Nor Crystal Tears

by Alan Dean Foster

  “The first real indication of any physical similarity,” said the Outside officer. “Perhaps they are more like us than we thought.”

  “Then how do you explain those impossible little saddles?” asked one of the two subordinates.

  “I don’t,” the officer replied. Without waiting for word from a member of the science council he elected to climb up onto one of the lounges, that being as good a name for them as anything.

  “How is it?” the subordinate wondered.

  “Almost normal. Comfortable, even.” He glanced over at his captain. “Permission to remove suits, sir.”

  “I don’t know …”

  The first observer nudged him. “Let him. The experiment should be tried. The air tests acceptably well.”

  “If you concur,” Broh said reluctantly. He signed to the officer.

  Carefully Anzeljermeit unsealed the right-center portion of his suit, exposing his thorax to the alien air. After an anxious pause, he did the same to the seals covering his spicules on the left side. His thorax pulsed.

  “Reaction?” inquired the third observer.

  The reply came as a momentary gasp, grew slowly stronger and more normal. “Dry enough to rust your blood. It’s a bit of a shock.” He unsealed and flipped back the upper section of the suit, including the transparent headpiece, and sat unsuited to the shoulders. His antennae fluttered, then spread unrestrained as he sampled the air.

  “You can smell the dryness, and the cold chills your guts, but those details aside, it is quite breathable, as the instruments indicated. Add a lot of moisture to it and cook it some and I’d say it would be comfortable enough. What is your opinion, Quoz?”

  The Outsider standing next to the lounge unsealed the upper third of her own suit and flipped it back. Now two pairs of antennae waggled freely in the chamber.

  “I agree,” she finally said, with somewhat more enthusiasm than her superior. “It’s quite palatable.”

  The first observer began to unseal her own suit. “I, for one, am tired of canned air. It’s not every day one has the opportunity to sample an alien atmosphere.”

  Soon they were all working at their suit seals, keeping the lower section in place and well heated. Lounging on the peculiar alien platform, Anzeljermeit watched them easily, pleased in the knowledge that he’d been the one with the courage to go first. Then he made a gesture of uncertainty compounded by concern and sat up fast.

  “Where’s Iel?” He looked toward the far corners of the chamber, his gaze coming to rest on the doorway leading out into the corridor beyond.

  The other Outsider turned a slow circle. “I don’t know, sir,”

  The officer slid off the lounge. “I’ll have his rank for this. Wandering off without authorization.”

  “Gently go, sir. You know Iel. Impulsive and easily bored. Well, maybe not impulsive, but incautious.”

  “That may not matter much on board the Zinramm, but here we—”

  Distant, frantic whistling sounded from somewhere far away.

  “Quickly!” the officer commanded.

  Suits were hurriedly resealed and the burrowing party rushed in the direction of the whistles. They hadn’t gone far from the chamber with the lounges when Outsider Iel rounded a far corner, running on all sixes as if the Ruler of the Distant Darkness itself were after him. On their suit communicators they could hear his frantic breathing, his breaths coming in short, tight gasps.

  “So something’s given you a good scare, has it?” said Anzeljermeit sharply, not immediately noticing the attitude with which the Outsider held himself, antennae folded flat back inside his suit, mandibles clenched so tightly together Broh thought they must shatter. “Serves you damn well right, too, for going off on—” His voice faded like a fast-moving breeze.

  A thing had materialized in the corridor behind the terrified Iel.

  It raced in pursuit of him, moving with horridly fluid loping movements of its lower limbs. The massive shape towered over the diminutive Iel. It seemed to fill the corridor, though in reality it was not all that large. Its voice was a deep-throated thunder that reminded Broh of Hivehom’s more dangerous carnivores.

  Surely that’s what it had to be, a beast escaped from some on-board holding pen or traveling zoo. But it wore clothing, and moved with more than feral purpose. Despite what his revolted insides shouted, Broh knew it had to be one of the alien crew.

  It continued to utter incomprehensible noises as it chased Iel. Broh drew his stinger but determined not to fire until the last possible moment.

  At that point the abomination noticed the burrowing party crowded together at the end of the corridor. It halted abruptly, generated a tremendously violent sound that rattled Broh’s head, and vanished back the way it had come.

  Outsider Iel finally reached them and skidded to a stop. He started to say something. Then a shadow darkened his ommatidia and he keeled over on his left side. His superior and Broh bent over him, dividing their attention between the unconscious Iel and the now deserted corridor.

  Broh watched while Anzeljermeit inspected his subordinate. “He doesn’t appear to be injured, sir,” the officer finally concluded. “His suit is intact and the seals don’t seem to have been breached—but it’s difficult to tell, since they’re self-repairing. In any case, his breathing is normal, if labored.”

  “You mean he does not appear to have been injured physically.” The third observer was gazing with a mixture of awe and revulsion down the corridor. He made a gesture of astonishment mixed with fourth-degree worry.

  “I don’t wonder that he went comatose,” the first observer said. “Did you see the thing clearly? What an impossible organism!”

  “Surely it was one of the crew.” Broh rose to his feet.

  “Much as I would like to think otherwise, I fear I must concur,” said the second observer.

  The captain’s attention was on the still empty corridor. “No telling how many of them there are. However, we must keep in mind that this one carried no weapon.”

  “If that was an attempt at a friendly greeting,” said Anzeljermeit, “I’ll eat my left leg.”

  “Which one?” asked Quoz.

  “Both of them. And without spices.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no question but that violence was directed toward Iel,” Broh murmured regretfully. Things had not gone as he’d hoped. He rechecked his stinger’s charge. “Fall back to the shuttle. Have the Zinramm send over another. I want a full complement of our Outsiders here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Anzeljermeit whistled into his suit pickup preparatory to contacting his unit.

  “Rifles as well as small arms this time,” Broh added reluctantly.

  “Your pardon, Captain,” the third observer said, “but is that wise at this point? Admittedly I would not have liked to exchange positions with that poor fellow a moment ago, but surely we have matured beyond mere shape-fear? We must try to contact them.”

  “So we will,” Broh agreed, “but I must note, with all due respect, that you observers are my responsibility, as are all on board the Zinramm. I am instructed according to procedure to use the most extreme caution should any new alien intelligence be encountered. I have seen nothing thus far that would induce me to relax such procedure.” He continued to stare down the corridor, trying to visualize once again the horror that had charged at them. “Least of all would I relax it now.”

  “As you command,” said the third observer. “While it is not complementary to what is supposed to be my scientific attitude, I must admit that your position is perfectly understandable.”

  “Me also.” The second observer was visibly shaken. “Did you see the thing? I can barely allow that it may be intelligent.”

  “We have no absolute measure of that yet,” Broh said thoughtfully. “It is surely a member of the crew, but it may be a subordinate type. The real masters of this vessel may be another, higher species that employs the kind we saw for menial functions. Our ancestors had specialized fu
nctions. Primitive Thranx workers were of superior intelligence compared to ancient soldiers. We may simply have encountered an alien soldier, functional but comparatively mindless.”

  “A plausible theory,” the first observer admitted. “Or it may be a member of a different, less advanced race. The relationship may hold between two dissimilar species.”

  “Exactly. The one we’ve seen may have acted belligerently, but as yet no one has been hurt.” Broh turned to Anzeljermeit. “No one is to shoot until I give the orders.”

  “Very well, sir.” The officer was speaking rapidly into his suit communicator, relaying via the shuttle the request for reinforcements. He spent a moment listening, then spoke to the rest of the group. “Pilot says that she has requests from Science for a more detailed description of the alien being.”

  “In due time,” Broh told him. “We’ll provide visuals as well. And if we can persuade or capture one, the department will have it to study in person.”

  Again the officer relayed the message. “They say they’re not sure they’re ready for personal inspection and study, sir.”

  “They’d best prepare themselves.” Broh used his most authoritative tone. “That is our task. As an exploration team we must deal with the ugly as well as the beautiful. As to the request for a more detailed description of the alien, you may relay our initial impressions.”

  “I don’t know if the computer will settle for the simple declaration that the alien ship is crewed by monsters,” murmured the second observer.

  “It will have to, for now,” said the third. “Unscientific and emotional the description may be, but it has the virtue of concision. It should prepare the crew for actual contact.”

  They waited in the corridor, unconsciously edging toward the airlock, their eyes working constantly lest the nightmare spring upon them again before reinforcements could arrive from the Zinramm.

  IV

  Fal turned up the volume on the teaching unit and nudged her current charge. The bulky, mottled-white mass stirred listlessly in the cradle. She spoke to it in a gently admonishing tone.

  It was Learning Time, yet Vii was dozing off. That was not permissible. Worse, it was not the first time. Tests revealed that Vii suffered from a minor chemical imbalance that could be overcome through intensive conditioning and without the use of drugs. Conditioning was safer, but harder on the Nurses.

  So Fal devoted more time to Vii than to the others. She held her patience as she prodded the would-be sleeper back to wakefulness. While she waited for any questions she thought again about the message she’d received from her clan cousin Brohwelporvot.

  It had been many years since she’d actually seen him, that day long ago when he’d arrived in Paszex for her Emerging. He’d been introduced to her newly adult form by the clanmother of the Sa. Though only related to the Sa, the clan was still inordinately proud of him because of their connection to the Por. Willow-wane was a colonial world and Paszex in its most primitive region, so there was little for the town’s clans to boast about. Through connection with the Por clan of Hivehom they could claim Brohwelporvot as a relative, and he was no less than a starship captain.

  For some reason Broh had taken a special liking to the new adult, and they corresponded intermittently over the years. Which made the most recent communication all the more unusual. Normally Brohwelporvot was the most prosaic and rational of correspondents. Yet his latest communication was not only rambling but infused with emotional overtones.

  The larva Vii broke into her thoughts with a question regarding the information being displayed on the teaching screen. Fal strained to understand the awkward larval words. Only a trained Nurse could easily comprehend the soft-mouthed babble of the young.

  She answered the question and then responded to the larva’s request by once again turning down the volume of the machine. She watched Vii carefully, but her insistence seemed to have finally produced the desired result and the larva gave no sign of drifting back to sleep.

  Yes, a very strange communication, Fal mused. If she hadn’t personally known its source she would almost have thought it hysterical. She considered reporting it to her clanmother. That would be a good idea, she decided. Perhaps a wiser head could make better sense of it. It could do no harm to seek another’s opinion, even if Broh had instructed her not to mention the content of the communication to anyone else. She would tell Ryo also, of course. It was his right, and his own intelligence might see to the heart of the garbled communication.

  Idly she checked the monitors set into the upper duty strap of her vest. Soon it would be bathing time. That was a chore she looked forward to; washing the grubs down, knowing that their pasty white flesh would soon give way to a jewel-like cocoon from which a new adult would eventually emerge fresh and glistening into the world. It gave Fal never-ending delight that she and her associates in the Nursery helped to bring about that miraculous transformation.

  After evening meal, when she and Ryo had settled down for a presleep of learning, entertainment, and conversation, she moved to the apartment console and ran the personal messages of the day. She slowed the one from Broh.

  “Isn’t it the most peculiar thing you’ve ever seen?” she asked him as the communication crawled slowly up the screen. “So emotional and so disjointed. It’s not like him at all, Ryo”

  But her mate hardly heard her. At first he’d concealed his boredom by listening politely to her concerns as they’d watched the message unravel. Lines and angles formed words before him.

  As the tone and content of the communication emerged, however, something pierced him like a surgical probe. He raised his head off the saddle cushion and stared fixedly at the screen. Fal he barely heard.

  When it was over there was a buzz and a light flashed to the left of the screen. Ryo immediately left his saddle and walked up to adjust the controls. The communication replayed, still slower this time.

  “You see what I mean, then,” she said, when the repeat had concluded and the screen displayed daily news. She leaned to the right and let her legs touch the floor.

  “Yes.” Ryo’s reply sounded thinly, as if he were trying to whistle through his spicules instead of his mandibles. That was a trick some Thranx could manage, but he didn’t seem to be doing it intentionally.

  “Well, what do you think of it?”

  “Think of it.” He turned to face her. His fingers were twisting in instinctive patterns indicative of great excitement. “It’s simply the most marvelous thing that’s ever happened!”

  That was not at all the reaction she’d expected from Ryo, though if she’d thought more deeply about it she might not have been so surprised. In fact, she might not have mentioned Brohwelporvot’s message at all.

  “It means we’ve found a completely new, completely alien space-going intelligence!”

  “A race of monsters, according to Broh.” Fal was put off by the strength and direction of his response.

  “Initial impressions count for nothing. I have to see them for myself, of course.”

  “That’s an amusing thought.”

  “I am very serious,” Ryo replied, adding an unmistakable gesture of fifth-degree assertiveness.

  “I don’t believe you. Why fill with dirt the burrow so laboriously excavated? You make less sense than that communication.”

  Because something inside me says that I have to do this, he thought. It all tied in somehow with what he thought he’d been missing all these years. The message of a frantic, distant relative had fanned the hidden ember into a forest blaze. Now it was too late to put it out.

  Fal was rambling, her voice and gestures full of bewilderment. “No sense, no sense. It’s not your place to do something like this. You cannot. What of your assignment, your work?”

  “It can be done by others.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You’re about to be promoted to Company council. The hive thinks well of you—And what of us? You have other responsibilities.” She slid off the lounge and f
irmly entwined antennae with him. “You have other responsibilities.” She caressed him warmly.

  He tried to think of a better way to put it, could not. “It’s a thing I have to do, Fal.”

  “But you don’t say why. Can’t you explain?”

  “No better than I already have.”

  She let loose his antennae, backed away. “I can’t accept decision without reason. You must not do this. I will not permit it.”

  But Ryo was already moving through the apartment, slipping on day vest and pouch, stocking items in his clothing. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’m able. I am sorry, Fal. There’s nothing else I can do.”

  “There is. Nothing is forcing you to do this.” She spaced each click and whistle deliberately.

  “I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” he said again. Then he was out the exitway and into the cool night corridor beyond.

  Fal stood in the center of the front room, stunned. It had happened so fast: he’d read the message, there’d been some excitement, a little talk, and then he was gone. On the way to far Hivehom and perhaps also to insanity. She was too fond of him to allow it. There was too much to throw away. She walked rapidly to the console.

  The Servitors met him halfway to the transport terminal, holding themselves a little more stiffly than was normal. They were not dispensing aid to the aged or collecting garbage now.

  “Good evening,” Ryo said, executing a hasty gesture of greeting.

  “Good eve to you, citizen,” said the leader of the group. There were four of them, all bigger than Ryo. Soldier throwbacks, he thought. He tried to step around them. They shifted to block his way.

  “Is something the matter?” he inquired of the leader.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We act on a request from your clanmother and family.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said as they turned him bodily about, a foothand on each of his own. “I’ve committed no crime. What does this mean?”

  “We are not certain ourselves,” the leader told him. “Only that our action has been sanctioned by the hivemother as well. I am sorry,” he added apologetically, and seemed to mean it. “You are aware of the customs. Such a request must be carried out.”