Stephen Baxter - In the Manner of Trees

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In the Manner of Trees

Stephen Baxter

The port of the Richard P Feynman opened with a sigh, and the cool air of WhatAPlace wafted into

Stoner's head. She walked down the ship's ramp and onto a belt of earth that had been scorched to a

deep, black crispness by the Feynman's landing jets, and then further out to where the grass grew

undisturbed.

Flowers curled around her boots. The sunlight, the breeze made her uniform feel stiff and formal.

Behind a bush there was a child: dirty, bald, naked, and with a swollen belly ...

"Oh, drink in that sun."

Stoner, startled, turned. Dryden and Wald, her two crew-members, had followed her out of the ship,

and now Dryden, the life scientist, short and plump, was turning her round face up to the sun. "Isn't that

great, after months of canned air?"

Stoner turned back to the bush. The child had gone; Stoner blinked, seeking to retrieve the

afterimage.

Wald, the expedition's physical sciences specialist, pulled his thatch of red hair away from his

forehead. "You can feel the peacefulness seep into you. WhatAPlace ... they named it well."

Stoner turned around slowly, appraising the area. The ship sat like a metal egg in a landscape shaped

like an upturned hand; the "palm" was furred by clumps of bushes (no trees, she noticed), while rock

formations a little further away, gleaming white in the pale sunlight, encircled the ship like curled

fingers. Stoner was surrounded by a jumble of shapes and colours; there was a feeling of newness, of

freshness, as if the land had only recently been assembled.

Wild flowers waved in the breeze.

Birds sang, almost in harmony.

Fluffy clouds scudded overhead.

Clouds, birds, flowers. Stoner hated planets like this; they were always the most dangerous kind.

"Something's not right."

Wald sighed. "Like what, Captain?"

"I thought there was a child. Peeking out of that bush over there."

Dryden, hands on hips, studied her sceptically. "Come on, Captain; the WhatAPlace colony was lost

five centuries ago, and we're the first ship to visit since. How could there be a child?"

Stoner closed her eyes and concentrated. "Definitely a human face," she said slowly. "Caucasian.

Female, I guess, about five years old. No hair, no clothes, and with a swollen stomach—malnourished,

perhaps."

Dryden snorted. "If this kid ever existed, how could she be malnourished? There's food in

abundance." She pointed. "Those are multifruit bushes. From seed to fruit-bearing in a month. The

region's covered in them."

Stoner, irritated, said frostily, "Are you implying I'm seeing things?"

Dryden's face bore its customary mocking frown. "Oh, come on, Stoner, lighten up."

Stoner swivelled a midwinter glare at her. "I'll lighten up when I have some answers."

"Answers to what?"

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Stephen Baxter - In the Manner of Trees

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