Bowl of Heaven

mirrors a portrait of the leader of the primary group, a face many worlds wide. “Come to me.” The leader would certainly know that she had not sent that message, but the others would not. They had every motive to link somehow, and then they could all be caught.

But there was no certainty in this, and a worse danger loomed. So Memor persisted, “Is it the Adopted?”

“What — what do you imply?”

“Do they speedily report?”

“Well — ” More furtive glances. No escape.

“I take it your reply is no?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You mean no?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“The Adopted somehow — I have no idea why! — do not obey. They have heard of these aliens.”

“And so?”

“They somehow…” The local Savant cast more anxious eyes. “These primates are unAdopted. Many ages have passed since the last invasive intelligences gained a foothold on the Bowl. This I truly do not understand — but many of the Adopted see them as … admirable.”

A voice nearby said, “Improper genetic engineering, then. Or else there has been a slide in the Adopted’s conditioning, occasioned by genetic drift.”

An image from their Underminds, more likely, Memor thought. An ancient archetype running free, from the times when the Adopted were on their own. She huffed, worried, but gave no other sign of her true reaction. She had read and seen images of alien invasions, far back — many twelve-cubed Eras ago. No Astronomers now living were alive then. Though Astronomers were the longest-lived of all the Folk, even they faced a hard fact: The Bowl swam by life-rich worlds seldom. Still rarer were those planets inhabited by sentients — those who could perceive and know — which were of use to the Folk. Still more rare were aliens of sapience — entities who could act with appropriate judgment. The universe gave forth life reluctantly, and wisdom, far more so.

These alien primates, alas, had both — in quantities they surely did not deserve, given their primitive levels of development. Plainly some harsh world had shaped them, and cast them out into the vacuum, untutored.

But she was forgetting her role here. She snorted out anger, spat rebuke, and gave a reproaching feather display of brown and amber. “Admirable!”

“I regret to deliver such news.”

“I had no such reports before.”

“This was a regional problem, noble Astronomer.”

“It is now a global one. These are dangerous aliens, afoot in our lands.”

Murmurs of agreement erupted. But Memor did not want agreement; she wanted action. “We do not know what they want. We cannot allow them to remain loose.”

The Savant caught her tone and lifted her head. “We shall redouble our efforts.”

Memor supposed that was the best she could expect of these rural provinces. They slumbered, while mastering the Bowl fell to their betters. She sniffed, gave a flutter display, and was turning away when the Savant asked quietly, “We hear tales of the alien’s excursions.…”

Obviously a leading question. How much did this minor Savant know? “You refer to — ?”

“One of the alien bands, these tales say, discovered a Field of History.”

“I believe the primary group stumbled upon one, yes. So?”

“Then they know our past. And can use it against us.”

“I scarcely think they are so intelligent.”

“They have eluded us.” Short, to the point. This Savant was brighter than she looked.

“You worry that they will know we once passed by their world? These primates were not even evolved when we were nearby.”

“We gather from the History that these invaders came from a world whose ancestors we once extracted.”

Memor trembled but did not show it. These unsuspecting types were lurching toward a truth they should never glimpse. She stretched elaborately, looking a bit bored, and said carefully, “Yes. I researched that. They were without speech, had minimal culture, few tool-using skills. Scavengers, mostly, though they could hunt smaller animals in groups, and defend against other scavengers. Those primates, once Adopted, further evolved into game animals. Not particularly good ones, either.”

This at least provoked a rippling laughter. Beneath it ran skittering anxiety in high notes. The Savant persisted, “They do not seem easy to Adopt. They may be angered to see what has become of their ancestors.”

Memor did not let her feathers betray her true reaction. The Savant was right, but for reasons Savants were not privileged to know. Rely on cliche, then. No one remembered them even a moment later. “The essence of Adoption is self-knowledge.”

The Savant nodded slightly, letting the matter pass when an Astronomer so indicated. Cliches, Memor reflected, were the most useful lubricant in conversation. Thus she missed the Savant’s next statement, which was a question — and so soon had to give a summary of what she knew of the aliens. How this could help, she had no idea, but it deflected attention from the real, alarming issue.

She began, “These spacefaring primates have a linear view of life that extends forward and backwards in time. I discovered this while examining their minds while they functioned, and realize that some of what I say may seem implausible. It is not.”

This provoked some tittering in the crowd, but Memor plowed on.

“They are very interested in the beginning of the universe, despite the general uselessness of this information now. Even more oddly, they fix upon the long-term fate of the universe, and have strong views on these matters. Some are even religious! To Astronomers, these are matters subject to many unknowns, too many to lend a sense of urgency to the issue. Yet the Late Invaders feel urgently concerned.”

A Savant asked, “How can that matter?”

“It has sent them out in their tiny, dangerous ship, yes?”

“To answer such vague questions?”

“Not entirely. Their deep drive, which they seldom know consciously, is to expand their horizons.”

“Why? What use can that be?”

“An anxiety fills them, drives them out. I could see it simmering in their Underminds.”

“I doubt such creatures could be Adopted,” the Savant persisted.

“It is our task to enlighten them.” Memor retreated into cliche again. “To erase this hunger for horizons, which evolution dealt them.”

“Do we know their origins?”

Memor disguised her lie with a ruffle-display of purple guilt. “I fear we cannot say yet.” It was truthful, in a way; she could not say.

“I meant, not what planet they are from, but why they have this anxiety?”

Memor had not considered that, and in a moment of guilty truth-telling, said so. Discussion wafted through the audience. She could see the teams who searched for the primates wondering why the discussion was so theoretical, but that was not crucial. The tone of this meeting was, though.

She took command again with, “We suspect they had to flee a hostile territory, and that crisis forced their evolution. Perhaps their numbers became too great for their environment, and the ambitious moved on to fruitful lands. This forced evolution of better tool-making and general, social intelligence.”

Now that she said it, the idea had some appeal. How did the primates get the urge to voyage forth in such frail ships? Because they were born on the move.

A Savant said, “They would flood our lands!”

Memor quieted their murmuring. “We can certainly contain that. We outnumber them by twenty orders of