Helium 3: Fight for the Future

by Brandon Q. Morris

  Kimikizu sat up slowly. Now she knew what had struck her as strange. The ceiling was shaped like a regular pentagon, as was the floor. She felt hungry. Therefore, she was alive. How long had she been lying here passed out? How had she gotten here? And, where in the universe had she ended up?

  Too many questions at once, she decided. She would go through them slowly, one after the other. First, she had to see how her body was doing. She got up with the help of her wings. Her legs supported her, even though she swayed dangerously at first. But her weakness was not due to any injuries. She felt no pain. She just needed food.

  Kimikizu started exploring the room, which was more aptly described as a small chamber. At the back she found lines in the wall, making her assume that there must have been an exit there. There were no windows. What if she was being observed? She searched the room for cameras but didn’t find any. They were probably well-hidden. She put the question of who could be watching her on the growing list of things to address later.

  She remembered the shadow that had appeared over her. At the time, she had hoped it was Norok. But that had just been a sweet dream. If it hadn’t been the shadow of the flying machine, it could only have been the attackers. Did it matter? Not at that moment. She had been saved, not killed, so she wasn’t in direct danger. Presumably, something was wanted from her—at best, information. At worst... No, she didn’t want to imagine.

  Something was moving behind her. Kimikizu turned and flinched in startlement. Then she had to laugh at herself. It was just her own shadow. There was a lamp in each of the five corners bathing the room in warm light, reminding her of a sunset.

  On one wall she encountered two devices that were obviously of a technical nature. It was difficult to tell what purpose they served. One object was a simple box with vents. Maybe it served as some kind of air conditioning, but there was no airflow. Perhaps the device operated periodically? The other one looked more interesting. It consisted of two plates with a thin thread stretched in between. What function could it possibly have? Kimikizu initially thought it was some kind of fuse, but that didn’t make sense. It was more likely a switch. If she were to pull the thread, some mechanism would be triggered. Maybe somebody would then come to talk to her?

  But she wasn’t ready for that yet. She was still breathing through the mask. Kimikizu glanced at the analyzer. The atmosphere was mostly carbon dioxide, but it also contained eight percent oxygen. That was more than enough for her—even three percent would give her something to work with. Either the aliens knew what she needed, or they also breathed oxygen. Strangely, this calmed Kimikizu. Beings who breathed the same gas couldn’t be that different, right? She pressed a button on her chest and the breathing mask moved to the resting position around her neck.

  The air smelled strange. She had expected the typical aroma of a storage room—machine oil, refrigerating fluid, washing powder—but didn’t detect anything of the kind. She took a deep breath until she determined that she just couldn’t smell anything except for her own body odor intensifying the feeling of strangeness. Her rescuers seemed to attach great importance to cleanliness—such a neutral aroma was nowhere to be found in the generation ship.

  She turned her attention back to the strange device. The thread was so thin that she didn’t dare touch it. Ruining the switch instead of using it as intended was sure to strain communications. She imagined how she would respond if a delegation of the aliens, which she imagined with two legs and stubby wings, were to appear on her ship and crush the traditional offering of hornbug larvae instead of at least tasting them.

  She had to be careful. The fate of their species might depend on this encounter.

  Then the thread started to vibrate, only very slightly. Had she accidentally breathed on it, or had the vibration been triggered from outside? She watched the entire device. Was the vibration just the start of something bigger? Would a little door open through which food would be served? But nothing happened. After a short time, the thread was stationary again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said emphatically. “I don’t know what that means. You’re going to have to be a little more explicit.”

  Kimikizu hoped there were microphones hidden in the walls so they could hear her. If the aliens were technologically superior to the Iks, shouldn’t they be able to decipher her language with a computer? But of course they would need material to do this. Kimikizu started walking around the small room in circles and recited a poem she recalled from school. Like all heroic epics, it consisted of 33 stanzas. She was amazed that she still remembered every single one.

  After the 18th stanza, however, she realized she was only making it harder for the aliens. They didn’t know the Iks’ heroic epics. How could anyone decipher a language without having any information about its content? She’d have to be more specific.

  Kimikizu sat in front of the two devices and stared at the wall behind them. She imagined that the wall was semi-transparent, and that the aliens were behind it, watching her. She systematically pointed to each of her limbs and said the word for each one. Then she designated what she could see in the confined space. And finally she slipped out of her suit and provided the names for the individual body parts.

  After that she ran out of objects, so she repeated everything.

  Should she go over the terms a third time? No, she decided. The aliens were sure to have recording devices, and could watch everything as many times as they wanted. There was increasing pain in her stomach. She straightened to her full size and pointed to her stomach. Then she took her suit and used it to build a makeshift encampment on the side of the room. It didn’t help. She’d have to wait and see what the aliens were going to do with her.

  First Steps

  The construction principle was ridiculously simple. Only a short time passed before the technician and his assistants had assembled the ‘vibration transducer,’ as they had named the device, and set up a radio bridge with the central computer.

  What is the... captive doing? Tolkut wasn’t sure if this was the right word. Captive? Rescued party? Enemy? Guest? The status of the strange bird creature would probably only become apparent once they had found a way to communicate with him.

  He just walked around in circles and kept producing vibrations, reported the bridge officer whom Tolkut had tasked with continually monitoring the storage room. He wanted to be informed of everything the alien was doing. Perhaps they could draw some further conclusions based on his behavior. Then he was pointing with his fingers to every part of his body, and we were again able to detect weak air vibrations. Your theory could turn out to be correct. It looks like the captive is naming the parts of his body to establish the foundations for communicating. He is obviously intelligent. Look! The officer drummed excitedly. Now he’s taking off his suit and pointing to his different body parts!

  Indeed, Tolkut saw on the video surveillance the bird slipping out of his suit and was touching the different parts of his body with his delicate wing fingers. The thread communicator picked up vibrations again, but unfortunately they were too weak to perform any significant frequency analyses. They had to get the vibration transducer ready and up and running as quickly as possible. Its membrane should be able to absorb the air vibrations much better than the thin thread.

  Tolkut looked at the screen in amazement. What’s he doing now?

  The alien—they needed to find out his name, as Tolkut had tired of always having to call him an alien, a captive, or a rescued party—was standing in the middle of the room and producing air vibrations again, pointing to the center of his body. He repeated the gesture several times, then took his spacesuit, folded it up, put it in a corner of the room, and sat down on it.

  What could he have meant by that? the officer wondered.

  Tolkut considered what explanation would make the most sense. He was sure the gesture was intended for his captors. The being assumed he was being monitored, which was only logical. He wanted to tell them something, something important,
because the gesture had been repeated several times and, transcending all communication difficulties, had expressed an unmistakable urgency. Could he be sick or uncomfortable? Perhaps the atmosphere wasn’t good for him in the long term and was causing him harm? However, this was contradicted because the rhythm of the alien’s respiration rate had not changed. Their captive was breathing calmly and evenly and was not gasping for air. Of course! It was obvious! Tolkut chided himself for being such an idiot.

  It had been some time since they’d brought the creature aboard, and before that it had been whirling around in the gas planet’s atmosphere for some time, which must have been extremely exhausting. Their captive must have been feeling weak and entirely depleted. It was probably suffering from hunger and thirst, just what Tolkut would have expected had he undergone the same trials the alien had. The middle of the body! Where the bird’s digestive organs must have been located, just as with the Mendraki. The gesture could only mean one thing—I need food!

  However, this posed a new problem. They knew nothing about the physiology and needs of this species.

  Call the healthwatcher to the bridge, Tolkut instructed the radio drummer, who was not particularly enthusiastic about the command, as evidenced by his half-hearted dance steps.

  The old Mendrak showed up a little later. He emitted an exhalation of impatience and annoyance, coupled with an insurmountable arrogance. He didn’t like to be disturbed in his research.

  Quolkor was one of the oldest surviving members of the net fleet and was an expert in his field. He had saved many a Mendrak’s life, cured serious illnesses, and prevented the outbreak of dangerous epidemics in the fleet’s crowded ships. If anyone was familiar with physiological problems, it was himself.

  Quolkor, what can you tell us about the alien? Tolkut asked. Of course, the healthwatcher had watched the transmission from the alien’s cell with interest. If he is asking for food, what could we offer him without killing him?

  The on-board doctor and biologist danced a few steps of deliberation before answering.

  He breathes oxygen like we do, and his physiology, like ours, is obviously based on carbon chemistry. Our environmental conditions, gravity, temperature, and atmospheric composition don’t seem to harm him. Therefore, it’s safe to assume that his home planet is not all that different from Mendrakia. Maybe it is in terms of the finer points, but the basic physical conditions must have been very similar. Thus, it’s safe to assume that he, too, is dependent on the regulation of the fluid balance in his body. Since his home planet must have been similar to ours, water will not just cause him no harm, it most likely is necessary for his cellular chemistry. However, I would recommend distilling it, since I can’t say which pollutants or minerals could harm him, even in small amounts.

  What about solid foods?

  Quolkor hesitated before tapping on the thread. That’s more difficult to answer. Here I have to speculate—based on scientific considerations, but without absolute certainty. I just want you to understand this!

  Quolkor was known for being very cautious and pessimistic in his prognoses. Some of his patients had initially received an extremely critical diagnosis from him, but were still able to be cured. Some Mendraki claimed that this was a ploy that Quolkor used to build up his reputation as an excellent healthwatcher. The more difficult it was—supposedly—to cure a disease, the more glory there would be for Quolkor if he did manage to treat it. Despite his merits, Quolkor was not particularly popular, and not for this reason alone.

  Don’t worry, Healthwatcher, I won’t blame you if there are complications.

  I just want to make sure you know how difficult and uncertain it can be to make a prognosis!

  I am aware of this!

  Well then, Shipmaster, I would propose the following thesis. Based on the observations so far, my conclusion is that the alien’s body chemistry does not differ fundamentally from ours. It can be assumed that he, like us, depends on the intake of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. If you are considering giving him food, I suggest a mixture of three parts of each of these substances in their pure forms. We don’t know what trace elements or other substances he needs, or what could harm him. But certain amounts of these substances are usually stored in the body, and he should be able to tolerate a short-term deficiency. Yet it’s vital to maintain energy stores, which can be achieved using the materials I’ve mentioned. Please keep in mind that this is all uncharted territory for me!

  I am aware of this, Healthwatcher Quolkor, repeated Tolkut. I thank you!

  May I return to my laboratory?

  Of course! Thank you again.

  The old Mendrak turned and walked out of the Bud’s bridge. Just before he reached the exit he paused, turned, and struck the general communication thread.

  If the alien dies, I expect you to give me his corpse for a thorough study!

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and disappeared. Tolkut had once again realized why the old man, despite his undisputed capabilities, was less than popular with the crew. He was unequivocally insensitive.

  Can we mix something like that together? Tolkut used the general thread to address all the Mendraki gathered on the bridge. They had been watching Quolkor intently.

  We have the emergency rations for field missions, one of the officers drummed. They’re made of concentrated protein paste mixed with pure sugar, and a healthy dose of unsaturated fatty acids at just about an equal ratio. They taste revolting! This was accompanied by a few dance steps of disgust.

  Now, since we don’t know anything about our guest’s sense of taste, that doesn’t matter, Tolkut decided. Prepare a serving of it as well as a container with some distilled water.

  Then Tolkut’s mind flashed to something he’d almost forgotten about in the excitement over the alien life form, an issue that needed to be urgently addressed.

  What’s going on with the net fleet? What’s Kasfok doing? And our allies, and the neutral Shipmasters?

  On his behalf, some of the officers had been monitoring the radio communications between the net fleet’s ships, which were still circling the gas planet farther out, in three distinct groups maintaining some distance from one another. One of them summarized what had happened since the skirmish.

  The Proud Dance in the Sunlight fled to its allied ships, and then the Unity broke off its pursuit and is now flying farther out with the group of our allied Shipmasters. Both spaceships were badly damaged, and extensive repairs may be necessary before they are fully operational again. The neutrals are still holding back. Kasfok is using the radio to try to get them on his side, but so far they have insisted on staying out of the power struggle. Overall, there’s an unstable standoff, and everyone is tensely watching what’s going on here at the edge of the gas giant’s atmosphere. They know we’ve taken one of the aliens on board and are waiting to see what happens. The generation ship is still approaching, and Kasfok insists on attacking it. The neutral ships still reject this, but I can’t say how long they will refuse. It depends on how the enemy ship behaves, and what we report from our contact. However, Kasfok’s calls are becoming more urgent, and if we don’t have something positive to report soon, the first of the neutrals are likely to start taking his side, because some of them are afraid of the aliens as well.

  Overall, this isn’t very good news, thought Tolkut. The initiative had slipped away from him, and everything depended on quickly facilitating an understanding with the aliens before Kasfok ordered an attack.

  As he was thinking this over, a device he’d never seen before was rolled in—a box that reached about body height, with two smaller boxes on top and a membrane in front. The radio drummer stood next to it and danced a few steps of pride.

  This is the vibration transducer, he drummed. The receiving membrane is located in one of the small boxes and is firmly attached to a coil, which moves in a permanent magnetic field when the membrane moves. The relative movement of the coil and the magnetic field generates a signal vo
ltage through induction, which we can then tap and feed into the computer for analysis. He indicated the other little box. This is the transmission membrane we can use to produce air vibrations. Hopefully the creature can receive them with his receiving organ. It works the other way around. When we send a modulated electrical signal through the coil, the interaction with the field of the surrounding magnet exerts a force on the membrane that causes it to vibrate. The coil and the membrane move in the magnetic field—

  Spare me any more technical details, Tolkut interrupted. I only hope the thing does the job!

  The food paste is also ready! another Mendrak announced while sliding over a small, rolling cart with a bowl of foul-smelling, yellowish paste and a container with clear water. Tolkut would never have let that paste touch his mouth.

  Then let’s bring our gifts to the alien, Tolkut drummed, and started to leave the bridge.

  Just a minute! He felt this message just as he was about to remove his drumming leg from the thread. Wouldn’t it be advisable to provide the alien with some reference objects to find out what he calls them? Since we know our terms for them, we’d get an initial vocabulary. The suggestion came from one of the assistant weavers, who also performed a few steps of awkwardness and shyness, which in Tolkut’s mind were absolutely unnecessary.

  He praised the assistant weaver. That’s an excellent suggestion! Someone should find a ball, a box, everything they can—anything that comes to mind and that has a clear, unambiguous name—and bring it to the alien’s cell. As a precaution, he added, But be sure not to include anything that could be used as a weapon.