”
“Oh, it passes the time,” the rock said cheerfully, “and besides it’s keeping you awake. If you fall asleep for an instant, that’s the end of you, you know. It isn’t often that I get a chance to talk to a different life form, you understand, although I must say that I find you quite dull and so xenophobic about everything. Don’t your kind do anything besides hate?”
“We hate the likes of you,” Hawkins muttered. This was quite true; the sentient minerals of the Sirius asteroids had, for the last several decades, exerted powerful influence upon plans to profitably settle the terrain; they had eaten twenty or thirty explorers and had driven several hundred more, unprepared for singing stones and chattering boulders, quite mad; and they had then begun to transmit a series of ultimatums demanding that the Sirius system be abandoned. The circumstances left no alternative: a pulverizing attack had been planned and at this very moment several hundred ships were massing behind invisible screens to deliver the long-delayed blow which would destroy all of the asteroids; but Hawkins, unfortunately, sweeping the terrain to see if the sentient minerals had devised any counterforce of their own, had had the misfortune to crash and to fall into the interrogative arms or, putting it another way, the interrogative ledge of the rock. The rock appeared to know that an attack was in the offing but, unless it could deduce the actual timing, could not mass defense, which meant that Hawkins’s task was quite clear . . . still, he was in an awkward position, quite tired and beginning to fear death more than he had thought was possible through his training. Perhaps it was because he did not think that he would end his life in early middle age bantering with a rock.
“You are so silly,” the rock said, “you say that you understand everything but you understand nothing at all. Do you really think that we posed any danger to you? We merely did not like our own terrain being invaded, and you were conveying many of us to museums and laboratories for study. We have feelings, you know; we are just as viable as are you. Come on,” the rock said innocently, “tell us the time and the nature of the attack. I’ll release you and you can even call for help. There’s no reason why you have to take such a strong position.”
“No,” Hawkins said again. For
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