THE INTELLIGENCE PROOF
by Edward Rodosek © 2006
The complete failure of the main system of Simon's spacecraft occurred suddenly--like lightning out of a clear sky.
Don't panic, that was his first thought. While he felt the frantic pulse in his neck he tested the basic navigational parameters--and he realized the failure was fatal. He simply had to find some appropriate planet he could land on. On such a planet he'd have at least a chance to survive until the rescue team fetched him.
Simon adjusted his commands to the nearer destination, entrusted the whole flight including the landing procedures to his computer, and stretched himself out in the pilot chair.
Simon wasn't aware of how much time had passed before he realized, for the first time in his life, what it meant to lack oxygen. He desperately tried to breathe, but his lungs hurt as they vainly snatched at the vanishing air again and again for an indefinite period. Finally he fell into an odd frame of mind, into an obscure dizziness on the utmost edge of consciousness.
A violent crash revived Simon's senses; he heard a soul-stirring creaking and, after few painful shudders, his spacecraft finally stood still. Half-suffocated, as if in a nightmare, he heard the whizzing of the hydraulics, which opened the side outlet--and the next moment a tide of fresh air flowed over him. He was saved. For now, at least.
Still dizzy, Simon somehow managed to unbuckle the safety belts. He rose awkwardly, shaking his head, drunk with the bounty of surprisingly hot air which penetrated the spacecraft from outside. Only then he sensed a strange odor; when he looked around to estimate the damage, he was shocked to see flames blazing in one corner of his spacecraft. His equipment was on fire like a torch and just a few moments later the left side of the spacecraft was transformed into a glowing furnace.
Simon knew he had to get out at once. But not without taking anything. He hastily grabbed a knapsack, a plastic canister with water, two packages with concentrated food, his blaster, the first aid case, and some nearby pocket instruments. The burning plastic stank badly and the increasing heat of the flames on his face and hands was unbearable.
With the utmost effort, Simon managed to twist his way through the side outlet and finally fall on the stony ground. He clumsily got up and began to run as fast as he could to get away from the crackling inferno. Totally exhausted, he stopped after a few hundred yards; exactly at the moment, as he turned around, a violent explosion crumbled what remained of his poor spacecraft. He stood there and gazed spellbound at the glowing wreckage, unable to get rid of the feeling that it grinned at him mockingly.
All around him was an endless stone plain, yellowish-gray, dusty and desolate; in one direction it ended with a dim mountain silhouette. A local sun, twice as large as Earth's, shone almost vertically and was now burning his head and his shoulders violently. There wasn't a shadow to be found anywhere, no trees, not even grass.
Simon stripped himself naked, except for his boots, made a bundle of his clothing, and then he wrapped up his head with the shirt like a turban and began to stride toward the remote mountains. It was the most promising place to find a spring or creek or another source of water.
Despite the heat, he kept moving persistently for several hours; only now and then he took a small swig from his water canister. The sun was a bit lower when he finally stopped to check his rescued belongings. He dropped his bundle on the dusty ground and crouched by it.
There were eight daily rations of concentrated food. So food wouldn't be critical for his survival. Besides, he had his blaster that could--at least theoretically--provide him with some game animals. Simon realized that finding Earth's prairie animals on the unknown planet was a bit naive. Still, his water supply should be enough only for a couple of days.
Well, maybe at most for a week if he used it extremely sparingly. Actually, a whole week--that wasn't so hopeless. During that time a rescue expedition would have fetched him from this miserable place. By this time our headquarters had surely got the space coordinates of this planet, because the ultra-radio automatics of his spacecraft had instantaneously sent the emergency signal and--
Simon stiffened and even his breath stopped.
In his mind appeared the image of the control panel in his spacecraft when the emergency alarm had begun to sound. Four rows of indicators with six in each row, and two more above. At the moment of disaster, the matching indicators started to flash in a ruby red color--and those extra two red flashing indicators reported a breakdown of the ultra-radio automatic! Two tiny flashing indicators more--that meant the difference between Simon's life and his death....
In other words, his spacecraft hadn't sent any emergency signal at all. None of his comrades in his space base knew he had crashed on an alien planet and that he'd quickly die without help from outside. They couldn't even know if he was still alive.
After several moments of despair Simon decided he'd walk further on that seething plain. When he stood up and reached for his bundle he noticed something from the side of his eye. A couple of hundred feet away there was an indistinct gleam among the sand. There was something--something like water. Oh, please, God, let it be water! Yes, there was a hollow depression, surely filled with cool, refreshing water that was just waiting for him....
Simon left all his belongings on the ground, took his boots off, and began to run toward that 'Promised Land'. All his thoughts were directed to the future bath; he had to cool down a little or he'd get sunstroke with the hellish heat. But when he neared the puddle he was deeply disappointed. It was hardly deeper than a foot; the water was muddy and partially covered with a thin green membrane of scum. He felt it with his toe; it was tepid--but it was so pleasantly wet .
At the moment he stepped into it, a dark shadow fell over him; something struck him heavily on the head and the muddy surface swiftly splashed against his face.
***
When Simon opened his eyes again he was giddy and had a bad, rusty taste in his mouth. He wasn't in that muddy puddle anymore. He sat up slowly, spit out some spittle mixed with blood, and touched the sore lump on the nape of his neck. How had he gotten it? Oh, yes--something or somebody had come rushing out of the air and hit him on the head. And then the same...thing had probably brought him here.
And what kind of place was he in? The hot sun wasn't shining on him anymore. He was lying naked and barefoot on an agreeably soft floor, which was like a mossy carpet, in the pleasant shadow of a dark, overhanging roof. It had a squarish form with sides approximately fifty feet long and was suspended in a strange way about ten feet above the ground.
Why had Simon's damned attackers--whoever they were--brought him here at all? Who were they, and what were their future intents for him? Where, damn it, were his remaining belongings?
He shook his head. So many questions and so few chances to get any answers. He didn't even know if he were still free or imprisoned.
As far as he could see, the ground all around him was level and covered with natural slate slabs in slightly inclined layers. The slabs were light colored, almost whitish, irregularly formed and of different sizes and thicknesses. When he took a few steps he stumbled on a slab jutting out, so it overturned. Its lower surface was dark, almost graphitic gray. Obviously, that was the slates' original color and the sun had bleached it with time.
Simon's mysterious roof hovered in the middle of a large square plot roughly a hundred yards long. The plot was enclosed on all four sides with rows of high, slim pillars at ten yards intervals. When he neared them he noticed a slight, almost invisible glimmering in the space among the pillars. It seemed there were some electric obstacles. He picked up a small stone and threw it between two pillars; the stone repulsed with crackling sound and fell to the ground. There was obviously a strong electric barrier. He assumed its voltage probably wasn't lethal, but it must be inconvenient enough to chase away everybody who had any idea of escaping.
Now Simon knew he was a prisoner and the plot was his jail. Splendid. But what about his surroundings? It seemed unlikely he was the only prisoner here. Despite the increasing heat he kept walking along a row of pillars, and now he saw there were many others plots of the same form and size, who knew how many of them? Still, the sun's rays were so strong and glittering he couldn't see if there was anybody else.
At the southwest corner of his plot he discovered something pleasant that cheered him up a little. There was a round swimming pool at least ten yards in diameter. It was divided into four equal quadrants with thick, semi-transparent plastic walls, which extended from the bottom of the pool to ten or twelve feet above the water surface. He squatted near the edge of his quarter of the pool, took a handful of water and carefully tasted it. It was marvelous, cool and without any unpleasant taste. So he wouldn't die here from either thirst or sunstroke, that was certain. From his viewpoint he could see silhouettes of other pools that vanished in the dim distance.
Now a certain thought flashed through Simon's mind. A great number of equal, enclosing plots with a shelter in the middle and a drinking trough at its edge--what did it remind him of? When he found the only possible answer he felt a shudder along his backbone despite the hellish heat.
Without any doubt, it was a space zoo. An enormous area where many different exotic...how could it be said properly--specimens? Creatures? Samples?--had been collected. Simon's unknown warders had been assembling diverse exotic animal specimens here. Maybe they'd even carried out discovery expeditions on different planets especially for this purpose. And he had been kind enough to meet their wishes. Now he was just one exhibit more. An interesting creature, which they'd keep here to provide entertainment for many curious visitors.
A wonderful prospective for him, indeed.
What in Space could he do? Should he try to escape somehow? But how, and where to? What nonsense; barring a miracle it seemed like nothing could be done.
The only reasonable thing Simon could do now was simply to strive to survive. He knew that his invisible jailers intended to keep him alive; otherwise they would have killed him. They must deliver some food to all the specimens, somehow. And probably they already knew what food was suitable for him.
The most important remaining question was: when would they bring food to him ?
***
Simon found the food under his roof as soon as he returned there. In some mysterious way it was ready in the soup plate-sized floor dent. It was some dense light-brown mash--a bit like porridge. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, dipped his forefinger into it and carefully licked it. It was agreeably tepid and the taste was much better than its appearance. He was starving, so the absence of a spoon didn't bother him; he quickly shoveled down every morsel with his fingers. After that he just sat there and calmly watched what would happen to his 'plate'; would it stay there permanently from now on? Would it just sink or would somebody fetch it?
Simon suddenly blanched and opened his eyes; he must have taken a short nap because there was no cavity in the floor any more. He was thirsty, so he headed toward the pool.
After quenching his thirst he caught sight of something moving in the other quadrant of the pool. He swam to the barrier and pressed his nose against the transparent plastic. Now he could see his western neighbor for the first time; in that moment his hope about eventually communication with him instantly dashed.
It was like some enormous jellyfish the size of a hippopotamus. It swam slowly but persistently clockwise inside his quadrant of the pool so close that it slid against the walls. It ignored Simon, even when he shouted at the top of his voice and violently bumped against the plastic barrier. After some time the water seemed too cold for him so he got out of the pool.
Now he started to walk along the southern row of pillars to find out what his other three co-prisoners looked like. Beyond the western row of pillars he discovered his second neighbor lying motionlessly on the ground near his roof. It was a gray-brownish creature, but it was too far away to settle its form. Although Simon was a little tired, he passed the next corner and headed along the northern side toward the pool again. He was really disappointed. His hopes of communication with his neighbors proved naïve and foolish. He was alone here and nobody else could--
At that moment Simon heard a violent crash behind him. When he turned around in surprise, he noticed a lessening sparkle on a large part of the electric barrier and beyond it an enormous body was writhing on the ground--the body of a large spider the size of a tiger covered with dense fur. Its six-foot-long limbs jerked a long time after the electric shock.
It looked as if the monster had intended to jump on Simon; if the barrier hadn't stopped it, he would have been killed. Paralyzed with horror, he saw the disgusting twisting of the shocked beast and then he silently blessed the carefulness of his unknown jailers for building such an effective barrier. The super spider slowly recovered and its terrifying jaws slowly opened and closed, again and again. Its threatening lurking was permeated with such hate that he felt it almost physically.
Finally he managed to overcome his lethargy and slowly continued to walk toward the pool. The monster beyond the barrier escorted him step by step and it never diverted its look from him. But when he was a few yards away from the pool, the spider suddenly stopped; it obviously avoided water. What a relief; otherwise he could never ever enjoy a swim. Simon just drank a few gulps of water and headed toward his roof. He couldn't get rid of the silly sensation that he felt the spider's eyes piercing between his shoulder blades.
***
Simon's first night in the space zoo was partially sleepless and partially a nightmare. Often he awoke, and every time he caught sight of the black square of his roof and a wide belt of sky sprinkled with stars. Then his eyelids slowly became heavier and heavier and, finally, a sleepiness prevailed over his will.
The dazzling sunshine woke him up; it must have been very early in the morning because the sun had hardly risen over the horizon. He scrambled up and saw his morning ration of porridge in the floor cavity. Swell. What more could he ask for than room service? But how had the food transported here--maybe through some kind of underground access? Well, why not? That wouldn't have been much more complicated than a water conduit.
After breakfast Simon headed for his pool. The super jellyfish was circulating as always and, luckily, the super spider wasn't there at all. Knowing that later it would be very hot, he swam until he felt cold.
After thoroughly considering his present situation he decided not to resign himself to his fate. He must, somehow, make his warders--whoever they might be, damn it--understand that he was not just one of their animals. He couldn't possibly to allow them to deal with him like the hairy spider or the gelatinous jellyfish. He had to show them he was different from the other specimens here--that he was something special, a human being, an intelligent creature, a highly educated space patroller, for God's sake!
But how was he to do this? That was the question--the most important question. In what way could he prove his superb intelligence here, on this empty plain where there was nothing but damned slate? He was racking his brains about his problem but without any success.
Suddenly, something surprising happened.
Simon noticed a large, gray shadow. It was so huge that it covered half his plot, moving slowly forwards. He looked upwards and stiffened with astonishment.
Through the air above him sailed some enormous, glittering thing.
It was a whitish, half-transparent balloon, an elongated sphere. It sailed slowly to the west and its shadow moved with it. At that moment he realized he was wasting his precious time; who knew when such a unique chance would happen again? Surely the mysterious Warders were now watching him from the balloon--they had to see him! Simon violently started to wave his arms to attract them and jumped as high as he could; he savagely gestured with his entire body and shouted for help at the top of his voice. He did everything possible to make them understand that he was totally different from the others, that he was an intelligent creature like they were...
But nothing happened at all. The balloon sailed away calmly and inexorably. Obviously the Warders inside it were entirely unconcerned about his desperate signals. But why--oh, God--why? Maybe the Warders weren't looking down at all. Maybe they couldn't see Simon, a tiny, meager figure on the ground. Maybe they saw him but they simply thought that was his normal behavior. Maybe the passage of the balloon regularly caused some other specimens to behave in a similar way, or even more peculiarly than he did.
Suddenly rage came over Simon, then indignation and bitterness. To hell with the damned Warders! To them he was like a midge, faugh! They just carelessly sailed over their amusement park, indifferent to anybody else but themselves. How pathetic. And that out-of-date, clumsy balloon of theirs, which moved helplessly just here and there as the wind blows--what a shame. Obviously they weren't even capable of--
At that instant the balloon darted forward like lightning, and the next moment Simon saw only a vanishing dot in the dim remoteness near the horizon.
By gosh! None of their patrol spacecrafts were as mobile as that balloon. Besides, such a sudden, violent acceleration would squeeze any living creature into jelly. Simon was shocked and depressed by the sight. His hopes to somehow prove his superiority in comparison to the other specimens turned out to be a delusion. Now he realized that in the eyes of the Warders, the members of such a highly developed civilization, there was hardly any difference among the other specimens and him.
However, he wouldn't give up. Not yet.
That afternoon dozens of various ideas revolved in Simon's mind. But after a while he discarded them all for their total unfeasibility. He was still naked and barefoot; he had neither tools nor suitable material at his disposal--properly speaking, no material at all except those damned slate slabs.
That night Simon dreamt about his birthplace on Earth, about his parent's old house, surrounded by wonderful green hills and clear, murmuring streams. Later he dreamt about some landscapes, the origin of which he recognized at once; they were wonderful images from his illustrated Encyclopedia of Nature , which he'd got on his first day of high school.
One of the images came to Simon's mind several times, maybe because it had been his favorite. It was of an enormous, stony, brown-red plain, glittering in the late afternoon sunshine. Dozens, maybe hundreds of long, light yellow lines or stripes had been spread over it, which made complicated geometrical patterns and some pure imaginative animal figures.
Nazca--the largest drawing book on Earth.
The land of dreams, the mysterious artistic creations of the ancient culture of North American Indians. The perfect interlacement of various images, which had been made so the darker brown-red stones had been removed from the surface of the earth, so the lower, light yellow ground had been uncovered. Maybe all that had the purpose of attracting the attention of anybody who might fly above it, to show them what the drawing means and--
Instantly awakened, Simon darted to his feet and shouted loudly with joy. O God!
A brilliant idea came to him--an astonishing plan, the wonderful solution to all his troubles. Yes, that was the right solution! Simon clenched his fists, his heartbeat gone crazy. How the devil hadn't he arrived at that simple idea before?
Simon wanted to act right away; he'd firmly decided to correct that silly mistake of his. Despite the setting sun, he eagerly threw himself into a job.
***
Simon began work at the first gleam of dawn and those first few hours were the only time of the day that weren't utter hell. He'd decided to work all day long because his task was so enormous; but already on the first day he had to change that plan. Shortly after he ate his morning porridge, the sunshine began to burn more and more violently so he had to resist the strong need to give up work. Still, he somehow managed to persist in his work, driving himself to exhaustion until noon , when he finally had to hide himself from the unbearable heat in the beneficent shadow of his roof.
All the time, as Simon displaced the slate slabs glowing with heat, he had to bend down deeply over the ground with a bowed head and bent back. After some time his back hurt so badly that he had to work in a squatting position until he got cramps in his legs. The sunshine burned the crown of his head incessantly so he was afraid of sunstroke. He cursed the Warders, who hadn't even left him a handkerchief with which to cover his head.
Every evening, when it become too dark to work, Simon stumbled under his roof, totally knocked out, and stretched his hurting arms and legs. Then he sank into a mixture of slumber and restless sleep that bordered on unconsciousness. Sometimes he had a terrible nightmare--about his oversleeping until the sun was already high in the sky, so he'd have foolishly wasted much of his valuable working time. Then he'd become aware of the pain in every small part of his tired body. When the first weak glimmering of daybreak appeared, he'd get up with a groan to take advantage of the few fresh hours of another workday.
Now and then Simon doubted the purpose of everything that he'd been doing. Would all his steady efforts lead anywhere at all? Would the Warders ever come again? If so, would they catch sight of the result of his drudgery, or would it escape their attention? And if they saw it, would they also understand its meaning? Still, every time he chased away such meaningless misgivings. He had to continue; so much of the work was already done.
After a time, Simon simply stopped counting the days he'd been working because, in some way, he'd become an automaton, a labor machine without reasonable thoughts.
So, one afternoon, he was surprised because he came to his starting point again.
All his work was done; he had succeeded in doing something that had seemed impossible a while ago. Somehow he'd managed to finish the task he'd planned some days--or probably some weeks--ago.
Surprisingly, Simon wasn't enthusiastic at all; he wasn't even satisfied with his achievement. He just stood there at the corner, holding one more slab in his hand because there had been no place to put it. There was an odd emptiness inside him. What was he going to do now that he'd finished his work? He couldn't hit on anything; at that moment, there was nothing he could do.
A sudden clatter awoke him from apathy and he became aware that the last, redundant slab had fallen out of his hand next to his feet. Night came, and a stray thought entered his tired brain. Now he could return to his roof and lie down and fall into a good, sound sleep. He ought to sleep like a log around the clock; now he could sleep as long as he wanted. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd rest just a few moments. As soon as he...
***
An odd noise woke Simon up. He felt somebody was leading him to some place where he didn't want to go. Well, he wouldn't go anywhere at all. He wanted to sleep at least for some more days and nights.
Unwillingly, he opened his eyes, as heavy as lead. He realized that it was daytime, probably about noon . He was in some shadow but not under his roof, which he could see several dozen yards away. He cast a glance upwards and astonishingly caught sight of some translucent, slightly convex surface--the enormous balloon of the Warders.
Two little robots, which had some sort of triangular chain treads instead of its legs, held Simon under his armpits and politely but firmly directed him toward a bright round shaft, which was placed under the center of the balloon. He walked with both figures without resistance like a sleepwalker and willingly allowed them to put him into that shaft, which then lifted him upwards kindly and softly like a dry leaf.
A few moments later Simon was sitting on a soft seat surrounded by glittering walls, and a breeze caressed his skin. Awkwardly, he tried to look around in expectation to find out--finally--what the Warders looked like. But then, his eyes brimmed with tears of joy and everything became vague and unclear. Despite the fact that he couldn't see anybody and that he hadn't the slightest idea where he was going to or what was happening to him, he didn't care at all. He felt tranquility and cheerfulness, and he knew he was finally safe and that from now on everything would be okay.
After a while Simon's new habitation began to rise rapidly, and through the transparent side membrane he was able to enjoy the wonderful view below for the first time. In the middle of an endlessly stony landscape lay his former, whitish plot--with his graphite-gray masterpiece on it. He swallowed hard, moved to tears, when he watched the dark lines that formed a huge right-angled triangle with three squares above each of its three sides.
Thank God--the Warders were also familiar with Pythagora's theorem.
THE END
Edward Alexander Rodosek is a Construction Engineer, Doctor of Technical Science and Senior Professor in Faculty of Civil Engineering, Ljubljana, Slovenia, European Union. He is married to Rina and they have one daughter, Tejka. His pastimes are chess and long walks with his golden retriever Simba.
Beside his professional work he writes science fiction, mostly at night. He is an author of ten collections of short sci fi stories and four novels (see: http://www.cobiss.izum.si/cobiss-eng.html ) in Slovenia with good reviews. Several of his short stories have been published in SF magazines in USA and UK (Aphelion, Brew City, Down in the Dirt, Dreams Passage, Expressions, Jupiter, Midnight Times, Nocturnal Ooze, Quantum Muse, Sacred Twilight, Spinnings, Silver Thought, Thirteen, Ultraverse, Vermeer, Writer's Post Journal).