Analog SFF, Oct 2005 by Dell Magazine Authors

Author:Dell Magazine Authors
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dell Magazines
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Copyright © 2005 by Robert J. Howe.

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The Doctrine of Noncontact by Catherine Shaffer

A Short Story

How far should dedication to an ideal go?

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Michaela took a beacon the size of a thumb tack from her hip pouch and pressed it into the bark of a tree. It immediately camouflaged itself and became invisible. “Only a thousand more,” she muttered with a sigh, then turned to press onward through the jungle.

Michaela's feet ached as her arm swung mechanically, hacking at the vegetation with a machete. The men marched behind, silent except for an occasional grunt.

She scanned the forest, alert for signs of life—intelligent life. As insignificant as a bent twig, or as large as a village complete with stone huts. Her mission was simple. Do not make contact. At the first sign of inhabitants, she must turn away, and lead the expedition wide around them. It was more complicated than that, of course. But Michaela enjoyed the idea of a negative mission. She'd traveled hundreds of light years specifically not to meet the life forms that made their homes in this forest. It tickled her intellectually.

"Take a break here, chief?” said one of the men.

Michaela wanted a break so badly she almost fell down at the mere suggestion. Take another goddamned step, she ordered her feet. And they did. “Three more kilometers,” she answered in a chipper voice. “Then we'll make camp."

All of the humans in her expedition were male. Leading an all-male expedition through the jungle wasn't the easiest thing for a sixty-year-old grandmother to do. With women, it would have been easy. She need only convince them that it was the smartest, most reasonable thing to do to listen to her and follow her orders. Then the largest girl would carry the largest pack, and everyone else would perform duties according to their strengths and talents. But with men, you had to show them you were tougher and stronger right from the start. If she carried any less, if she didn't walk out front, bushwhacking, if she didn't make an example of the first troublemaker who smirked when he should have been saying, “Yes, ma'am,” then she knew there'd be mutiny before the end. The Ypsithra, of course, were completely different.

Michaela gritted her teeth against the pain and thought about Sacajawea, who led Lewis and Clark up the Missouri river, cooking, paddling, guiding, all while carrying her newborn infant. She could do this. She would do it. She was starting to hate the jungle.

There was a sudden shout from the back of their column. The Ypsithra bearers scattered, chittering. A couple of the men had their rifles up to their shoulders, scanning the jungle. Michaela made her way back to them. “What happened?” she said.

One of the men pointed at a spear sticking out of the ground. It was tipped with a stone projectile point. Very primitive. Good, thought Michaela. “If you see them,” she said, “Shoot to kill."

The three kilometers finally passed, and Michaela called a halt.

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