“Well, hold on. How do the mechs get inside to fix things if everything’s locked up?” Without waiting for an answer, I ordered the roamer to attempt to open the door.

  And success! It was a simple latching mechanism, designed for appendages not too different from human hands. Perhaps a bit larger. The roamer scuttled in before the door could swing shut.

  “What now?” Dae said.

  “All hands on deck. This is job one.” I prodded the video for emphasis. “I’m sending all the roamers in to start examining the inventory. And”—I held up a finger—“let’s see how our mannies are coming along.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three:

  Preparations

  Howard

  August 2344

  Jabberwocky

  Dragons are excellent ropemakers. And a damned good thing, too. The stresses from tossing out even a small net from a couple hundred yards in the air, then winching it back up, required some good specs. We weren’t going for anything trawler level, though. It had to be something that muscle power could handle, so a series of quick casts and retrievals should bring in enough for dinner. For, uh, about thirty thousand dragons.

  Word had finally gotten out about what Alexander was attempting to do and why. Of course, he’d been trying to spread the word for maybe a couple of years now and had been roundly ignored. But several sudden volcanic burps in the last couple of days had taken out not only a lot of the local fish stock but also two floaters and their passengers who had been too close to the emissions. And people were starting to notice the poor fishing, which was hitting them right in the belly.

  And I got to see, from a distance, what a burning floater looked like. I began to understand what watching the Hindenburg burn must have been like.

  So now people were starting to believe, which meant people were scared. And scared people could go from resistant to insistent in a heartbeat. Virtually every floater within a day’s flight had immediately joined up. All of which meant that waiting for spring was a nonstarter.

  Now, we were heading north, from whence we would be setting off across the sea. I tried for a more dramatic description, but even as a posthuman computer, I had all the poetic talent of a hammer.

  It was far too soon for starvation to set in, or even significant belt-tightening. But perception was a funny thing. Dragons began to act as if we were all on wartime rations. There was even a black market for fish. How in hell do you have a black market for fish when there’s barely a legitimate market? I was beyond understanding any of it. When it came down to it, dragons as a group were just as nutty as any other so-called sentients.

  But my work crew was a different matter. Dragons were pragmatic when it came to any kind of construction. They followed orders without argument, even when those orders seemed nonsensical. But they got the idea quickly enough when they could see the finished product starting to take shape. At that point, it became more a matter of restraining them than motivating them.

  It took no more than three days before we had a working winch and boom setup that would haul up a smallish net, hopefully full of fish. We couldn’t really test it on actual fish until we were over a big enough lake, but we improvised by filling the net with sticks and firewood until it seemed about the right weight.

  We lost two nets before we got the weave and cord weight right.

  The engineering crew swiftly turned into the trawling crew, as they understood the system better than anyone. We’d only had time to make the one unit so far, which gave my engineer’s mind a bad case of the shakes. But I made sure the crew laid in enough spare lumber and rope to make more of everything in a pinch. We might even be able to construct more setups on the trip, weather permitting.

  At just short of the two-week mark, Bridget declared that we would need another week of travel north. She’d been touching base with Mario about the increased volcanic activity. He said the view from low orbit was ominous. I don’t know if the volcanic activity was contributing, but in any case, the winter storms were gearing up for a truly stupendous performance. As a result, Bridget wanted some extra wiggle room to avoid missing landfall entirely.

  Erik, my crew foreman, walked up. “Everything’s stowed, Chief. Nothing more to do until we’re over water, I guess. Then we’ll find out if this bitch does its job.”

  I tried not to show amusement, lest it be seen as condescending. The cursing wasn’t really translating well, and I was looking forward to a little time to update Gandalf’s database.

  “Meanwhile,” I replied, “start cutting and shaping the spare lumber for parts. If we need to replace something, we don’t want to have to wait while someone cuts new notches.”

  Eric gave me a sloppy salute, which looked suspiciously like something I did to Bridget occasionally, and turned to give orders. I hoped Bridget wouldn’t see that. I doubt she’d be amused.

  Someone handed me a tuev, and I absentmindedly took a slow sip as I inspected the site. Not bad. I’d make engineers out of these people yet.

  I was helping lift a pole into place for part of the winch system when I got an email from Mario:

  Hey, Howard & Bridget—

  Bad news. It looks like whatever process Alexander has been predicting is kicking into an even higher gear. There’s been another uptick in eruptions, and I mean visible-from-space level. They started at the eastern end of the continent, and the increased activity is working its way west. I really wish we had a geologist available to comment on this—it’s fascinating.

  I’ve messaged some of the Bobs who have contacts in universities, and they’re scrambling to find someone qualified. Should have something soon, but meanwhile, just be aware that things are going to get hot for you in a day or two at this rate.

  Well, that sucked.

  Bridget contacted me via intercom immediately. “We’re not far enough north, Howard. We can’t turn yet.”

  “Then don’t,” I replied. “The front is still a few thousand miles away.”

  “We’ll have to get a little offshore, though. Bridget paused. I’m going to release some drones to monitor air quality. If it goes bad, we’ll have no choice.”

  Made sense. The biggest danger from all the vulcanism, short of having an eruption go off under you, was the gases emitted by the volcanoes and fissures. They were generally heavier than air and hugged the ground, but a big enough burp could retain a dome shape for hours or days before it dissipated. If the dome was high enough, it could encompass the floaters and their passengers.

  A short time later, I felt a slow, ponderous change in the floater, and the horizon began to rotate. We were heading out to sea, where we hoped we would avoid the worst risks of eruptions.

  It was about ten minutes before the horizon rotated back. I looked to shore, frowned, then launched into the air. Thirty seconds of focused flight got me to Alexander’s private floater. I found Bridget and Alexander in a tight huddle, conversing in tense tones.

  Alexander did not seem to be happy to see me, either. It was more than just the current situation. He glanced at Bridget as she greeted me, then quickly looked away, and I realized that I was in a competition for my wife. With the most powerful person on Jabberwocky. Someone who could have me disappeared on a whim.

  Not ideal. But also, let’s face it, not a priority right now. We had other problems, judging from Bridget’s expression. “What?” I said.

  She sighed. “I feel like such a fool for not thinking of this. Everyone knows the floaters don’t like going offshore, and the dragons believe that it’s because they don’t like the open water with no cover. Turns out the problem is salt water.”

  “And you suddenly know this, how?”

  Bridget gestured to a dragon standing some twenty feet away. “Roger reported that the floaters dipped their tentacles, then pulled back as if they’d been stung and immediately started turning back to shore. The cockpit crew can’t get them to correct, either. The floaters are ignoring the crew input, and if the crew prod any harder, they say they’ll cause injury.”

  I knew that floaters were steered and generally controlled using what I’d euphemistically call negative reinforcement. Like reins and spurs, crews used the application of pain to enforce their wishes on the floaters. It seemed, though, that the floaters would put up with some pain to avoid salt water.

  To say that this put a crimp in our plans would be an understatement of massive proportions.

  I turned and glared at Alexander. “And you never planned for this?”

  He flushed, or the dragon equivalent, with either anger or embarrassment. “As Bridget says, it’s always been common wisdom that the floaters just don’t like the open water. They have been directed across bays, and to and from nearby islands, so we’ve assumed that the sight of a far shore was enough to reassure them.”

  Bridget cut in. “And that’s almost certainly the case, but they were wrong about the motivation.”

  “And you’re sure, absolutely sure, that this is all about salt water.”

  She made a face at me. “Given the reaction of the tentacles, it seems like the best explanation.”

  “Shit.” I thought for a moment. “Is it a case of drinking the water? I thought they had that big reservoir on top.”

  “That’s … interesting,” Alexander said. “The central lake is ballast as well as a reservoir for dry periods. They can obviously use it when they’re not near water. Usually it’s refilled by rain, but the floaters can suck up water to replenish their reserves.”

  “Can we make them want to do that?”

  Alexander thought for a moment. “There’s lore that says when they’re hot, they load up on water.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” Bridget said. “During the summer, they’d want a bigger reservoir not only for cooling but in case of drought.”

  “So how do we make them hot?” I asked.

  “Heat rocks in fires, then place them on bare patches.” Alexander nodded to himself, making a decision. He called to his commanders. As they gathered around, he began giving orders. We would head for a nearby lake, where the floaters would be persuaded to suck up a lot of water, after which—wait, what?

  “Did I understand him right?” I whispered to Bridget. “They’ll cut off the floaters’ tendrils?”

  “Apparently, they grow back easily,” she replied. “Like pulling out nose hairs.”

  “Ew.” Still, it would keep the floaters from sampling the ocean, which would keep them from mutinying. We might yet pull this off.

  Chapter Fifty-Four:

  Education

  Icarus

  August 2337

  Roanoke

  Isauntered casually along a tree-lined boulevard, admiring the flowers and various pieces of artwork. Okay, they weren’t really trees, although they filled a similar ecological niche. But the flowers were really flowers, and they seemed to have insect pollinators. Or something that filled that niche.

  I sighed and decided to stop overanalyzing. This was an alien ecosystem, with its own evolutionary history. But so far, every biological environment the Bobs had examined followed the same general patterns. At the base of the ecosystem was something plantlike that converted energy to biomass. It didn’t have to be sunlight—even on Earth, entire fumarole-based ecologies had evolved around chemosynthesis—but the idea was the same.

  Then something would evolve to eat the plants. Then something else would evolve to eat the plant eaters. Then something would evolve to parasitize everyone in sight. Viruses, microbes of every kind, fungi … Life followed certain patterns, probably simply because they were the paths of least resistance.

  But because of all of this, I was enjoying a stroll down a tree-lined path on a totally alien planet.

  “I can’t believe we haven’t done this before,” Dae said beside me. “The mannies are just so much more real than VR.”

  “Mm, yeah, but we knew that from Howard’s blog, if nothing else. We’ve just never stopped long enough to smell the, uh … ” I made a helpless gesture at some nameless bed of flowers.

  Dae stopped and took a deep breath. “I suppose from a strict efficiency point of view, this is a pointless distraction. But it’s not like we’re on a schedule.”

  I frowned. “I’m not entirely sure we aren’t. The whole vanished civilizations thing does lend a little urgency to our investigation.”

  “Yeah, okay, point taken. How’s the scanning going?”

  I pointed in the direction of the library, for that was what it had turned out to be, and we headed that way. “Children’s books,” I said. “Gotta love ‘em. See Dick run. See Jane run. Dick sees Jane. Run, Jane, run.”

  Dae snorted. “The eighties called. They want their joke back.”

  “Give them their insult back while you’re at it.”

  We both laughed easily, and I continued, “On the bad side, it looks like my assumptions were right. Library books are a legacy item. Everything up to about the tech level of the nineteen eighties, coincidentally enough, is represented. After that point, nothing.”

  “So you think they went electronic for newer stuff. That seems like a pretty clean cutoff.”

  “This species appears to have been very much on top of things, though. No slums, no private roads, green spaces everywhere … They must have been a decisive people; they decided to go electronic, and that was that.”

  “Wow,” Dae said, shaking his head. “I wonder if the decision to take off was made as quickly.”

  We arrived at the library, and I opened the door for Dae. The handle and latch were definitely slightly too large for my hand, but not unworkably so. We’d found images of the local species, which we were now calling Roanokians. We knew the name for them in their language, but only in writing—we had found an audiotape library, but for now, just learning the written language was the priority.

  They were about human size, perhaps a little shorter on average, bipedal and generally humanoid, but with disproportionately long arms and large hands. Dae’s theory was that their ancestors were some kind of ambush predator that would grab their prey as it passed by. It was as good a theory as any.

  Our mechanical servants were about three-quarters of the way through scanning the library. The scene before us elicited involuntary chuckles, though. Dozens of roamers stood on tables, slowly flipping through books like a bunch of avid bookworms. And that was another piece of good news. Apparently, the automated maintenance extended to library books. Whether the books were repaired or replaced or just tended to by nanites was up in the air, but nothing in the library was moldy or dried up or crumbling from age.

  Occasionally, though, a maintenance bot would come by and try to collect a roamer, presumably for disposal. We’d ordered the roamers to run away rather than attempt to defend themselves, and it seemed to be good enough. And we didn’t want to start a turf war with the maintenance automation.

  But the bot would then collect the book and put it away, which required the roamer to retrieve it to continue its task. It was the ultimate test of consciousness, I decided. Any self-aware roamer would have long since whipped out its plasma cutter and laid waste to the miscreant.

  I spent a few minutes wandering the aisles, just admiring the books. It was interesting that they were books, rather than scrolls or something even weirder. I supposed there were only so many ways to arrange words on paper.

  Dae and I left the roamers to their work and went for a walk. Despite this being an urban setting, the air was alive with some equivalent of birdsong, and we spotted several small fliers landing on bushes and flitting between trees.

  “No shortage of animals,” Dae said.

  “Hmm?”

  “There are no Roanokians anywhere. No corpses, no vehicles abandoned in mid-street, no evidence of a hasty exit or mass death. And the plants and animals seem to be unaffected. No matter how I parse it, Icky, this looks like a planned exodus.”

  “Assuming they aren’t all in stasis pods in some underground bunker.”

  Dae started to reply, then caught himself. “I was about to say how dumb that is, but we are dealing with aliens. Maybe let’s do a SUDDAR sweep.”

  We wanted to get it right, so the sweep took three days. A polar orbit, doing orange-slice passes as the planet rotated, eventually resulted in a thorough sensor map of the planet to several miles in depth.

  “Nothing,” Dae muttered, slapping his video window. It obediently spun on its axis, then settled back into place.

  “Well, lots of interesting stuff, but I know what you mean,” I replied. “No trace of a Roanokian population hiding in caves.”

  “Uh-huh. So I can’t see any other conclusion. Voluntarily or otherwise, the entire population of the planet just up and left, in an orderly manner.”

  “Which you could put down to species psychology if it was just the Roanokians, but every planet we’ve visited, with any number of different intelligent species, is the same.”

  Dae shook his head slowly. “I have a bad feeling we won’t like the explanation.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five:

  Setting Off

  Howard

  August 2344

  Jabberwocky

  We were over the lake, and the floaters were greedily sucking up water. The central reservoir on the Hunter had grown visibly and was in danger of developing an outflow stream across the top. But the Hunter was a big, mature floater with a lot of tendrils. Some of the smaller floaters were still well short of full.

  Since the Hunter was ahead of schedule, my trawling crew had decided to try a few casts. Results were encouraging, if somewhat skimpy. We’d caught some lake fish, which at least showed the system worked. But we’d never feed the population with that kind of take. And we were barely moving when we trawled the net. It could still break at speed.

  The local dragons had stopped heating rocks and were letting the existing piles cool off. The next step was to cut the tendrils, and we were listening to a senior floater-herder describe where and how to cut. Obviously, it had to be done in-flight, which immediately complicated things. The essential maneuver was to approach the dangling tendril, then roll ninety degrees and swipe at it with a machete-like tool. The machetes were raw iron, as the dragons hadn’t developed alloying yet, which meant they didn’t hold much of an edge. The cut had to be done cleanly, or you’d not only fail the cut but throw yourself into an uncontrolled yaw. And probably drop the machete, which is why they had tethers.