Boerne Star
Different Stuff: Science Fiction?
by Bill Zaner
The Cibolo Center for Conservation and the Boerne community have experienced significant growth in recent years. In the spirit of honoring those who paved the way, please enjoy this heritage article originally published in August 1989.
The two anthropologists had journeyed through space to this small, seemingly lifeless planet to do what they’d done on a dozen other worlds—dig through the outer crust, take core samples, and try to determine what kinds, if any, of life forms had existed here.
They had parked their craft a couple of miles above the surface, having discovered early that their drill allowed an unbearable stench to escape from each hole so they drifted to the job each day in their personal airtight bubbles.
“If there was life here, they were really messy,” was Slag’s invariable comment with every sample they pulled out.
“Yeah,” Nardo, his partner, would answer, “and none of their artifacts was biodegradable, either.”
They had already noted that the deepest layers of the dirty grey crust seemed to follow a meandering trail a mile or so in length, trending north to south, the edges of which were faintly marked at intervals by what looked like dead snags pointing skyward, poking up through the debris like ghostly fingers, stiff and pale.
“Treetops?” asked Slag.
“Big trees, if that’s their tops,” answered Nardo, “the core machine’s hitting 40 feet.”
The Analyzer back in the ship had explained in its readouts what much of the daily core material was, but was stymied in its efforts to locate much that was organic.
And the scientists themselves, with all their training and experience, had never encountered such a completely lifeless place, even though it offered intriguing evidence that some form of life had indeed existed here once. But, what kind?
“What we have here is mostly styrofoam, plastic, and aluminum,” the Analyzer state matter-of-factly. “There are also traces of wood pulp, which may suggest the existence of water below 40 feet.”
“Maybe we’ll know more after tomorrow’s drilling,” said Slag, as he replaced the filter in his breathing mask for the umpteenth time.
On the job site the next day, both Slag and Nardo saw that the morning’s cores were different than anything the machine had previously dug up. And that night, sitting with the Analyzer, they were jolted by the readouts they were getting:
“Life, in the form of an upright, two-legged, warm-blooded humanoid was existent here, and they had a language, at least a written one.”
Nardo asked, “Can you get it for us?”
“A,B,C,D,E,F, and so on,” said the Analyzer. “Words formed, using these and 20 other letters in different combinations.”
“Got it,” said Nardo, “we’ll see if we can dig up some more evidence.”
“Should be more below 40 feet in that water area,” the Analyzer said as they shut him off.
The plot, as well as the antediluvian goo the core machine was now into, thickened. Having to force themselves to be scientific and deliberate now was becoming more difficult for Slag and Nardo. But, it was paying off with exciting revelations.
Anthropologically, the two scientists were close to answering their most pressing question—what sort of creature would actually KILL his home planet by burying it in garbage?
With the Analyzer’s help, they pegged the creature as an upright-walking, two-legged, oxygen-breathing, human-like critter who was able to think well enough to construct a language for himself and produce a humongous pile of plastic in which to bury himself, but Slag and Nardo could not emotionally connect with him.
For instance, they’d figured out that some of the most mystifying trash, and the deepest heaps of it, seemed to cover the moving water areas—creeks, the Analyzer called them. The creatures had a mechanical mode of transportation— automobiles, said the Analyzer— and they serviced these autos, that is, changed their fluids, right there on the edge of the creeks, leaving evidence such as plastic bottles, greasy rags and spots of sludge.
“Looks like they also changed the fluids in their babies, too, in the same place,” noted Nardo, “there are traces of organic matter, probably fecal, wrapped in that one wad of plastic we found by the water.”
“We’d better get on back to the ship,” Slag said, “I’m real curious about this piece of metal with letters on it we found there by the creek. Two separate pieces, actually.”
Since learning languages was not a problem for the Analyzer, he interpreted the two signs immediately.
“KEY TO THE H,” that one says, “the Analyzer stated in his flat electronic voice,” and the other one has the letters B,O,E,R, something, something, and W,I,L,D,E,R,N, something, something, something, T,R,A,I,L.”