A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“We lasted three months until our first murder. That's not
a bad record when you think about it.”
Neil Moran glanced at the speaker, Dimitri Vlahakos,
Inspector General for the Gamma Leporis A-III colony. Neil
had been acquainted with Dimitri for more than a century.
The man's intense, olive-skinned face dwelled in more than
one memory of university days, back when Athens seemed to
Neil incredibly far from home. The sang-froid rang false.
Dimitri was a man of exuberant Mediterranean gestures and
passionate declarations. He was not the sort to shrug and
look for the silver lining.
Who was he trying to convince?
Sometimes Neil wanted to reach inside his own skull, peel
away brain tissue until he found the implants the Thwaa had
left there, and yank them out.
An impossible fantasy. The implants had no nexus. Traces
of them inhabited every dendrite and axon in his nervous
system, as much a part of his body as, say, potassium ions or
oxygen or collagen. All he could do was wish.
Neil gazed out the transport window at the planet. The Neil
Moran he had been on Earth was gone. He had no choice but
to be the Neil Moran of Gamma Leporis A-III—or Bjornssen,
as he supposed he should begin referring to it. If he tried to
deny it, reactions like that of Dimitri would remind him of all
that had changed.
Observing that his Pollyannaish assessment had fizzled,
Dimitri swept his hand across the view of sere peaks, eroded
gullies, and slopes dotted with chaparral and scree.
3
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“Picturesque, don't you agree? Like your Southwest, where
you were born, yes?”
Neil accepted the change of subject. “I don't remember
much of that first-hand. The Plague hit when I was only eight.
But you're right; it's beautiful. Doesn't quite fit the name.
Bjornssen.” From twenty-seven lightyears away, the Hershel
Telescopic Array had shown a world marked by wind-whipped
peninsulas and glacier-flattened islands, much like the
homeland of the Danish astronomer who processed the initial
interferometric scans. Here in the middle latitudes of the main
continent, that geography was not in evidence. The vista
offered a solidity and permanence that peat bogs could not
aspire to. Neil decided he really needed to get out and about
more. He had lingered too long aboard the ark.
The transport crossed above a ridge of crumbled,
weathered rock, revealing an oblong valley some fifty
kilometers in length. Their course straightened into a gently
descending glide toward a mass of ruins.
Dimitri pointed at the vestiges of walls and bridges. “This
was quite a city when the Eridanin were here. The region
used to get more rain. Signs indicate it may have been a
government center of some sort.”
“Hence the archaeological interest,” Neil said.
“Well, yes, but there's another reason why we started
digging here so quickly. Examine, please, the horizon.”
Neil scanned to the left and to the right, finding sudden
meaning in the configuration of the ridge. “We're in a
caldera.”
4
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“Earth has at least two bigger than this that I recall,”
Dimitri continued. “Long Valley in California and Lake Toba on
Sumatra. But this is—how do you say it? A whopper?”
“I take it it's not entirely dormant?”
“Not any more. Fresh magma is accumulating. The last
eruption was pre-Eridanin—at least thirty thousand years
ago—but there is a possibility the whole plug will explode
within the decade.”
“Won't volcanic activity that potent affect the weather?”
“Nothing we can't deal with. Some cool summers. Some
hazy sunsets. We'll be fine as long as we don't found any
permanent settlements nearby. The dig can be evacuated
with a few hours’ notice.”
The transport touched down and the pilot released the
locks on the passenger compartment. Neil and Dimitri
stepped onto a landing field of packed earth. No tarmac or
concrete. Neil deliberately noted this. The charter called for
Terran presence on this world to remain as tentative as
possible until the Thwaa granted permission to colonize fully.
What he observed here today, the Thwaa would witness as
well. It didn't hurt to be sure humanity received credit for the
small ways in which it abided by its promises.
He might have no choice about being a Thwaa tool, but at
least he was free to maintain his loyalty to his own culture.
A lean, bony individual in khaki work clothes approached,
offering his hand. “Ivan Vereshchagin. I am the director of
the team here,” he said in English so precise as to be overly
formal.
5
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“This is Neil Moran, the, ah, the Thwaa consul.” Dimitri
winced at the hesitation he inserted into the introduction.
Vereshchagin's youth was as perfectly sustained as that of
anyone under the age of two hundred fifty, but he exuded a
dour studiousness that implied he was older than either of his
visitors. His unkempt aspect reminded Neil of a university
professor caught in the waning of middle age. His handshake
remained firm, but he failed to hide the eyelid flicker of
unease that others suppressed when first meeting Neil. He
stared as if expecting Neil to sprout Thwaalike cilia.
“Pleased to meet you,” Neil said.
Vereshchagin nodded. Neil waited for him to say
something more—"Welcome,” perhaps—but the archaeologist
managed only to look constipated.
“I hope you managed to get some sleep,” Dimitri added as
the lull grew awkward.
“A little,” Vereshchagin replied.
“I didn't leave here last night until the wee hours,” Dimitri
explained to Neil. “If I'd known I had to return today to bring
you, I would have saved some of the on-site investigation for
this morning.”
Always the caution, carefully veiled in ingratiating
language. Dimitri wanted the Thwaa to know that he hadn't
deliberately kept them out of the loop. Neil believed him.
Dimitri could not have known the Thwaa wanted to send their
native observer until Neil had received the directive and so
informed the governor. That summons had not come until the
news of the murder, leaked by one of the diggers, raced
across the net just before midnight.
6
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“I won't require more than a few hours,” Neil assured
Vereshchagin. “I just need to check on a handful of the basic
aspects of the case first-hand.”
“Very well,” the director replied. “With what would you like
to start?”
“I'll want to see the body.”
Vereshchagin cleared his throat. “This way.” Rubbing his
neck and turning slowly, he guided them with a weary tread.
They entered the ruins, traversing a somber camp to a tent
set apart from the others. Two men stood guard, encased in
the gray uniforms of the colonial police. At Dimitri's nod, they
moved aside.
Vereshchagin held up the tent flap, eyes averted. Dimitri
stayed back, ostensibly to ask his men if anyone else had
come by during their vigil. Neil was left to enter alone.
The remains of a copper-skinned Asian male lay supine
inside a stasis coffin, hands atop his abdomen as if arrayed by
an undertaker, though he looked anything but peaceful. Until
the body could be brought to the forensics lab at the capital,
no cosmetic adjustments had been made. No one had
replaced the dead man's torn, dirtied, blood-splattered work
fatigues. No one had wiped the brains off his face. Gore
encrusted the shovel they had placed beside him.
Neil calculated the degree of force required to lodge the
blade of the tool so deeply into the skull with one blow. The
image of violence it engendered made him grimace. He
backed out of the tent and turned away, and was grateful to
hear the canvas drop out of Vereshchagin's fingers.
7
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“You can put it in the transport now if you wish,” Neil said.
“I'll talk to the coroner after he's done his job, back in
Landfall.”
Vereshchagin and Dimitri glanced at each other, as if
considering whose duty it was to handle this unpleasant
detail. A moment later Dimitri signalled to the guards.
“Where can I interview the witnesses?” Neil asked.
“I'll show you,” Vereshchagin replied.
As Neil put distance between himself and the gruesome
evidence, he cultivated his queasiness into a seed of anger.
The death had been a waste. The dig worker had been about
thirty years old, not counting hibernation. He'd had ninety
percent of his life expectancy left.
If the Thwaa took an interest in his emotional reaction, as
usual they gave no indication. All he could really sense was
that the transmitter was active, giving his overlords whatever
information it was they absorbed from him. Nevertheless it
was important to Neil to insert as much genuine, human
feeling as he could muster. Not for the first time, he wished
the Thwaa had chosen someone less reserved than he as
their liaison.
Their destination proved to be outside the encampment.
They struck out toward the mud flat upon which their aircraft
perched. A lake had once filled the center of the valley, its
shoreline demarcating the western and southern boundaries
of the Eridanin city. Neil could make out a saline remnant of
that body of water some two kilometers away. In the
immediate foreground was a large pre-fab shed, evidently the
8
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
only true building erected since the archaeologists had
arrived.
“We didn't want to put structures over possible excavation
areas,” Vereshchagin volunteered. “The lakebed was the
obvious choice—the Eridanin never used boats and never built
under water.”
The shed turned out to be the storage facility for the
artifacts the team had decided were worthy of longterm study
off-site. Vereshchagin led them past tables and shelving units
arrayed with relics, some already painstakingly cleaned and
tagged, others crated and sealed for shipment, but most lying
in a raw state. Half the surfaces in the room remained empty,
attesting to the recent establishment of the dig.
They ended their journey in a small corner room. A table
equipped with an interface waited there, surrounded by four
chairs. “My office,” explained the director. “Forgive the
spartan conditions. I seldom use it. After fifteen decades in a
hibernation tank I prefer to spend as much time as possible
outdoors.”
“I understand,” Neil replied. Which wasn't to say he shared
the urge, though he had spent the same interval in coldsleep
while the ark inched its way across interstellar space. He
meant he perceived why an archaeologist could not resist
being part of the race to discover, somewhere within the
ruined city or elsewhere on the planet, just how and why the
Eridanin had lost their claim to this world.
“Who would you like to question first?”
9
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“The murderer.” Neil fed a data lozenge into the interface
and called up a screen full of names, faces, and pertinent
information about the case. “Barry Radner, is it?”
“Yes. Radner.” Vereshchagin's posture slumped. Perhaps
he had hoped Neil might start with other, less volatile figures.
Indeed, had Neil been a normal investigator, he would have
questioned the killer last, after gathering the data that would
allow him to poke holes in whatever excuses the man tried to
concoct to excuse his crime. But Dimitri had already seen to
that phase the day before, working his way through all five
eyewitnesses, several peripheral figures, and then to Radner
himself. The Thwaa had not sent Neil to comb every flea of
evidence; all they wanted was to confirm the gist of the
events for themselves, through him.
“Is there a problem?” Neil asked.
“No. I can have him here in two minutes. He's right down
there.” Vereshchagin pointed out the small window, which
looked out over the lakebed.
“I desired to have him kept where no one had any cause to
wander near,” Dimitri added. He stepped to the window,
signalled, and moved aside so Neil could see.
Looking down, Neil spotted what appeared to be a septic
tank in the early stages of construction. The pair of men
guarding the pit—more of Dimitri's colonial police—lowered a
ladder. Up came a muscular, red-haired man broadcasting
defiance. His escorts marched him up the low bluff atop which
the shed perched. Not long after the party slipped out of
Neil's field of view a knock shook the office door.
10
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
As soon as the group had entered, the guards handcuffed
Radner to his chair and took up stations by the door. The
accused man spared the inspector general and the chief
archaeologist the briefest of glances. He regarded Neil
unflinchingly.
“What? More questions?”
“A few,” Neil replied.
“Shouldn't my lawyer be here by now?”
“Ordinarily. If it helps, I can confirm that you'll have legal
counsel well before the arraignment, and I won't ask any
questions you haven't already been asked by Inspector
Vlahakos yesterday.”
“Then why bother?”
“I am the Thwaa consul,” Neil explained. “Our patrons
have asked me to look into your case personally.”
A puff of astonishment jostled Radner's head backward.
Neil half-expected a retort, but none came. Even a man such
as this could be disquieted to find himself the specific target
of Thwaa scrutiny. Radner turned to Dimitri, who nodded.
“I hope you understand that lack of cooperation today is
simply not an option,” Dimitri told the prisoner.
Radner shrugged.
“All right, then,” Neil said. “Let's run through the events of
early yesterday morning. You and several members of your
team were excavating a building. You got into an argument
with a co-worker by the name of Farid Bilyang. It escalated.
You struck him in the head with a shovel. Is that correct?”
He grunted. Neil took it as a yes.
“Why did you argue?”
11
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Radner continued to stare, but now his eyes glinted. “He
fucked my wife.”
Neil checked the interface. “That would be Christine
Radner, age 29, whom you married eighteen months prior to
ark launch.”
“They met when the archaeological contingent was
finalized,” Vereshchagin interjected.
Neil waved the director silent. “Mr. Radner?”
“Yes. That's my wife.” He spoke without affection.
“Did you actually witness Mr. Bilyang and your spouse
having intercourse?”
“She wouldn't admit it, but I saw him with his arm around
her. Eric Denard joked with me about all the murmurs coming
from my tent. He said it assuming it was me in there with
Christine, but I was unloading supplies off a transport that
afternoon. Pretty soon everyone was talking about that.”
Radner's anger continued to radiate, but beneath it came an
undertone of betrayal and humiliation.
Neil glanced at Vereshchagin, whose downcast eyes lent
credence to the description of the social dynamics.
Turning back to Radner, Neil asked, “Would you say then
that you not only had cause to believe they were having
relations, but you felt that the affair was being conducted
indiscreetly?”
“Yes.”
“And during the argument, those circumstances became
too much to endure?”
Radner's lips quivered violently. “A man like him had no
right. It wasn't...” He swallowed. “I couldn't let it go on.”
12
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Neil gauged Radner's reaction, and realized the interview
need not be prolonged. He had only the final question: “Are
you sorry you did it?”
“I'm sorry it had to be done.”
Neil nodded. “I see. Thank you. That will be all.” Dimitri
gestured to the guards, who uncuffed Radner. The prisoner
strode away chin up, eyes gazing straight ahead, apparently
unfazed by the tall musclemen at his elbows.
“I am sure in another day or two, he will realize what a
ghastly mistake he made, and wish he could undo it,”
Vereshchagin said into the silence.
“He may have regrets, but I fear they will not be the right
ones,” Dimitri said, beating Neil to the response. He brushed
off his suit lapels, as if finding contamination there.
“Tell me something,” Neil asked Vereshchagin. “Had you
heard the rumors about the affair?”
The director paled. “I had suspicions.”
Neil gestured at the background data still on the interface
screen. “You let an Australian be taunted with knowledge that
an Indonesian was humping his wife?” Radner was too young
to have been caught in the Perth massacre, but he would
have grown up among the resentful survivors.
“Everyone on our team had been getting along profoundly
well since we arrived on-planet. I was lulled into a sense of
security. I believed the matter would sort itself out.” His
expression could only be labelled wretched. “What would you
have done?”
Neil leaned back, losing the sharp tone. “Never mind. I
wasn't asking for official reasons,” he lied. “I'm sure you'll
13
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
come out of this better prepared should anything like this
develop in future.”
Vereshchagin did not seem consoled. Small wonder. Even
if he believed that Neil—and thus the Thwaa—had taken no
note of him, Dimitri's report to the governor would call into
question the Russian's appointment to lead the archaeological
project. Neil vaguely recalled the man's credentials from the
background check he had conducted for ark candidacy, in the
sweet days before Neil had been elevated from the governor's
security assessor to an unlooked-for role as Thwaa consul.
Vereshchagin was quite distinguished in his specialty, but his
dearth of administrative skills had now shown itself to be a
handicap. He might never be granted responsibilities of such
magnitude again.
* * * *
Neil spent a further two hours interrogating witnesses,
especially Christine Radner, who confirmed the infidelity. He
learned nothing really new, nor did he feel the need to do so.
For minute details, the Thwaa could turn to Dimitri's official
investigator's file. After all, Bilyang was the first human to die
outside the realm of Sol's gravity. If only for posterity's sake,
the inspector was compiling an exhaustive record, a process
that would resume once past the interruption of Neil's visit.
“That was ugly,” Dimitri told Neil as they walked among
the ruins, stretching their legs before the flight back to the
capital. “When I arrived yesterday I expected to uncover at
worst a crime of passion—a spur-of-the-moment collapse of
judgment. But that man has no remorse, and he's a racist as
well.”
14
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Neil wished he could disagree. “I'm told the jail in Landfall
isn't complete. Where will you keep him until the trial?”
“I'll have a shuttle pick him up tomorrow. We'll shove the
bastard in the brig aboard the ark. Until then, I'm leaving him
in that pit in the lakebed.”
“You'll trust Vereshchagin's people to stay away from
him?”
“They've behaved themselves so far. Besides, there are no
Indonesians left on site, nor any Australians besides Radner.
We can't say that about the capital.”
Neil grimaced. “No. We can't.”
The conversation lapsed as they ambled more deeply into
the ruins. Here and there they passed diggers. 22nd-Century
classical music drifted their way from a player near one of the
trenches, but Neil felt strikingly out of place. He was treading
a street never marked by human feet until a few weeks
earlier.
The word “streets” didn't quite apply. The space between
the buildings may have been used for traffic, vehicular or
otherwise, but it bore no resemblance to the gridlike
arrangement of most Terran metropolitan cores. In spots the
gaps were barely wide enough for a single pedestrian, in
other places several trucks could have passed side by side.
When Neil had seen the city plan from the air, it had
resembled the pebble-and-concrete patio of his childhood
home. Foundations were laid in circular, oval, or kidney
configuration, with the structures—so he gathered from the
surviving examples—rising from one to ten stories and
coming to rounded tops. Some edifices were huge, others
15
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
small, in random sequence. The doorways were all low and
wide, just the opposite of what a human would require. In
fact, the only thing reminiscent of Earth architecture was the
abundance of windows.
“Remarkable,” Neil said, contemplating the nearest upright
tower. In the fifteen thousand years since the Eridanin had
abandoned their colony, the roof had fallen in and weather,
wind, and wildlife had erased most surface features, but
obviously the structure had been erected by a culture that
meant to stay. And had, until the Thwaa said otherwise.
“This was a rich world, Neil,” Dimitri said.
“Still is. Will be.”
“Will it?” Dimitri asked. “Is that faith I'm hearing, or do
you have some sort of insider knowledge?”
Neil knew what Dimitri was asking. “The Thwaa don't let
me in on their councils, my friend. I just know what I see.
They wouldn't have given us a chance at all this if they didn't
see some positive qualities in us, not after they went to all
the trouble of kicking the Eridanin out and leaving the planet
fallow ever since.”
Dimitri laughed, but it was bitter. “I've heard that logic
before. We both know the Thwaa can't be predicted that way.
I tell you, sometimes I feel as though when it comes to
guessing how the Thwaa want us to behave, every human of
this colony is dancing between raindrops in a storm, trying
not to get wet.”
“Some of us are passable dancers,” Neil argued,
remembering a certain night back in Athens, at the wedding
16
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
of Dimitri's cousin, when his classmate demonstrated the
depth of his skill luring his countrywomen onto the floor.
“Better than the Eridanin, I suppose,” Dimitri said.
“Yes. Perhaps they had too many legs to trip over.”
Suddenly, as if Neil's comment had reminded him of
something, Dimitri checked his watch. “Ah. Good. We have
time. There is a special relic Vereshchagin mentioned. I would
be honored if you and I were to see it together.”
Dimitri's invitation was flavored with the tone of
inclusiveness that harkened back to long-held fellowship. Neil
realized how much he had missed hearing that quality in his
friend's voice. “Okay. I'm in no hurry. Lead on.”
The inspector excused himself to consult with the nearest
digger. When he returned, he led Neil a few blocks to the
west. The ruins ended abruptly at the former shoreline. They
continued along what had once been a boardwalk of sorts.
Neil rejected the terms “wharf” or “docks” or “quay,” tempted
as he was to apply those labels. The Eridanin might have
sailed vast oceans of space, but as Vereshchagin had so
recently mentioned, they didn't travel on the waters of their
worlds if they could avoid it. That characteristic helped
confirm which planets they inhabited. The images of their
worlds in the Hershel scans showed urban areas clustered
along rivers and lakeshores—the Eridanin needed water to
drink as much as humans did—but none of any great extent
along sea coasts, breaking the pattern shown by so many
other sentient races. In that regard Bjornssen, with its
abundant oceans and coastlines, must have served them
poorly.
17
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Neil was surprised, then, when—after obtaining flashlights
from the shed—they headed out across the lakebed toward
what had in Eridanin times been an island. Their destination
was a crag near the extant pool of brine. The stratified marks
of erosion proved the upper portion had been above the
waterline even when the lake was at its greatest extent.
Above the highest scars left by the ancient waves, but below
the point where the incline became too sharp for climbing, a
dimple of shadow indicated the opening of a cave or tunnel.
Out in the flat they were buffeted by a dry but temperate
wind. Neil found it necessary to step around several prairie
wrigglers, native herbivores that resembled fist-sized balls of
earthworms. Somewhere in each bundle of serpentine digits
hid a mouth; he knew this because the creatures tumbled and
rolled between the clumps of desert vegetation, gnawing at
the fleshy parts like rodents and spitting out spines and burrs.
For their sake he hoped they would not be too voracious. If
they ate the plants entirely they would have little shelter from
predators.
He had probably seen images of this salt flat, taken by the
Hershel. In twenty-seven years, some Earthbound
astronomer might download the latest update and see the
shed where he had interrogated Radner. He and Dimitri
wouldn't show up. Too small, and in any case their presence
would be invisible. The Hershel gathered its information by
taking snapshots once every planetary rotation and combining
multiple exposures; anything mobile would not be recorded.
And yet, out in the open, he felt exposed. The sky was aqua,
not cerulean. Alien. It provided no buffer between him and
18
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
the Thwaa escort vessel he knew to be up there in orbit.
Perhaps over that very spot, at that very minute.
Something was watching them. A creature was hopping
about the rocky summit ahead. Neil studied its elongated
black shape, yellow beak, and membranous, batlike wings.
When it settled down and folded those wings, it strongly
resembled a crow, rather than one of Bjornssen's native
avians.
Why wasn't it hunting on this fine, clear day? Already had
its fill of prairie wrigglers?
It opened its mouth and screeched, dashing further
comparisons to its Earth counterpart. A real crow's voice
would have been dulcet compared to that nails-on-chalkboard
cacophony.
“What the hell is that?” Neil asked.
“That, my friend, is the most intelligent lifeform indigenous
to the planet. It's called a hugin. You've met Gudrun
Olafsdottir? She named the species after one of Odin's
ravens.” Dimitri coughed. “Now I would have preferred a
name from Greek mythology, but I'm not the head of the
xenobiology task force.”
“Many of them around?”
“Fairly rare, actually.”
“He gives me the creeps,” Neil said.
“Yes. They like to observe. Natural curiosity. Wouldn't it be
nice if they could tell us what they've seen? They watched the
Eridanin come and go. I've half a mind to bring one in for
questioning.”
19
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
They arrived at the knees of the little mountain. A hundred
meters of hard clambering brought them to the cave mouth.
It appeared to be a natural opening, but Neil knew better. Its
walls seemed to be made of the same rock as the rest of the
formation, but the floor was unusually level, the passageways
smooth.
His suspicions were confirmed when Dimitri urged him past
the first bend. Their flashlights revealed a whorllike chamber
with a ceiling barely as high as their heads—tall enough that
the Eridanin would have considered the space roomy. Along
the walls images rested in an array much like an art gallery.
Neil had once toured caves in France and witnessed
firsthand the scenes left there by Paleolithic hunters. This
presentation stirred those memories, but the detail here was
too fine to have been applied by the strokes of brushes or by
the spitting of pigment down hollow reeds. The spectrum of
colors was wider than could be assembled from mixtures of
charcoal, plant dyes, and saliva. They weren't paintings at all.
His fingertips could not tell a difference between the texture
of the image areas and the rest of the walls. The pictures
were part of the walls, made up of minerals, ores, and tiny
gemstones that had evidently been manipulated into place at
a microscopic level.
“We've found five of these shrines so far,” Dimitri said. “All
the sites contain identical artwork, though the chambers
themselves vary in size and shape. They date from early in
the Eridanin occupation.”
Neil counted. “Ten scenes.”
20
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“Yes.” The sacred number of the Eridanin, if Terran
theories were correct. “This must have been quite a holy
place to them.”
Neil gave all ten a thorough look. Every view contained
dozens or hundreds of Eridanin. They truly were crablike, an
impression only lightly conveyed in the paltry data the Thwaa
had supplied. They had ten limbs. Their central bodies were
low and squat. Their locomotion appeared to consist of
scuttling, though only the rear three pairs of limbs were
jointed in the manner of arthropods. Their extraterrestrial
nature was emphasized chiefly by their centaurlike upper
bodies, their huge eyes, and their long, coiled tongues.
The first scene was the most distinctive. It was an
overview of a river valley. In the background two species of
grazing animals—one vaguely mammalian, the other evoking
comparison to duckbill dinosaurs—nibbled at meadow grass.
Clouds wandered across a sky untouched by industrial haze.
In the foreground, a spaceship rested in the meadow loam.
Gangplank down, a party of Eridanin were emerging into the
sunlight. The tongues of the aliens were extruded and
swaying in the breeze. Most individuals had their four arms
upraised. Neil could almost hear the cheers and see the grins.
The other nine views portrayed a freshly settled planet.
Parks, bridges, bright new cities—including a mountain-ringed
metropolis beside a lake that could have belonged to the ruins
outside. The gallery was not unlike the sort of tribute humans
would erect to their own civilization, save for the sheer
density of urban life. Eridanin seemed to crawl right over each
other to get to where they were going. In one scene, an
21
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
immense brood of young slept three and four deep inside a
vast hall, apparently in comfort, while adults played with the
handful still awake.
“Quite a memorial,” Neil said.
“The other one I've personally seen was more eroded, but
none of the sites suffered vandalism, not even at the end of
the occupation. Ten thousand years they maintained the
shrines. Doesn't sound like a culture that failed to appreciate
what they had, does it?”
Neil shook his head. “If I were the judge, I would say they
cherished their tenancy.”
“Indeed. I presume the Thwaa knew that.”
“It's likely. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Dimitri muttered, clearly unhappy with the opaque answer.
He checked his watch again. “We'd better go. By the time you
get back to Landfall, the governor should be ready for your
meeting.”
Ah, yes. The governor, Neil thought sadly. Another person
who won't like having to see me.
* * * *
“Are you feeling well?” inquired Dimitri as the transport
started its approach toward the capital. The high desert
around the caldera was long behind them, having given way
to a landscape of rolling hills, woodlands, streams, and
brushy rubble-fields where Eridanin towns had not quite fully
decayed. Dusk was falling, hastened by their eastward flight.
Neil rubbed his temples, trying to massage out the
headache that had sprouted halfway through the flight. He
had rarely suffered headaches before the Thwaa had altered
22
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
him. “Not really,” he admitted, “but it's nothing you should be
concerned about.”
Dimitri scratched the five o'clock shadow on his chin,
saying nothing. In the old days, either in Athens or while they
were both aides to Governor Brendt, prior to ark launch,
Dimitri would have never have let Neil off so easily. He loved
to diagnose, be the remedy a doctor's visit, a night of
drinking, or one of his wife's home-cooked meals.
What I have, can't be cured by talking, Neil thought.
He peered out the window at the oncoming twilight. A
lavender veil was climbing up from the eastern horizon.
Below, the only lights were those of Landfall—a few fireflies in
a shadowed wilderness. “We're bypassing the capital.”
“Yes. I'm to drop you off at the residence. The pilot and I
will take the body on to the morgue. I'll have my own
meeting with Brendt in the morning.”
“Oh, yes, the new house. He's moved in, then?”
“Three days ago,” Dimitri said. “I believe you'll be the first
guest other than family.”
A few minutes later, Neil was left at a clearing in the
woods—if the term “woods” could be applied to Bjornssen's
barkless, oddly colored analogs of trees—several kilometers
from the capital.
Neil paused on the landing pad, gathering himself. In years
past, the governor had been his boss, perhaps even his
mentor. Now Neil was the one person on Bjornssen who
reported to a higher level of authority. The role change placed
him in apparel that hung as if cut four sizes too large.
23
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
A lone individual emerged from the shadows. Not the
expected household servant.
“Neil. Welcome to my home,” Governor Brendt called,
louder than necessary.
“Hello, sir,” Neil said.
“Let me show you my new sanctuary,” Brendt offered, only
the weakness of his smile betraying his discomfiture. In other
respects, he fulfilled the role of proud new homeowner
completely. As they set off up a trail he paused to display a
favorite feature: Repellers hidden in the foliage generated
fields that warded off various species of small insectoids,
common pests in this humid region of the continent.
The footpath was the only route to the site. The villa was
constructed along the same lines as the nearby city, which is
to say it blended into the native terrain as much as possible,
with a minimum of pavement. The buildings were low and
sprawling, hugging the contour of a small hill, roofs tucked
below the level of the forest canopy so as not to mar the line
of the horizon, the patio and courtyard shaded by century-old
vegetation. Turn off the molecular stabilizers and the
structures would return to the soil within a few generations.
They stopped on the patio deck. Inside two women sat on
a matching pair of sofas, chatting, awash in the warm glow of
the living room, apparently unaware of the two men standing
outside in the twilight. Neil recognized the governor's wife,
Nadya, a sable-haired, long-necked beauty, and Brendt's
sister, Olivia, not so lovely but a better conversationalist. The
scene was charmingly domestic. Inviting.
24
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Brendt had seldom favored Neil so thoroughly when he
was a mere employee. As Thwaa consul, he seldom did less.
Brendt opened the patio door and ushered Neil within.
Nadya sprang up and greeted him with a hug and a kiss.
“Neil! How good to see you!”
“An excellent estate you've designed,” Neil told her.
“Thank you.” She glowed. “Sit down. Have some wine. You
remember Olivia?”
“Of course.”
The evening was as soothing as the governor's intimate
gatherings often were. First, Neil was given a tour of the
rooms. Next, the four shared a first-rate meal served by the
governor's inobtrusive domestic staff. Finally, they relaxed for
hours sampling vintages from Brendt's cellar. Neil's new
favorite proved to be a Napa Valley late harvest Riesling. He
was sorry to hear they were consuming the last bottle in the
Gamma Leporis A system. No matter how perfectly the
longterm stasis/storage equipment aboard the ark had
functioned, there had been only so much capacity aboard for
amenities. In another few years the only wines anyone would
be drinking would be those made on-planet.
The pleasantries may not have been entirely targeted at
Neil himself, but he indulged in them nonetheless. God knew
he spent enough evenings living the life of a pariah these
days.
All too soon, Nadya and Olivia excused themselves to let
governor and consul see to their business of the evening. The
residual flavor of the Riesling soured in Neil's mouth.
25
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“I've reviewed a summary of the situation at the
archaeological dig,” Brendt said when the euphony of the
women's voices had faded into the depths of the villa. “What
in particular do you need to ask me about?”
Neil looked down, but felt Brendt regarding him steadily.
He knew what the governor was really asking: Why the
Thwaa had taken an interest? The murder was one incident
out of thousands. They rarely scrutinized occurrences so
closely as to send Neil on-site, to filter the news to them via
their own peculiar information-gathering methods.
The presence inside his mind gained coherence. Without
words, as always, he received the directive, and knew what
he was expected to say. It would not answer the governor's
unspoken question, but it would address the one he had
actually asked.
“They just want to know what you would do if they hadn't
sent me to observe the case.”
Brendt frowned. “What will I do? Christ, Neil. What can I
tell you? It's a mess.”
Neil nodded. “I'm just relaying the message. I can't say for
sure, but I think it's all right if all you do is speculate. As long
as you do so sincerely, of course.”
Brendt bristled at the implied slur, but perhaps he read in
Neil's open gaze that it was meant as helpful advice, not as
character assassination. He settled back on the sofa.
“It was only a matter of time until we had a homicide,” he
began. “My hope was that it would be something cleaner. A
headline that the majority could read and forget about the
next day. After all, we have enough to keep us busy just
26
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
building this colony. I'll do what I can to steer things in that
direction, try to make it seem routine—not that I like to think
of murder as routine. But I have to admit I'm worried. The
racial component may keep the whole business alive. The
Aussie faction will argue for some sort of leniency. The
Indonesians will be outraged at anything less than the death
penalty.”
“No matter what you do, you'll antagonize somebody,” Neil
conceded. He spoke for himself; the Thwaa voice in his head
had gone silent, leaving him once more as nothing but their
listening post. “It's a lose-lose.”
“Yes. God damn it.”
“So ... what will you do?” Neil repeated.
“Stretch things out. Gather every last scrap of evidence.
Hear all the appeals. In the end, I'll have to execute him, but
I have to be sure anyone who might be on his side has had
their chance to argue that he's not guilty. We don't have
much of a backlog in our court system"—he tried to chuckle—
"but I estimate the whole process will take half a decade. In
the meantime, our society will simply have to cope with the
turmoil, I guess.”
Neil saw that it was gnawing Brendt from the pancreas
outward to be placed in a position of impotence. The least
that Neil could do was cut short the conversation, spare him
further embarrassment. A burst of communication told him
the Thwaa had learned whatever it was they needed from the
night's conversation.
“That's it?” Brendt queried, as soon as Neil had spoken.
“Apparently so,” Neil said.
27
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
The deep brow wrinkles remained on the governor's face.
His mouth tightened.
Neil had feared the man would not relax. And why should
he? Why should any human on the planet?
The Thwaa might not have put the issue aside. One of
these times, the matters Neil investigated would cause the
aliens to alter policy. The Thwaa rarely stirred, but when they
did, their actions could go to extremes. As the Eridanin had
learned.
“I've set aside a room for you across the patio,” Brendt
said. “May we all have a good night.”
“Thank you. I'll give my regards to Nadya in the morning,
then.”
“Pleasant dreams, Neil.” The governor glanced away and
pretended to sip his wine.
* * * *
Sleep was the wisest use of the remainder of the night, but
Neil was far too keyed up. He made a fire in the room hearth.
A real fire, using cordwood salvaged from the scrap of forest
removed in order to erect the dwelling. The hearth was rigged
to display artificial fire, with or without heat, but could be
made to function in the literal way, with filters in the chimney
that eliminated air pollution. It would rarely be used so, for
per the charter, no living trees on Bjornssen would be cut
down solely to provide recreational flame. Making the luxury
available was Brendt's indirect way of letting the Thwaa see
how well he treated their representative.
28
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Neil did not hesitate to strike the match. He had not asked
for the job, but as long as he had it, he would accept the
perquisites.
He pulled his palm computer out and attempted to sedate
himself with the mundane task of organizing recent email into
folders. Scanning the list, he noticed a folder he'd had few
entries for lately, only two, sent twenty-seven lightyears ago
to coincide with the arrival of the ark at Bjornssen. The folder
was labelled FAMILY.
Thoughts of his niece, Whitney, now his only living
relative—older than he now due to his sojourn in
hibernation—brought a tender smile to his face. After tucking
away her latest letters—gossipy text messages about all that
had happened to the clan in the past one hundred fifty
years—he was drawn to dip into the archive and open up the
special farewell she'd made for him, so long ago.
A picture filled the small screen. Thanks to Whitney's
artistic skill and her computer, the scene appeared to be
taken from life, but in fact, she had composed the elements.
It showed Neil standing in a vegetable garden, a toddler at
his side. He and the boy, a tow-headed lad looking much as
Neil had at that age, were examining the intricacies of a web
a spider had made during the night. A spider of Earth, just as
most of the plants in the garden were Terran. The locale was
Bjornssen, however, as Whitney imagined it to be, with some
sort of fanleafed trees by the house in the background. The
aqua cast to the sky was uncannily close to the actual hue of
a Bjornssen morning.
29
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
The spider was sterile, Whitney's voice recording
explained, its reproductive abilities removed so as not to
disrupt the planet's natural checks and balances. Like the
food, the arachnid was meant to contribute to the transition
from immigrant to native lifestyle. A little bit of the old
country, to make an Earth fellow feel at home. Sunlight
glinted off the droplets suspended on the web. The child was
enraptured. The expression on the face of “Neil” was one of
rich contentment, yet full of delight at investigating new
things.
“Bon voyage, Uncle o’ mine,” the message concluded. “I'll
be expecting a picture of the real thing some time before I
die.”
Neil let the audio track play a second time while he pored
over the visual. The moisture in the corners of his eyes
evaporated. He closed the file with a curt vocal command.
The image had steered him unwillingly to recall the Eridanin
gallery Dimitri had showed him, and suddenly he was back in
the moment, thinking of his job, and how he didn't want it.
His memory turned inevitably to the first time he had met
Thwaa in person. He had done so as part of the greeting
committee giving the aliens a tour of the newly completed ark
that they, in their conditional benevolence, had allowed
humanity to construct. At one point, by his guests’ insistence,
he found himself the lone escort of a Thwaa noble as they
examined some of the passenger quarters.
Neil had seen pictures of Thwaa for the better part of
seventy years, but it ill prepared him to navigate in confined
spaces with one. He tried to drown his apprehension in his
30
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
script, but the monologue on the finer points of coldsleep
tanks did not distract him from the alien's proximity. Its
appendages floated about, evoking irrational fears of burns
like jellyfish should it touch his skin. A brain with strings
attached is how one early journalist characterized them. A
monster tick with veins extending two meters beyond its body
is what he would have said. It was safe to say that their race
was a thousand generations removed from a gravity
environment. Perhaps that was what made them the proper
arbiters of who could, and could not, claim the habitable
territory at the bottom of gravity wells.
Neil couldn't tell if his companion was bored by his
presentation or simply preferred not to comment. He doubted
the alien could have had much real interest in chambers
meant for beings who required spin or acceleration to
maintain health. It certainly would never be able to visit again
once the ship became operational.
Only when they had reached the end of the fifth identical
level in the hibernation section did it break silence. The little
speaker attached to its knobby “head” startled Neil by
announcing in a perfectly synthesized and mellifluous, if
androgynous, voice, “You will travel on this vessel?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Safe journey. It is a mighty undertaking.”
Its tone conveyed nothing impolite, but Neil reasoned that
sarcasm would not be part of the translation protocols. “Don't
patronize me,” he said. The Thwaa had travelled between
galaxies, for Christ's sake.
31
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“I was simply wishing you well, and stating the truth. It is
a mighty undertaking to shape a world, and do it well. The
attempt is to be commended.”
“Yet you've only given us one world. You're allowing very
slow emigration. You're passing down the barest smattering
of your technology.”
“Your species has control of its home star and planets.
That is all the edicts require. The colonization of Gamma
Leporis A is an experiment. You have chosen your candidates
with care. We will see what you make of your opportunity. To
claim other stars, you must show you understand the
intricacies of cooperation.”
“And you are the judges,” Neil said.
“I see that you understand.”
* * * *
Neil eventually slept. Not well. His mind boiled over with
the consequences of that day aboard the empty ark. What
had he said that caused the Thwaa to designate him as their
consul, to alter him, to change forever the role he had meant
to play within the colony?
Just after dawn a knock rattled his door.
It was the governor, tousle-haired, obviously having just
awakened. “A call came through. Something has happened at
the archaeological site. Anything you, ah, can tell me about?”
“I haven't a clue,” Neil said. “You have the advantage of
me.”
Brendt stared. “You really don't know?”
32
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
“I told you I didn't.” The Thwaa presence echoed through
the chambers of his mind, but passive as usual, monitoring
only.
The governor looked as though he wanted to smile, but
knew it was inappropriate to do so. “You may want to catch
another transport, then. I'm sure your superiors will be
interested in your observations. It seems that our hot-headed
Aussie has turned up dead.”
* * * *
A curiosity-piquing flight later, Neil landed at the caldera to
find Dimitri already there with an expanded team of
assistants, including a few specialists who rarely had reason
to be part of a death investigation.
“You'll want to wear this,” said a woman standing beside
Dimitri. She offered Neil an oxygen mask and small tank to
place on his belt.
“This is Natalie Lommond,” Dimitri said. “She's an
atmospheric chemist.”
When Neil had donned the apparatus, they led him to the
pit where Barry Radner had been imprisoned.
Radner, or what was left of him, lay beside the rim,
cushioned by a sheet of plastic and shielded from the sun by
a tarp. The corpse was twisted into a configuration
determined by whichever muscles had been the strongest,
demonstrating how thoroughly he had been wracked by
seizure. The fingertips were bloodied from his attempts to
claw his way up the smooth, hardpan walls of the septic tank.
The face wore a rictus of agony. He had died hard. Neil turned
away after the thorough glance demanded by official duty,
33
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
glad the oxygen mask obscured his expression, and let the
medical examiner and forensics experts continue to document
their findings.
“We brought him up as soon as we could,” Vereshchagin
said. “We made the standard resuscitation efforts, but his
brain had been deprived of oxygen too long.”
Neil turned to Lommond. “Carbon dioxide poisoning?”
“Yes.” She stepped away, putting some distance between
them and the Reaper's harvest. “Not at all like carbon
monoxide—that would have been as peaceful a way to die as
I can think of.” She waved her hand out over the terrain,
pausing to point at the pool of brine. “It came from there.”
“And still is,” Neil noted. The waters were bubbling.
“That's just the dregs,” she explained. “We don't even
really need these anymore.” She fingered her own breathing
apparatus. “But sometime during the night a giant pocket of
CO2 burst free. The outgassing filled the basin we're standing
in. CO2 is heavier than the regular atmosphere. It hugged the
ground as it spread, displacing the good air. Look at the
number it did on the wildlife.”
The ancient lakebed, superficially as benign and
picturesque as ever, contained innumerable small signs of
death. A drift of prairie wrigglers lay in the lee of a stout
cactus. To the left of that, the sun beat down on the lifeless
husk of some sort of hairy snakelike creature, twisted into a
helix by its final paroxysms. No twittering or scuttling or
buzzing noises reached their ears—only the susurrus of wind
through the sparse clumps of grass, the murmur of voices in
34
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
the background muffled by masks, and, once, the screech of
a hugin.
The latter noise prompted Neil to look over at the pinnacle.
His bird—he assumed it was the same one—was still
ensconced, maintaining whatever vigil its bright, native
consciousness seemed to find necessary.
“That loudmouth is well above the toxic layer,” Lommond
volunteered. She went on to indicate the other avians cruising
the thermals like Terran carrion eaters. “Notice how few are
trying to take advantage of this sudden supply of meat?
They're aware of the contamination. The smart ones may
soon realize they're safe as long as they don't remain on the
valley floor. They can dive down, grab something, and retreat
to a higher elevation, without coming to harm.”
For the next quarter hour, Neil listened to a summary of
the night's events from a gathering of key individuals. The
surge of CO2 had never reached as far as the city where the
majority of the excavators slept. None of them knew what
was happening until too late for Radner. The only other
people who had been poisoned were the guards. Dimitri had
ordered them to spend the night at the top of the bluff, where
they had an unobstructed view of not only the pit, but of the
landscape leading from the ruins. That way they would be
able to spot any team members sneaking out of camp to play
vigilante.
The gas had filled the pit. The carbon dioxide in Radner's
bloodstream built up while he slept, waking him when it
approached a lethal level. By the time his moans and
thrashing alerted the guards, the latter had breathed enough
35
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
themselves to be overtaken by nausea, dizziness, headaches,
and muscle spasms. They stumbled to the camp with
admirable poise for men being attacked by the very air
around them, but by the time they had made clear to the
camp residents what was occurring, it was too late to find and
unpack oxygen masks and return to save Radner.
Fortunately the guards, by removing themselves from the
lower elevation and inhaling a normal mix of atmosphere, had
proceeded to recover. By the time of Neil's arrival their
symptoms consisted only of wooziness and sore muscles.
Radner was the only permanent casualty.
“I bear full responsibility for this,” Vereshchagin said, as
the group around Neil shrank to just him and Lommond.
“It was a freak occurrence,” Lommond assured him. “It's
not your fault, Director.”
“That does not console me,” the archaeologist replied. “I
could have done things to prevent Bilyang's murder, and then
Radner would not have been down here. No one would be
dead. I am afraid this locale only reminds me of my failing. I
am asking the governor for a transfer. The project will go on
without me.”
Neil merely nodded. The director was not as inastute as
Neil had judged him to be. By resigning, he saved himself the
black mark of a dismissal.
“The project can still operate safely, can it not?”
Vereshchagin asked the chemist.
“Certainly,” Lommond replied. “I'll install metering
equipment to warn you if another burst comes out of the
36
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
vent. As long as workers keep their masks nearby, they can
dig without undue risk.”
Vereshchagin sighed, flexed his fingers, adjusted the filter
in front of his nose. Neil wondered if he were biting back
tears. “Very well,” he said. “Proceed. I will stay until the
current disruption has run its course. Ten days, perhaps. After
that, as far as I am concerned, this is one place I wish had
never existed.”
“I can understand that,” Lommond said. Her demeanor
implied she would have felt far more comfortable mouthing
technical details about gas concentrations or volcanism, but
she had inadvertently settled into the role of counsellor.
Neil walked out into the lakebed a hundred meters or so,
ostensibly giving the specialist a chance to tender whatever
further sympathy she could muster, but truthfully providing
himself with some privacy.
In due time, as he expected, Dimitri joined him.
Neil was first to break the silence. “Vereshchagin is taking
all this pretty hard.”
“The man has skills,” Dimitri replied. “I'm sure he'll find
something useful to do, at some level. It's Radner who won't
get another chance.”
“True.”
Dimitri's brows rose at Neil's bitter tone. “There is some
justice in that. If I thought that someone had done this
deliberately, I would tell that someone, ‘Thank you.’”
Neil gazed back at his old friend steadily. “Surely you don't
think the Thwaa can sway geologic forces to such a precise
degree as to arrange what we've seen here today?”
37
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
Dimitri paused. “No,” he said, sighing. “No. I suppose not.
In any case, my official report will declare the death to have
been sheer happenstance. You understand that I was not
asking for the record?”
“I know you weren't,” Neil said. “Dimitri, sometimes shit
happens, and other times you catch a break. Are you going to
argue with good luck?”
The inspector chuckled, and went back to his duties.
Neil knew others would wonder at the convenience of the
death. The point was, no one would be able to prove a thing.
The bizarre circumstances might incite comment for years,
but that was better than keeping alive a spark of racial
disharmony in a fledging colony. The case would close with a
minimum of fuss. Such an elegant solution.
Neil had not expected this. That the Thwaa had done it he
was certain. He had told Dimitri otherwise because he was
equally confident that his overlords expected his discretion. If
they had wanted to eliminate Radner in a public way, they
certainly had the means.
Precisely how they had reached their decision he did not
know. He could be sure it was their action not from any direct
confession—the Thwaa would never deign to provide one—but
from the cumulative intuition he had gained from seeing
exactly what they had him investigate, and what they
ignored. The implant remained in passive mode, as it usually
did. In fact, until it awoke to give him his next assignment,
hours or weeks or months from now, he could chose to forget
the device was there, and pretend he was as human as any
other Terran on Bjornssen.
38
A Raven on My Shoulder
by Dave Smeds
A screech echoed across the valley. On the crag, the hugin
was looking right at Neil. There it was, its race already
witness to the eviction of one set of planetary tenants. He
wondered if it were possible that they did know the answer to
the big mystery of Gamma Leporis A-III. Perhaps they had
seen just how and why the Eridanin had lost their lease.
Neil didn't care. That was the past.
“Get the hell outta here,” he murmured toward the avian,
as he would to an obnoxious little brother. Joyfully.
What did the past matter? If humans were to be proper
stewards of this world, they had to look forward.
The hugin screeched, dived to the valley floor, and rose
with a prairie wriggler in its claws. It paid no more attention
to Neil.
A wave of giddiness surged from Neil's toes to the crown of
his head, settling at last in the region of his heart. He
recognized the feeling. He had last felt it before the ark was
launched, back before his transformation from pioneer to
consul. Back when he was optimistic about the colony's
potential.
He drew out his notebook and called up his niece's
painting. A few weeks ago he had seen an acre near Landfall
that would be perfect for a vegetable garden. He could put
the house on a rise above the river that bisected the capital
downstream. He had some architectural plans in his database.
For the first time on-planet, he began to examine them,
noting little changes he might like to make.
The world was full of possibilities.
39