Retread Shop 1: First Contact

by T. Jackson King

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Jack looked up as his name was called. About 70 feet from the foot of the ramp he saw a yellow toga-clad Horem who looked like his friend, Sargon. He glanced over at Colleen, gathering her in with a look of his eye. They were in this together now. Each of them carrying their duffle bag, two somewhat scared humans stepped out of the crowd gathered at the bottom of the ramp.

  As he and Colleen reached the side of Sargon, the Horem gave them a practiced smile. They turned around and watched as the other humans approached. At a gesture from Sargon, the human delegation turned aside to a receiving line of three Horem, two Zik and an Arrik. Each Human identified themselves, received their comdisk, stretched out their right arm for injection of the monitor chip, received their host assignment, and moved forward to meet their Compact host. Jack and Colleen stood patiently beside Sargon and his group.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The process is going well, Sargon thought, as Compact hosts collected Humans about them like crystals forming out of a supersaturated solution. But after watching three-fourths of the bipeds be processed, Life-Who-Is-Song activated their closed Command circuit. The disk’s Privacy Shield kept anyone else from hearing their conversation.

  “Compact Mate,” Life said, “one of the Humans emotes a strong intent to harm us. I empath images of hate, anger, fear and of explosions within Hekar. I have been percepting the human’s mind for several minutes now and it is clear this sapient plans an active threat to us.” The Strelka uncoiled, ready for action, ready for a blood Hunt, while T’Klose looked at Life sharply, clearly wondering what had upset the Strelka. “The threat is the male who is eleventh from the rear of the line. Hekar should be able to identify the Human from its records of the group.”

  A hoverbot came close. “Watch Commander, the subject Human is Henri Duvalier, a French botanist specializing in Amazonian plants,” Hekar said over Sargon’s comdisk. “He is single, 39 years of age, belongs to the French Socialist party, and is a member of their Academy of Sciences. However, he is also listed as a Penitent level member of Pastor Hartman’s Church of the Revealed Word of Christ.” Sargon gestured the Alert sign to T’Klose, who spread wide his wings. “The Church has actively opposed Contact and views us as representatives of an evil supernatural entity. I believe we are called ‘devils and demons of Satan.’ It is possible the Human’s mind is unbalanced,” the Core AI said.

  Sargon looked closely at the swarthy, dark-haired man and considered his options in this crowd of sapients. He moved quickly, stepping out ten meters to one side of the processing line, and called to the Frenchman.

  “Monsieur Duvalier, would you please step out of the line and come over to me?” he called out. “I would like to visit with you.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Henri Duvalier, eyes fixed on the Horem leader, wondered whether his holy mission had been betrayed. He prayed to God it hadn’t. Moving toward the satanic alien, his heart began to pulse rapidly and adrenaline flooded his veins. He stopped four meters from the Horem at the alien’s signal.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Monsieur Duvalier, I have been informed you intend harm and destruction to Hekar and those aboard it,” Sargon said, watching the Human closely. “What is your response?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Henri Duvalier saw the face of the Beast before him, the hated imitation of the form of God which it was foretold the Antichrist would show to the world. He had been briefed by Pastor Hartman himself, who had assigned him the responsibility of destroying the fusion engines of the devil-ship. He had been cautioned to be circumspect in his conduct, to draw no attention to himself, and to blend in with the excited attitudes of the other three French representatives.

  On board Tekar he had swallowed his gorge at the touch of the aliens, had suffered being close to their demonic forms, had done all that was asked of him. But now, facing the ruin of the Church’s carefully laid plans, facing discovery and torment by Satan’s minions, his mind lost its precarious control of the facade he had affected. Filled with loathing, Duvalier pulled out the glass rapier stuck to his left underarm and launched himself at the Beast.

  “Devil! Demon of Satan! I slay you in the name of—”

  “Craaack!”

  The blinding yellow light of a free-electron laser speared down from one of the ceiling weapons pods to enter Henri Duvalier’s cranium, pass through his body, and exit to flare on the deck near his left foot. As the thunderous crack of displaced air molecules reached the Humans and Compact aliens gathered nearby, the lifeless body jerked and twitched in galvanic shock, then collapsed in a heap of smoking, blackened flesh boiled free of most of its water molecules.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The lump of flesh that was Henri Duvalier had become a pillar of black smoke. It lay just two meters from Sargon, having traveled only a small distance before Hekar Core heard the threat, saw the action and ordered the response.

  Turning away to join the shocked Humans gathered by Life-Who-Is-Song, Sargon looked into the faces of Jack and Colleen to see how they dealt with the death of a fellow Human. Jack looked straight at him with a speculative gaze, no hint of anger in his face. Colleen’s face showed revulsion and disgust, but the angle of her eyes showed she was focusing this emotion upon the smoking remains of Duvalier. As he strode up to them, her gaze shifted to look at him and he saw curiosity in her green eyes. Her look seemed to say “Well, that’s over with now—what’s next on the agenda?”

  Sargon nodded at them in the Human gesture of acknowledgement. Then he looked out past them to the flat, mostly hairless, mostly pale faces of the gathered Humans. The processing had been interrupted and this looked like a good chance to drive home a point not made in the Entry agreement presented to each Human before Earth orbit departure. It was also time to reveal two of Hekar’s secrets.

  “Humans, Mr. Duvalier was a member of a theological order that sought to harm us and Hekar,” Sargon said, clasping his arms behind his back and ignoring T’Klose’s wildly flapping wings. “His attack on me was terminated by a Defense laser under the control of our sentient Core computer Hekar. His desire to actively harm us was detected by my empathic Strelka colleague Life-Who-Is-Song.”

  Sargon strode forward, his motion serving to focus attention upon him, his every Command sense at fever pitch. “You should all realize that the means and tools for self-defense at the command of the Compact are many, varied and not always known to you. We know several of you covertly represent various Human governments as ‘spies,’ but we care little about passive espionage. In fact, Hekar will provide you with access to a private surface blister for transmittal of messages to your controllers if you do not wish to use our communication systems.” Several Humans showed facial looks indicative of surprise. Good, Hekar could analyze their images later. “So long as any Human does not try to harm Hekar or the people of the Compact, your personal, ideological and professional motivations will be your own concern.”

  A tall, black-skinned Human moved out the group. It was the American Vice President Alexander Kinsey. The man raised his right hand. “Watch Commander Sargon, I regret the actions of Mr. Duvalier. Most humans are peaceful and the members of this group wish only to share knowledge, make friends and agree on Trade deals.”

  Sargon flared his headcrest. “So we understand. Hopefully you and other group leaders will make sure your people act that way.” T’Klose moved up beside Sargon and laid a wing over Sargon’s left shoulder. The Arrik growled at the assembled Humans. “However, I warn you all a last time. Do not enter a prime habitat without permission. Do not access the ship’s outer surface. Do not enter the Military Compound. And do not enter the Drive compartments without an invitation.” The strange, non-yellow eyes of the Humans stared at him. A few of the nearly hairless bipeds looked angry, some perhaps fearful, but all were attentive. So be it. This was his home and T’Klose’s. “If you are in doubt, speak to Hekar the AI through your comdisk. It will answer your question immediately. Remem
ber, you are guests in our home and you should act accordingly.” The warning given, Sargon nodded at T’Klose, who stepped aside, claw-hands hanging stiffly at his side as he looked quickly from Sargon to the Humans, and back, as if he dared anyone to harm Sargon.

  A second Human male stepped up to stand beside Kinsey. “All of us understand the conditions of our entry to Hekar,” said UN General Secretary Raoul Espinoza. “We will all abide by your rules.”

  “Good.” He looked aside to his Liaison. “Jack and Colleen, shall we depart for Horem?” Life followed T’Klose over to the other Compact members handling the Human registration. Sargon gestured to them. “My colleagues will complete the processing and assignment of the rest of you Humans.”

  “I’m ready,” Jack said, shifting the strap of his duffle.

  “Me too,” Colleen said as she blink-activated her shoulder sat-vid imager.

  Sargon had earlier approved McIntyre’s vidcast recording. Which was going out live by a link to a surface radio transmitter. Humans on Earth were seeing everything the delegation saw and experienced, just 17.82 minutes later. With a few parting words to his colleagues, Sargon boarded a floating transit disk with his Human friends and told it to head for the Horem habitat. All the way home, he wondered just how the mass of Humans on Earth would react to the image of that Human being killed. It was the first Human death linked to their Contact. Would justifiable self-defense matter? Would the First Contact be jeopardized? For Earth’s sake, and that of Hekar, he hoped not.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Jack and Colleen passed through the Horem habitat entry portal. They walked across the hard packed clay, rock and lichen grass of an equatorial plateau from Horem. The two approached a 20 meter wide circular pit in the rock of the plateau that looked like a man-made sinkhole. Looking down Jack saw it was a green atrium filled with a central pond, green plants and lots of Horem. Following Sargon’s tall, slender form down the stone access ramp, they entered a circumferential hallway lighted here and there by fluorescent light squares. Making a turn, the Tennesseans exited into the central, atrium garden—and got a cultural shock.

  Facing them were twenty or more Horem in varying postures of standing, sitting, reclining, lolling, bathing or moving about. They ranged in age from a few youngsters to aged elders. The adults were nearly all clothed either in the standard toga or a color-coded jumpsuit. But the brown-furred children moved about without any clothes on at all. Plates of food and drink glasses were scattered next to floor cushions, low divans and block seats. Jack got the impression they had just walked into a family potluck celebration.

  A stately female Horem whom he took to be Sargon’s mate Lux Bethrin Arax approached them, dressed in light yellow toga robes like those of Sargon.

  “Friends, welcome to Clan Arax. I am Bethrin.” She grinned—which looked human natural despite the extra incisors. “Will you share water, food and rest with us?”

  Well now, talk about “when in Rome . . .” he thought briefly. Giving Colleen encouraging smile, Jack Harrigan stepped into the unknown.

  “Friends, we happily accept your hospitality. Where do we dump our bags?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Colleen, dressed in a pale yellow Horem toga whose off-the-shoulder style showed her right breast to delightful advantage, caught Jack’s eye. They were both in the third hour of non-stop eating, visiting, touching, speculating and sharing with the gathered Clan Arax.

  To Jack, being Friends with the Horem was a combination of a Sunday evening church social, a Jewish wedding reception, a potluck dinner among close friends, and a nudist camp. He had been unable to keep his eyes off Persa, the heavily pregnant daughter of Sargon. After he and Colleen dropped their bags at the atrium entrance and plunged into introductions and greetings, Jack had watched her slip off her toga and step easily into the wide, hexagon-shaped pool at the atrium’s center for a refreshing soak. She looked like most pregnant human females—except for the four small breasts which filled her chest above an enlarged abdomen. And for the red-streaked feathery headcrest where humans had long hair.

  Their turn eventually came when, with relaxed politeness, Bethrin invited him and Colleen to enter the pool, where she and Sargon already sat unclothed. Since the organized Brownian movement of Clan Arax often resulted in several adults dropping their clothes in the midst of eating or conversation to take a relaxing dip, Jack and Colleen pulled off their jumpsuits and joined the sociableness. The Horem seemed interested in his bare-skinned, lightly-tanned frame and in Colleen’s white-skinned, red-haired form. Jack admired the velvety brown fur of the Horem, their intense yellow eyes and the retractable claws on their fingers and toes. After brief looks, their neighbors went back to their back scrubbing, discussions and soaking. Jack had a much harder time putting Colleen’s physical attractions out of his mind, it being several days in-flight since they last shared love. But the present wasn’t the time to exhibit the benefits of year-round sexual receptiveness!

  After the bath they both put on green togas and rejoined the swirling crowds of almost familiar people.

  People called Horem. People who didn’t match the sudden death image of lightning-struck, smoking human flesh he’d seen just hours ago.

  Sargon’s sister approached him, holding out a ceramic platter of fruits, breads and sweets. She was Arel Grethel Alis, a mature woman who quite nicely filled her yellow jumpsuit. She had, he’d heard, married the only son of a now-deceased Horem Clan Coordinator. Her two adult children and adolescent male grandchild were present elsewhere at the gathering. He knew her as a well-respected specialist in biomedical analysis programs. Colleen had told him her programs were used in searching the Compact’s multi-species medical database for medicines and treatments useful to other species. In short she was one of the Compact researchers who year after year sought nuggets of value in the massive databases maintained by each Compact species on Hekar. Now seated across from him, the very feminine werewolf called Grethel excitedly explained the value of quinine to the Compact.

  “Jack, after we analyzed the quinine sample brought back by the Chennai Probe team, we identified several uses for this unusual alkaloid.” Her yellow eyes smiled at him. They were far more convincing than their imitation grins. “As in Humans, we think it may be useful in controlling central nervous system spasms and fevers in Horems, while in the Arrik it seems to protect their copper-based blood cells from parasitic intrusions. Of course, the drug can only be used for D-L amino acid-based lifeforms. But it does show some promise in interspecies pharmacology,” she summarized.

  “That’s very interesting,” Jack said, working to show interest in something he knew little about. “I’m sure Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Java and India will be pleased to learn their cinchona trees will be useful for barter Trade with you.” Colleen glanced over at him from her own cluster of aliens, frowning at his dry sarcasm. He tried to do better. “However, I’m also curious about your reactions to humans. You’ve monitored our broadcasts for years now and also visited Earth. How do we compare with the other species of the Compact?”

  Grethel, her eyes brightly shining, looked both serious and excited. His few visits with Sargon now helped him read a few of her innate body posture clues. But it was a strange body language. She leaned forward.

  “Well Jack, the most distinctive thing about you Humans is how similar you are to us Horem. To find a bipedal, mammalian lifeform so like us was quite unexpected,” Grethel growled in her native Horem, which the comdisk quickly translated to English. “And female breasts to suckle the young are an extremely specialized adaptation.” Jack liked the multiple breasts of Horem women, even if they were velvet-furred. “The laws of random mathematical permutations, of DNA combinations and of planetary evolutionary processes suggest that sapient life elsewhere will almost always be physiologically different from we Horem. And you Humans.” She shrugged, causing her Biomedical Researcher’s jumpsuit to show her nice curves. Damn! He had to get out of sex-hormone mode and in
to friendly chat mode. “But of course randomization also means two unlikely events can co-occur close together in space and time.” Gods, how could he come close to the intellect of these aliens? He’d just thought the humanoid form was a natural way for people to look. “The next most unusual thing about you Humans is your militarism—you’re only the second militaristic society known to the Compact, besides the Arrik,” Grethel said. “Frankly, we of the Compact find your continuous societal combat over the millennia to be peculiar. A little violence within the species is healthy in the evolutionary context. But you Humans make your conflicts into an art form called War.”

  Jack, thinking of several books he’d read in earlier years by the authors Robert Ardrey and E. O. Wilson, rummaged through his memories in search of an intelligent response.

  “Grethel, I once read it’s part and parcel of the human condition to be violent and to engage in war.” That, at least, caught her attention. Maybe he could compete in these high-powered think sessions. “An author I read long ago pointed out that no matter how we intellectually condemn war, humanity must recognize the wolf in itself before it can begin to contemplate giving up war.” Grethel nodded slowly, her manner intent. “Despite the devastation of two nuclear weapon uses, we still exhibit instinctive territorial defense to any stranger. Which for most of our history has been other, more distant humans.” Grethel’s headcrest flared in a body-language he knew nothing about. “However, a science-fiction character once said something very insightful. We humans are warlike, but we can choose to not make war today, day by day, thereby controlling our impulses. So far we’ve avoided global nuclear war. And your coming changes everything—we may never have war again!”