“I never thought you’d call anything that if it wasn’t female,” Elvira responded. This was followed by human laughter.
I must begin thinking of them as “humans” and not as monsters, he told himself firmly. Diplomacy must be done.
“Hey, I wonder if any of them are on board?”
“I don’t know,” the third voice commented. “We’ll find out soon enough. In any case, we’ve got our weapons system back now. I’m sure as hell not going peacefully back to that hellhole. If they try and stop us there’ll be bug juice over half the stellar objects between here and Centaurus space.”
Ryo stiffened mentally, forced himself to shrug the comment off. The speaker doubtless did not know Ryo was on board. Nevertheless the viciousness in the human’s statement unsettled him. He began to wonder if he might not have overreached himself. Perhaps these creatures were as duplicitous as the AAnn. Morally he was still confident he’d done the right thing. However, there were a few concerns that overrode even morality.
There was a dull thump. Hanging as he was, Ryo could not obtain a decent view through one of the indecently rounded ports, but humans were unstrapping themselves. Using guidelines, they pulled themselves toward the rear airlock. With his four hands Ryo was able to maneuver on the guidelines even better than his companions. Bonnie complimented him on his agility.
“I’ve only been in space twice before,” he told her as they pulled themselves down the narrow, circular docking tube toward increasing gravity and the alien mother ship, “but I’ve always been dexterous.”
“I’ve often wished for an extra pair of hands,” Loo remarked from ahead of them, “but I think I’d settle for a few more brains and a lot more luck.”
“There is no such thing as luck, according to the philosophers,” Ryo replied. “They insist it is an outmoded mythological concept.”
“We’ll debate that one later,” Bonnie said, interrupting them. “We’re still not out of it.”
“‘Out of it’?” Ryo murmured. “I misunderstand.”
“Safely away. I don’t think your presence on board would be enough to prevent your government’s attacking us if they decide on that course of action, do you?”
“Most certainly not. The contrary might be true.”
Then he was in the alien ship. The humans were vanishing to different posts like so many milla-bugs. Someone called from a distance, “Detection reports nobody on board. Not a guard in sight.”
“Why should there be?” another, more distant voice yelled. “Who’s going to try and steal it? Besides, they haven’t been able to figure out how to run it yet.”
The final checks Bonnie had spoken of took even less time than Ryo had expected. Then all of a sudden he was standing in the corridor all by himself. Loo and Bonnie had rushed to their stations. In the haste to complete final repairs the crew of the Seeker had forgotten there was an alien in their midst.
That was fine with Ryo. He strolled around the peculiar vessel unchallenged, touching nothing because nothing was familiar. The corridors were generally identical; high, narrow rectangles instead of the comforting low triangles or arches. It was most disconcerting, as if his whole world of perceptions had suddenly been squeezed from both sides.
Some of the chambers he inspected were evidently living quarters. Their contents remained a mystery to him. All except a single item of furniture that, save for being higher and longer, closely resembled a proper lounge. He wondered if they were intended for sleeping or some as yet unknown function.
Since no one was around to stop him he tested one—overly soft with a slightly irritating mushy movement to its insides, but otherwise quite suitable for resting. He had to haul himself onto it. Once there and as soon as he got used to the rolling sensation, he succeeded in making himself comfortable for the first time since they’d boarded.
“What do you think, Captain?” The cocontroller was studying the activated screens that showed the green-white mass of Hivehom and the space surrounding it. Several moons appeared as graphic representations, as did moving points of light too large to be dust and too near to be satellites.
“Ships,” Sanchez noted tersely. “Have to be. Orbital. No, there’s one moving.” She checked a readout, announced with satisfaction, “Moving away from us. Standard commercial traffic. It squares with what the bug told us. This is a busy world.”
“His name is Ryo,” Bonnie announced from the other side of the cabin.
“All right—it squares with what Ryo told us. This is their capital world. Traffic’s to be expected. I don’t think we could mask ourselves with it, though. Ship signature is too different.”
“I’m sure they’re marking us right now,” said Taourit, the cocontroller. “They’ve kept us well away from the other ships. Probably a restricted area.”
Sanchez nodded, spoke toward her pickup. “Engineering? Status?”
The speaker replied. “Engineering checks okay.”
“Thanks, Alexis. We’re set, then.”
Bonnie leaned a little closer to one screen. “Lights coming up,” she declared. “Small mass, moving fast. Too small for a ship. Military shuttle maybe.”
“That was fast,” Taourit murmured. “Somebody down there’s good at deduction.”
“And so we bid farewell to the vacation world of Hivehom,” Sanchez muttered. “Our stay was pleasant but over-long, I think. Let’s get out of here.”
A slight vibration ran through the room and the Seeker began to move. It was still too close to the world below for the Supralight drive to be engaged. In normal space the tiny shuttle coming up behind would be just as fast. For a while it seemed to be gaining.
Eventually the captain issued additional commands. Far out in front of the ship a deep-purple glow appeared, the visual manifestation of the immensely concentrated artificial gravity field generated by the ship’s projectors.
The Seeker leaped outward. As it did so it pushed the growing field, which pulled the ship, which pushed the field. Acceleration was rapid. There was a moment of nausea and utter disorientation. The field and the ship within passed the speed of light and entered the abstract universe known as Space Plus. Stars went wavy and streaked around the ship.
Everyone was about to relax when Bonnie’s screens displayed three new marks, behind and to one side of the Seeker’s course through Space Plus.
The Seeker’s computer went to work. Bonnie studied the resultant readout, but did not try to conceal a sigh of relief. “Not a chance of intercept—not unless they’re a lot faster than we are. Of course, they could track us all the way back to Centaurus, but I don’t think they’ll risk that.”
Still, one of the pursuing vessels continued to follow as its companions dropped from the screens.
“Maybe they think they’re faster than we are.”
Bonnie shook her head. “If anything, the reverse is true—unless they’ve tried to fool us into thinking that.”
“Anderson, you’re a detection specialist, not a psychologist,” Taourit observed.
“We all have our hobbies.”
The computer interrupted to announce the result of studies begun when they’d reentered the ship. It declared that the air was breathable, gravity was operational, and in general all was right within the enclosed metal globe that was the Seeker.
The single light on Bonnie’s console continued to hold position as if its crew was determined to follow all the way across the galaxy, if need be. Twice it dropped from the screen, only to crawl slowly back into view. Once it made up some distance on its quarry.
“What do you make of that?” Sanchez asked the cocontroller.
Taourit studied the monitors and readouts, punched a query into the computer, and received fresh information.
“They’re fiddling with their drive. Probably pushing it to the limit.” He looked over at her. “It would be detrimental to future relations if this bunch were to blow themselves up trying to catch us.”
“We can’t be held
responsible for that,” the captain replied calmly. “We made no hostile gestures toward them and they still kept us prisoners—would have kept us permanently if we hadn’t escaped, according to this Ryo individual.”
“Yes. According to it,” agreed Taourit.
“It’s a him,” Bonnie reminded them.
They both turned to glance at her, then resumed their conversation. “According to him, and exactly who is ‘him’? Could he be a cleverly planted spy?” the cocontroller wondered.
“I don’t think so,” Sanchez said. “Our escape clearly was not engineered by them.”
“You sure?” Taourit asked. “Maybe they felt they’d learned as much about the ship and about us as they could.” He gestured around the room. “Just because everything’s in place doesn’t mean they mightn’t have taken the Seeker apart and put it back together again. I’d bet they could. Did you notice those upper hands, the ones they call truhands? They can do detail work finer than the best human artisan.
“So why couldn’t they also have engineered our escape? Not one of their people was harmed. That could be due to surprise—or complete lack of it. I don’t think there’s any surveillance equipment on board. Our diagnostics would have found it by now and it could hardly report back over interstellar distances, anyway. But they’ve got a better recording instrument on board in this Ryo.”
“Farfetched. How could he get his information back home?”
“I don’t know, Captain. But then, there’s quite a lot we don’t know about these bugs. Sure, it’s farfetched—but not impossible.”
“No, not impossible,” she admitted.
“Maybe they were right,” Bonnie put in from across the control room.
“Right about what?” Taourit asked.
“About our racial paranoia. Our history supports them about as much as your current conversation.”
“It’s only a possibility that ought to be considered,” Sanchez argued. But she did not resume the discussion with the cocontroller. The implications of the detector’s words were unpleasant.
They were twelve hours out and a good distance from Hivehom, and Alexis Antonovich was exhausted. He had been glued to his drive monitors since they’d retaken the Seeker. The ship was performing beautifully. The repairs continued to hold and there wasn’t a hint of oscillation in the field. She shot through Space Plus snugly wrapped in her convoying envelope of mathematical distortion. Now the engineer just wanted to rest.
He stopped in front of the door to his compartment, touched the switch that slid it aside. Bleary-eyed, he moved to the wash basin. After cleaning his face he felt much better. A glance in the mirror showed a scraggly growth of beard that had accumulated on the bug world. Depilatory cream was one of many items they hadn’t had time to bring down from the orbiting Seeker.
Something else was reflected in the mirror: a pair of bulbous, gleaming, multicolored eyes stared at his reflection. Whirling, he was confronted by the sight of a five-foot-long arthropod lying on its left side on his bed. It held his pillow in one blue-green armored hand.
“Self-inspection,” it commented in whispery but quite understandable Terranglo. “That’s interesting.” It gestured with the pillow. “Perhaps you can explain the function of this soft device to me?”
“It’s called a pillow,” Alexis responded automatically to the polite question. “We rest our heads on it while we sleep.”
“But why would you need something else to rest your head upon,” the Thranx inquired, examining the pillow closely, “when this lounge is already too soft?”
“That’s because—” Alexis broke off the reply, suddenly conscious of what was happening. He moved quickly to the wall communicator, activated it, and talked without taking his gaze from the creature on his bed.
“Captain, Alexis here. I just went off duty. I’m in my cabin. I think perhaps there are some matters we have to clarify.”
Despite Taourit’s suspicions, Ryo was given the run of the ship. He was full of questions that he knew sometimes irritated his human hosts, who were concerned only with their own safe return. Though he was still learning about facial expression, a radical new concept to a being with an inflexible exoskeleton, he was convinced some of them looked at him in a less than friendly manner. That disturbed him, but he told himself firmly that it was only natural.
His first request for access to the Seeker’s computer bank was turned down. Only when the last, persistent Thranx ship finally faded from the screens did the captain relent. Ryo could find nothing harmful without special coding. The general files were more entertaining than dangerous and Ryo’s desire to learn more about his hosts seemed devoid of ulterior motive.
He was also able to study the crew at their stations. Of the twelve surviving members of the Seeker’s crew, at least four were openly, even enthusiastically friendly—Loo and Bonnie, the engineer named Alexis, and the ship’s environmental monitor. Another six, including Captain Elvirasanchez, were politely neutral. Only two remained overtly hostile, despite Sanchez’s orders for them to act courteous in Ryo’s presence.
Their hostility troubled him. After several unsuccessful attempts to win them over—one even became physically ill in his presence—he decided not to press the matter and simply avoided them whenever possible.
A study of human history revealed an antiarthropod bias exceeding the hereditary Thranx fear of mammals and other soft-bodies. In addition to groundless but very persistent phobias, actual events such as plague and the massive destruction of food supplies lent support to such a bias.
Small arthropods such as insects sometimes ate Thranx food, but not to the degree they had devastated human supplies throughout history. It was not surprising, then, that in unguarded moments even Loo and Bonnie looked at him with unconscious expressions of fear and disgust. It was hard for them to overcome a lifetime’s conditioning.
As it was for him. Their warm, smelly bodies pressed constantly around him and he had to struggle to suppress his own instinctive reactions.
At least that was not a reciprocal problem. Even the two who actively disliked him confessed that his natural odor resembled a cross between lemon and lilacs, whatever they were. More than once he caught a crew member inhaling with obvious pleasure in his presence. Their sense of smell was located in twin openings located just above their mouths, which struck Ryo as a particularly impractical arrangement.
How odd it would be, he thought amusedly, if understanding should be reached between our species not on the basis of mutual interests or intellectual discourse, but because one of us smells good to the other.
He spent the days in Space Plus devouring everything the computer would feed him. Its controls were unnecessarily bulky and easy to manipulate. His knowledge of monster—of human language and customs increased.
The engineer Alexis had shown Ryo how to use the terminal in his burrow. Then he moved in with a companion so his living quarters could be given over to the Thranx. Since each burrow had individual climate controls Ryo was able to alter temperature and humidity to suit his own temperament. As the humans found the hot, sticky climate in the room distinctly uncomfortable, he had a good deal of privacy in which to pursue his studies.
Few visited him except for Loo and Bonnie and, after a while, the captain. Sanchez did not warm to Ryo as they had, but her conversation was always absorbing. Ryo knew she was in a difficult official position because, as she saw it, the Thranx were the first intelligent race mankind had encountered and the circumstances under which contact had been made were not covered by official procedure.
“No,” he corrected her. “We’re the second intelligent race you’ve encountered.” Ryo then gave her a complete rundown on the AAnn, admitting from the first that it would be biased. The Seeker’s remaining science staff was brought in and they listened raptly to the lecture.
The atmosphere on the Seeker was never completely relaxed. No one knew if her repairs would hold to the end of the journey. If the drive were to fail
, their sublight engines could still get them back to Centaurus in a couple of hundred years or so. Her arrival would be of interest, but not to the desiccated corpses crewing her.
But the repairs continued to hold and the drive continued to function. The air grew foul and thin for several days, but that was as close as internal elements came to a serious breakdown.
Activity intensified on the day designated for emergence into normal space. The countdown commenced with no more than the usual tension, the familiar wrenching sensation was felt, several of the crew lost the contents of their stomachs, and then it was done.
Ryo moved hurriedly to the main port in the ship’s control room. A planet drifted below and, above it, a distant and to him very dim sun. Though no astronomer, he thought the world beneath must be far too cold and harsh to support life. Surely it was not their intended destination.
“You’re right,” the cocontroller informed him, without taking his eyes from his instrumentation. “There are eight planets in this system, of which the third and fifth have been colonized.” He smiled. “Mistakenly, too. The colonists who first arrived here thought they’d reached an entirely different star.”
“If this is not our destination, then why are we stopping here?”
“Standard precautions regulating returning exploration craft,” Taourit told him. He pointed to the port. “See that bright spot just ahead? That’s where we’re going.”
The orbital station circling Centaurus’ seventh planet was an enormous wheeled complex, mankind’s farthest outpost. It impressed Ryo. The world it circled was cold and dead.
A large and, Ryo thought, too well-armed cluster of humans met him and his companions when they emerged from the station airlock. They were polite, but he could read emotions other than welcome in some of the faces.
The official who made the short speech and greeted him in a mildly patronizing manner was courteous enough, however. Ryo was conducted to a spacious burrow on the skin of the station. A sweeping port offered a view of the stars and the icy globe rotating below.
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