Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  With not a second to waste on niceties, he began barking out orders. "Khalil! Laser scalpel! Open the chest and cut the breastbone!"

  To his credit, Khalil jumped right into action. Plog heard him run across medlab and return with a surgical kit; the next thing he heard was the hum of the scalpel.

  "The incision's complete," Khalil said after a moment. "Cutting the breastbone."

  The hum of the scalpel increased in intensity as Khalil sliced through the creature's sternum. "Rib spreader," Plog said when the hum had ceased. "Expose the thoracic cavity."

  As Plog listened, Khalil attached the spreader to the severed halves of the sternum and activated the device. The spreader beeped softly as it pushed the halves apart, opening the rib cage; when Khalil touched a button on the device, it stopped flexing and locked in the open position.

  "Tissue regenerator," said Plog. "Locate and seal the hole in the heart."

  Plog heard Khalil draw and release a trembling breath. The med tech was understandably nervous, never having performed such a procedure…but Plog had confidence in him.

  "Go ahead, Mr. Khalil," the Doctor said calmly. "Do you see the hole?"

  "Yes," said Khalil. Plog heard him lift the regenerator from the instrument tray and press the activator stud with a click.

  "You know how to do this," said Plog. "Scan the tissue around the opening. Set the device to match and regenerate."

  The instrument warbled as Khalil applied it. "Okay," the med tech said nervously.

  "Now direct the tip at the rim of the opening," said Plog. "Press it to the cardiac muscle and engage the regeneration sequence. As the tissue regrows, work the tip from the rim of the hole to the center."

  The regenerator hissed as Khalil eased it over the wound. Plog pictured the gap as new muscle appeared, winding from the edges to the center.

  The hissing stopped. Khalil released the breath he'd been holding.

  "It's sealed," he said, his voice filled with relief.

  "Very good," said Plog, though he was nowhere near feeling relieved. The cardiac organ had been repaired, but it did not beat; the monitor still emitted a steady, shrill tone. Since the chest was already open, internal cardiac massage would be the most logical and direct solution.

  And the only person in the room Plog trusted to do it was Plog himself.

  Leaning forward, he reached over the creature on the table. "Take my hand," he told Crewman Sanders. "Guide me to the heart."

  As instructed, Sanders lowered Plog's hand into the thoracic cavity. The doctor's fingertips touched the exposed heart and encircled it. Though it was smaller and rounder than a human or Derexian heart, the texture and structure were familiar to him.

  With practiced skill, Plog gently pumped the cardiac muscle, pushing blood through the creature's circulatory system…hoping to trigger a rhythm that would bring the organ back to life. As he worked, he appreciated the irony of the scene: the blind physician, holding in his hand the life of a being who had helped to take away his sight.

  As he continued the massage, the steady tone from the cardiac monitor did not waver. Blood rushed through the Vox's body, sustaining oxygen-starved tissue…but the heart itself failed to reignite.

  Whether because of instinct, expertise, or stubbornness, Doctor Plog persisted – squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. The organ did not even twitch of its own accord; it was as lifeless as a rubber bulb in his grip.

  And then, he felt it. The muscle contracted slightly on its own, then relaxed.

  He squeezed it again. Another contraction and release.

  And another.

  The tone from the monitor finally skipped…and skipped again. With no prompting from his fingers, the Vox's heart jumped in his hand; the organ continued to flex spontaneously as he let go of it.

  The monitor tone became a rhythmic beeping, synchronized with the creature's restored pulse. It started out slow but soon quickened…and then raced. Plog realized the heart was compensating for microburst damage to the blood vessels; because blood was leaking from punctured vessels, the heart had to work harder to circulate an optimal volume of blood through the body.

  Repairs to the compromised vessels could not wait. Immediately, Plog got his team moving on the procedure.

  Privately, though, he allowed himself a modest celebration. Despite his handicap, despite the Vox's unfamiliar physiology, despite the dilukiphen mishap, the creature had survived.

  The blind physician had found it ironic to end up with his hand around the Vox's heart…but he found a greater irony in the outcome.

  The creature's friends had blinded the doctor; perhaps, the creature itself would have done worse to him if the univator hadn't opened when it did.

  And yet, Doctor Plog had saved his life…at least for the moment.

  Now, if he could just remove the shrapnel from his own head and restore his sight, he could feel like he'd really accomplished something.

  *****

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As Swift, J'Tull, and Lyra entered the ministry, the last shot of a battle echoed throughout the vast tower.

  The outcome of the conflict was plain to see. Everywhere, the floor was littered with furry bodies; whether the defeated Vox were dead or just unconscious, Swift could not tell.

  The invaders glided above them, wings rippling.

  Swift thought the creatures looked like Earth's ocean-dwelling manta rays, except for the tiny arms on their bellies. Like rays, the beings were delicate, rubbery wedges with gracefully undulating wings; from wingtip to wingtip, they measured between six and ten feet.

  The dorsal surface of each invader's body was steel gray; the underside, visible with each ripple of a wing, was the color of cream and mottled with black splotches.

  Each creature had a long, prehensile tail with a forked tip…and each tail was wrapped around a rod with a glowing golden sphere on either end. Swift learned the rods' purpose when a group of armed Vox surged from a corridor into the central chamber: several of the manta-like beings flicked their tails, raising the rods overhead…and bolts of energy leaped from the spheres with an ear-splitting whine, striking down the incoming creatures.

  Presumably, the weapons had been working overtime, for only a few of the hundred or so Vox in the tower were still standing. A handful, several of whom Swift recognized as ministers, were hemmed in around an altar-like platform; following their upward-directed gazes, Swift saw another familiar Vox…the red-furred regent, descending the sky-high pillars corkscrewing from the tower's lofty pinnacle. As before, she hopped from one pillar to the next with incredible ease, zipping downward with the light-footed agility of a squirrel.

  Unlike before, she came down under armed guard. Three of the invaders descended with her, brandishing their weapons from swaying, sinuous tails.

  "I think this clears up any doubt about their intentions," Swift whispered to J'Tull. "And who's got the upper hand."

  "This course of action is ill-advised," said J'Tull. "We should remain concealed until the teleporter is repaired. The fleet has not interacted with Exogenesis, so we can afford to wait."

  "That could change in an instant," said Swift. "And besides, we came to this planet in the first place to help."

  J'Tull opened her mouth to protest, but he whirled away from her and walked off toward the ministers before she could say another word. She followed with Lyra in tow.

  As Swift approached, the regent descended to within a few meters of the pillar's base and leaped to the floor. Her hovering escorts led her to the group of ministers, who greeted her with furtive chatter and subdued gestures.

  From the ring of floating invaders surrounding the group, one of the manta-like beings slid forward and reared back with wings spread. The creature's dorsal surface was turned to Swift, so he couldn't see its exposed underside…but the regent and ministers gaped at it, transfixed.

  Swift got a better view soon enough. When he drew near the Vox leaders, two of their captors to
ok notice of his approach and turned toward him.

  At first, he could see no eyes on them, just snouts consisting of a comb of tightly packed fibers between two horn-like knobs. Then, one of the creatures reared up in front of him.

  From a few centimeters below the snout, two tiny obsidian eyes stared back at him. Twin arcs of what looked like breathing holes were arranged below them like halves of a necklace. Two spindly limbs flexed from the creature's belly, ending in fragile-looking three-fingered hands.

  The undersides of the wings, however, were what held Swift's attention. As he watched, dark splotches flowed over the creamy surface, mixing and fluxing and separating…resolving into patterns.

  He quickly realized that the patterns were not random.

  "It's communicating, isn't it?" he whispered to J'Tull. "Those symbols are language."

  "Agreed," said J'Tull. "A written language, generated biologically."

  The patterns on the wings held for a moment, then flowed again, coalescing into a new arrangement. Swift began to discern discrete groupings of symbols that might be words; in some places, the text seemed hopelessly jumbled, but in other areas, he could make out what he thought were divisions of lines and breaks in phrasing.

  "I'm going for my multiterpreter," Swift said softly. "Be ready in case they think I'm making a hostile move."

  "Yes, Captain," said J'Tull.

  Swift raised his arms in what he hoped would come across as a gesture of benign intent. Though he was uncertain that the creature would respond to verbal stimuli, he also spoke to it in a soothing tone.

  "I'm not reaching for a weapon," he said, slowly lowering his right hand toward the right hip pocket of his uniform. "Just something to help us talk."

  When Swift's fingers unsnapped the pocket's flap, the manta-like being swung up the weapon clutched in its tail. The orbs on either end of the rod glowed brighter, suggesting to Swift that the creature was preparing to fire at him or was making a show of force to prevent him from trying anything.

  Despite the possibility of an attack, Swift reached into the pocket and withdrew the multiterpreter. The patterns on the creature's wings shifted; they may have spelled out a dire warning of what the consequences would be if Swift didn't drop the U.T….but if they did, he didn't know it.

  As he slowly raised the device, Swift tried to present it in a non-threatening way. This wasn't easy because he had to point it directly at the wing markings in order for the video pickup to scan them. The harder he tried to avoid making it look like a weapon, the less Swift thought it looked like the harmless device it really was.

  He didn't seem to be alone in that opinion. As he operated the multiterpreter, more of the invaders glided over to join the first two; all of them brandished the same dual-orbed energy weapons. Before long, Swift and his companions were completely surrounded.

  When he had finished scanning the latest wing markings, Swift lowered the multiterpreter and activated the translation function. For a long moment, nothing happened, though status indicators showed the device was working.

  Another moment passed. "What's taking so long?" whispered Swift. "Is the multiterpreter malfunctioning?"

  "Negative," said J'Tull. "The device is attempting to translate an alien written language which may share few or no commonalities with any in its memory. Without some kind of key, this could be a lengthy process."

  "How can we speed it up?" said Swift.

  "More input, possibly," said J'Tull. "The more samples the multiterpreter has to work with, the more likely it will be to detect repetition of symbols and structure."

  When Swift raised the multiterpreter again, the reared-up creature obligingly shifted the patterns on its wings. Carefully, Swift scanned the new arrangement and included it in the file being processed by the multiterpreter.

  "Now," said Swift as the device chewed on its input. "Give me your multiterpreter, J'Tull."

  With her uninjured right hand, J'Tull unclipped the multiterpreter from the sash around her waist and offered it as instructed. Swift noticed that the surrounding invaders bobbed and twitched at the exchange, flicking their energy weapons from side to side.

  Accessing the Vox translation matrix on J'Tull's unit, Swift spoke into the device's audio pickup. "Lyra," he said. "We need a projector. Something to cast words or images on a screen or wall."

  When he had finished speaking, J'Tull's multiterpreter broadcast a Vox version of what he had said. As Lyra listened, she cocked her head and stared at the device with a curious expression.

  In reply, she rattled off a stream of Vox chatter, which the multiterpreter promptly deciphered and displayed in English on its illuminated screen. "When the ministers and regent make proclamations," read the on-screen text, "they put words on the walls for everyone to read."

  "Can you find out how to do it?" Swift said into the multiterpreter, which repeated his words in the native language. "Can you help J'Tull learn how to make it work with our multiterpreters?"

  Lyra nodded. "I can ask the ministers," she said, "if these creatures will let me."

  "Let's see about that," said Swift. "I want to make sure these visitors can read what we have to say…if the multiterpreter ever figures out their language."

  Handing the second multiterpreter back to J'Tull, Swift turned toward the spread-eagled floater. Smiling, he placed one hand on Lyra's shoulder and the other on J'Tull's.

  "They," he said, patting their shoulders, "must speak with them." He pointed toward the surrounded regent and ministers. "Only speak," he said, pointing to his lips, then bouncing the fingers of one hand up and down on his thumb in a gesture meant to represent speech. "They mean you no harm." Swift smiled and patted their shoulders again.

  As Swift had expected, the creature gave no sign of recognition.

  Turning from it, Swift slowly guided Lyra and J'Tull toward the invaders who blocked the route to the captured Vox leaders. For a moment, the creatures hovered in place; finally, one of them slid away with a ripple of wings, opening the way for Lyra and J'Tull to leave.

  J'Tull immediately started forward, but Lyra hesitated, gazing up at the airborne aliens. Swift gave her shoulder a firm squeeze and released it.

  "Lyra help Swift," he said with a smile. "Swift help Lyra."

  She looked at him and nodded. "Lyra help Swift," she said, and then she hurried through the gap. As soon as she was through, the creature that had moved aside glided back into its spot.

  "Thank you," said Swift, though he doubted that the remark would register with the manta-like being. As he turned back to the more communicative creature, still floating upright with its underside exposed, he checked the screen of the multiterpreter…and saw that the device had finally produced a result.

  It was not the most encouraging message he could have received.

  "We, the Mazeesh, have passed judgment," read the words on the screen. "If you are friend to these killers, you will also be killed."

  So far so good on the first contact front, thought Swift. We're two for two on this crazy planet.

  *****

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mariko felt like throwing the scanner and multiterpreter down in the dirt and jumping up and down on them.

  It was not the reaction she had expected after going for so long without the vital technology…but the devices were not providing the quick success that she needed. Deciphering the complex system of scent signals in the Garden of Yesterday was proving to be even more difficult than she had anticipated.

  Returning to the Garden had been the easy part. Altis, Uvo, and three of their friends had provided protection on the way from Speech Center to the nearest tunnel access; Swift's allies had repelled attacks twice along the way, though most Vox had seemed more interested in fleeing the invaders and violence in the plaza than making trouble for the human refugee and her defenders.

  With Oric and Giza as guides, navigating the tunnels had been no problem, either. Crawling through the pitch-black confines ag
ain had brought Mariko no joy, but the rogue lexicons had unerringly led the party to their destination in what had seemed to her like record time.

  Once she had reached the Garden, however, and set about her task, things had gotten tricky. She was starting to wonder if what she had set out to accomplish was even possible, given the tools at hand.

  The scanner could identify floral scents with great accuracy, pinpointing the composition and prevalence of esters, or scent molecules, in any given liter of air. That information, however, was not enough; the scanner and multiterpreter were unable to determine what alphabetical or numerical values had been assigned to specific scents.

  Mariko had tried a number of techniques to crack the code, such as constructing a matrix based on the chemical makeup of the ester molecules. She had attempted less scientific methods as well, such as arbitrarily assigning phonemes from the Vox language to certain scents and rotating the assignments until a logical pattern emerged.

  But nothing had led to a breakthrough. Even working together via wireless link, the scanner and multiterpreter had been unable to unlock the secrets of the Garden.

  And with each passing minute, Mariko was becoming increasingly frustrated. She was convinced that the information the captain needed was all around her, in the very air she breathed…but she couldn't get to it.

  "If you know how to listen," Folcrum had told her, "you can hear the history of the world in here."

  Obviously, Mariko didn't know how to listen. Folcrum knew, and he was gone.

  Of course, there were others who might know, too.

  Energized by a new idea, Mariko hurried over to Oric, who had been watching her work. As she approached, the black-furred lexicon cocked his head with interest.

  Slipping the scanner into her hip pocket, Mariko entered a message on the multiterpreter's tiny keypad. Text appeared on the multiterpreter's display, and she touched the control that would convert it to audible speech in the Vox pulmonic language.