Nor Crystal Tears

by Alan Dean Foster

  “It could have been meteoric material, but I think not,” said the analyzer. “See the way the metal folds and twists back on itself there at the leading edges? And there, along the support beams, surely that’s the mark of heavy-energy weaponry.”

  “Possibly,” murmured the first observer. She was more interested now in the after section of the ship.

  “No response to inquiries, sir,” Communications announced. Broh mulled that over. Coupled with the signs of severe damage, everything indicated that they were looking at a dead ship, a wandering derelict. He put the thought to the council.

  “It could be a clever trap,” suggested the second observer. “The damage could have been falsified to lure us close enough to be taken before we had a chance to signal. Such a ploy would be typical of the AAnn.”

  “If that’s the case,” said Broh, “we’ll know in less than a timepart.”

  If the alien was a thangner hiding in its silken burrow, it was a most patient one. It continued to coast as they approached, its engines apparently quite dead. Not a hint of energy issued from the three cone projectors.

  “If that’s a decoy, it’s fooled me,” Communications muttered.

  Broh frowned inwardly. It was not the communicator’s place to offer such a comment. He would have to speak with the officer later.

  “Still nothing on all bands,” the communicator said coolly. “Trying unassigned frequencies now. I’ll run the whole spectrum.”

  The images on screen two shifted. “There appears,” the analyzer pointed out judiciously, “to be damage to the main body of the vessel as well as to the projection units.”

  Broh made a clicking sound, gestured. “Bring us around toward the main body, then.”

  Slowly the Zinramm changed direction toward the stern of the strange craft. Now they could see a few weak lights glowing from behind intact ports. These were located mostly near the upper rearmost section of the ship. The ports were circular instead of triangular, but no one on the Zinramm’s bridge made the obvious lewd comments. The main body was larger than that of the Zinramm—larger than that of most Thranx vessels—but, save for the few dimly illuminated ports, the alien craft was dark as night.

  Broh whistled into the communicator that hung from his headset to activate the proper section of the Zinramm’s internal communications system. “Outside? Anzeljermeit, I want a burrowing party of five.”

  “Five, Captain?” came the querulous acknowledgment.

  “Five should be sufficient. I do not believe the damage to this alien is camouflage. And if it is, it will make no difference how many are in the group.”

  “Arms, sir?”

  Broh hesitated. For this he had prescribed procedure to draw upon.

  “Small arms only. In one-tenth of a timepart. Lock six.”

  “We’ll be ready, sir.”

  Broh rose from his saddle, turned to the science council. “I have no power to compel you but I would like it very much if you—”

  The second observer cut him off with a concomitant gesture of apology. “This is what we live for, Captain. Such a moment is the joy of a life. You could not keep us from boarding that marvelous mystery if you wished to. There is hardly a need to ask us to accompany you.”

  “I thought as much.” Broh’s gesture indicated mild amusement mixed with high gratification. “The law requires that I ask.”

  “Of course,” said the third observer. “Let us not waste any more time in discussion of the accepted.”

  The five Outside specialists were suited and waiting in lock six when Broh and the science council arrived. The Zinramm would not dock with the alien vessel. Broh was not that confident of the derelict’s harmlessness, so the party moved from the lock into a small shuttlecraft, one normally used for conveying explorers to the surface of a solid body.

  The lock sealed behind them. Anzeljermeit, leader of the Outsiders, fired the shuttle’s engines very briefly. The shuttle slipped free of its compartment and out into space, angling toward the intimidating bulk of the alien ship. Anzeljermeit’s four subordinates struggled to maintain the pose of professional indifference, but there was no mistaking their tense posture.

  The alien was perhaps half again the size of the Zinramm. The perfect spherical body was unsettling to those on the shuttle. They were used to ships, those of the AAnn as well, that boasted a comforting alignment of planes and sharp angles. A vessel shaped as a smooth globe was something most disturbing.

  At least the skin of the alien was marred by the expected projections. Antennae and samplers were more or less recognizable. Several blunt nozzles were not, though if they were anything but the business ends of weapons Broh would have been much surprised. They remained comfortingly angled away from the approaching shuttle and the motionless mass of the now distant Zinramm.

  Anzeljermeit carefully adjusted the attitude of the shuttle, directing it around the flank of the alien and toward the stern. It did not take long to locate what had to be an exterior lock. The officer barely touched the maneuvering rockets. Tiny puffs of gas flared from the shuttle’s sides, moving it closer to the alien before firming its position in space.

  The lock opening was no less aberrant than the shape of the alien ship. It was a squared ellipsoid, nothing like the familiar triangular hatches on the Zinramm. It looked a lot more like an AAnn airlock. The several similarities were beginning to trouble Broh. The shape of the lock was the first unarguable sign they had that the aliens might physically be related to the AAnn.

  Boarding would be no problem. The tube that would extend from the shuttle was flexible and would conform itself to the alien opening while sealing tightly. Broh gave the necessary orders.

  The Outside officer adjusted the shuttle slightly, so that it presented its left side to the stern of the alien. The boarding tube extended and secured itself to the alien craft. There was a pause while checks were performed.

  “Mating completed,” Anzeljermeit announced tersely.

  There was no reaction from the alien ship. Now Broh had to make a more difficult decision. To enter the alien they might have to blow the lock cover, an action that could be interpreted as offensive. Since no hint of life had manifested itself from the ship, he’d come to believe she was truly a derelict, floating free, engines as dead as her crew following an armed encounter.

  But the few feeble lights showed that some power remained on board. Even a dead ship might boast automatic defenses. Therefore he dearly wanted to avoid having to blow the lock.

  Anzeljermeit left two of his people in charge of the shuttle to relay information from the burrowing party to the Zinramm’s secondary scientific complement. Broh knew that in the event of trouble they were to return immediately to the Zinramm. While interrank relationships were reasonably casual on board Thranx ships, discipline was absolute when invoked.

  The suited burrowing party entered the shuttle’s lock, which closed behind them. The three sections of the outside door slid apart and they floated into the connection tube.

  Ahead lay the exterior of the alien ship. The skin was painted black or composed of some black metal. It did not shine the comfortable silver of the Zinramm. It was with some relief that Broh had noticed earlier it was also not the garish orange of an AAnn craft. Crowded together in the narrow confines of the boarding tube they pondered what to do next.

  The Outsiders had brought solid charges for blowing the lock if that proved necessary. Broh let the science council take its time studying the lock configuration.

  They quickly discovered several hinged covers, which when raised, revealed contact disks. These were perfunctorily inspected. The observers conferred, then the first spoke to Broh via suit communicator. “We believe these to be simple, if bulky, controls for operating the lock, as should be present on any such entryway in the event of internal power failure.”

  “They could also,” the second observer noted grudgingly, “be a method for inducing anyone trying to enter to blow himself toward the nea
rest star.”

  “An assumption that presupposes both paranoia and belligerence,” said the third observer. “Two qualities which I would prefer not to ascribe to the builders of this vessel.”

  “We’re not debating preferences, but actualities,” said the second observer. “However, I naturally defer to the majority opinion.” He moved toward the rear of the tube. “You activate the controls. I will wait here.”

  The third observer made a gesture indicative of acceptance coupled with hopeful anticipation and just a smidgen of mild amusement. She turned and reached with a suited truhand for the lower of the two exposed disks. The Outside officer and his companions waited impassively, not having been allowed to retreat.

  Broh’s inclination was to agree with the majority of observers, but he wished their decision to try the lock controls had been unanimous.

  As the third observer depressed the disk the lock hatch promptly slid up into the wall of the ship. A brightly lit chamber was exposed beyond. A second hatch showed ahead. They were indeed entering an airlock, then.

  It was more than large enough to hold them all, including the recalcitrant second observer who floated behind, grumbling but willing to admit he’d been wrong.

  Corresponding disks were sunk in the interior wall. Their function was simple to divine. When all seven burrowers were inside, the third observer depressed the counterpart to the outside disk. The exterior lock door slid shut.

  There was faint motion in the lock. Sound sensors detected the whistle of escaping gas. Lock pressurization was automatic. Suit instrumentation immediately analyzed the gas. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that the atmosphere that had been injected into the lock was technically breathable.

  “Oxygen breathers like us,” murmured the first observer as she settled to the floor. “Artificial gravity perhaps a tiny bit stronger than ours.”

  “Also like the AAnn,” Broh pointed out.

  “Not exactly like us.” The second observer was studying his suit instruments. “Check your climatology readings.”

  The atmosphere that now filled the lock was breathable, but desperately cold and almost unbelievably dry. Since the air had been provided promptly there was no reason to assume that either factor was the result of a malfunction in the ship’s systems, though such a possibility could not be ruled out.

  Broh stared disbelievingly at his humidity indicator, which registered close to zero. As the third observer pointed out, that was disconcertingly like the climate the AAnn were known to prefer.

  “That much is true,” the second observer admitted. “The lack of reasonable moisture in the air here is indeed similar to suspected AAnn home planetery conditions. However, the temperature in this lock is low enough to kill them even faster than it would doom us.”

  “Maybe,” the first suggested, “this ship’s automatic monitors are functioning properly save for a breakdown in the heating elements.”

  “That’s possible,” Broh agreed, breaking into the learned discussion lest it grow too esoteric, “but as near as I can tell everything else seems to be functioning properly. I fear we must assume that holds true for the temperature controls the same as everything else.”

  “A frozen race,” the Outside officer muttered.

  “Of course,” the first observer continued after making a polite gesture in recognition of the officer’s comment coupled with mild condescension toward one of inferior mental powers, “allies of the AAnn would not necessarily have to enjoy the same climate as the AAnn, any more than their ships would have to be based on similar designs.”

  “True enough.” The third looked thoughtful. “I’ve been fortunate enough to have had the chance to study the interior of a captured AAnn vessel. I can say that insofar as airlocks are concerned, the differences between that ship and this one are considerable. I reserve final judgment until we have seen more of this one, of course.”

  There was a crackling in Broh’s headset, an urgent flurry of inquisitive clicks and whistles.

  “Captain, sir?” said a slightly distorted voice.

  “Speaking.” Broh’s reply was sharper than he intended.

  “It’s nothing specific, sir.” Broh recognized the voice of the Outsider manning the shuttle. “But we hadn’t heard from you since instruments showed that you’d boarded the alien and closed the lock door behind you.”

  “My error,” Broh replied. “We should have checked back with you sooner. The builders of this ship remain unknown and,” he glanced for confirmation at the science council, “at least so far there is nothing to indicate they are AAnn or AAnn-allied. You may relay this very tentative and preliminary information back to the Zinramm.”

  “And happy they’ll be to hear it, too—tentative though it may be,” the other Outsider on the shuttle commented.

  “We’ve spent enough time here.” Broh moved to the hatch barring the far end of the lock and studied the controls. They were duplicates of those outside the ship. He touched what should have been the proper one for opening the door. Nothing happened. He tried the other, with the same disappointing result.

  “Try them in opposite sequence,” suggested the first observer. Broh did so and was rewarded when the hatch slid sideways into the wall. The outer hatch had retracted upward. Broh wondered idly if the disparity of direction was functional, aesthetic, or designed to satisfy some sense he could not imagine.

  A corridor gleamed beyond, brightly lit and beckoning. They cautiously exited the lock, pausing repeatedly to marvel at various peculiar aspects of the walls and ceiling. The science council continually had to be urged onward, or they would have spent a timepart arguing over the function and purpose of each tiny control or extrusion.

  As they moved deeper into the alien ship the party encountered smoke. Broh and the Outsiders kept their hands close to their holstered stingers, their attention on each new doorway and opening.

  The lighting was harsh, though whether this was due to damage or intention they had no way of knowing. Broh wondered at the sources of the smoke. They paused at one complex instrument panel that was a flickering galaxy of exploding sparks and melted metal. Broh studied the ruined panel and the metal that had run beneath it, then moved on to examine a similar console that was still intact. It boasted a screen in its center and bulky controls below.

  More interesting was the saddle set into the deck before it. It had to be a saddle, since it seemed an unlikely place to put an abstract sculpture. It was much higher off the floor than any Thranx could manage. Not that they could have rested on it even if it had been lower. It was impossibly small and flat, yet very different from the AAnn saddles the science council had studied.

  “I don’t see how that could belong to any large intelligent creature,” the first observer said. “It seems too small to support anything but a krep-size animal, yet everything else aboard this ship hints that it was built and used by large creatures. The dichotomy is puzzling.”

  “It seems certain that whoever they are, they’re completely alien,” Broh said. The Outsiders’ nervousness increased.

  Every screen they encountered thereafter was placed well above normal eye level. Only standing on one’s hind legs would enable one to see the topmost controls. Everything save the peculiar stunted saddles pointed to creatures larger than the Thranx or the AAnn.

  They moved deeper into the ship, pausing at regular intervals to check in with the two Outsiders running the shuttle.

  The one thing Broh had wished for and which they hadn’t encountered were alien atmosphere suits. Used, perhaps, while abandoning ship? Stored elsewhere? He didn’t know, but his mental reconstruction of this ship’s crew was not very pleasant.

  Still, his conceptions might be way out of line. The drindars of Hivehom, for example, though primitive dumb creatures, could conceivably fit the alien saddles.

  They entered a new chamber, much larger than any they’d seen so far, and found long platforms and dozens of small saddles that were not fastened to th
e decking.

  “A communal meeting hall,” suggested the second observer. “For the carrying out of clan rituals, perhaps?”

  “Maybe,” the third murmured, “but something makes me think otherwise.”

  They walked through it into still another room of uncertain function. It was filled with a profusion of portable devices. Rummaging through cabinets that opened to the touch, one of the subordinate Outsiders discovered a collection of what appeared to be personal items.

  “Utensils, possibly,” suggested the first observer.

  They crowded around the tiny collection of alien artifacts. There were open-ended containers and low-relief concave slabs of vitreous material. Nowhere did Broh see anything resembling a drinking vessel. Surely the crew of the ship consumed liquids, Broh thought.

  They found other devices of obscure purpose, but a whole drawer was full of knives, something with an oval scoop attached to one end, and a multipronged tool that resembled a miniature fishing spear.

  “I believe their intake would not prove entirely bizarre,” said the second observer. “It’s possible we might be able to eat some of the same food.”

  That brought forth a thoroughly disgusted noise from one of the Outsiders, for which he promptly performed a gesture of third-degree apology, mixed with two degrees of embarrassment.

  “An experiment that I would prefer to forgo for now,” Broh said, fighting to conceal his own distaste at the thought.

  Since there was no other way out of the room they returned the way they’d come, through the chamber of the long platforms and inflexible stunted saddles, and into the corridor beyond.

  They continued on into the bowels of the ship and soon found a new chamber filled with fresh mysteries. There were multiple platforms, but they differed considerably from those in the meeting hall. There were also small videoscreens and a great many garish objects decorating the walls. To everyone’s delight, these platforms resembled nothing so much as enormous sleeping lounges.