by James White
“You turned up an alien hot potato this time, George,” the captain ended softly, “but now it’s our problem. So just relax, go back to sleep, and let us worry about it.”
Several minutes passed without anyone speaking. From the medical team Prilicla detected feelings of surprise, curiosity, and excitement caused by Fletcher’s explanation, while Captain Davidson’s emotional radiation was that of a mind that was slipping back into unconsciousness.
“The patient is again responding to the sedative medication,” he said, “and its life signs are stabilizing. Thank you, friend Fletcher.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Murchison, radiating relief and gratitude. “That was very well done, Captain.” It looked at the broken test device lying on the deck and added, “Now we know why you lost your temper and trashed that thing. I’d probably have done the same.”
Prilicla was feeling friend Fletcher’s gratitude and pleasure at the compliments, as well as its increasing embarrassment. He said, “Have you enough information now to send your subspace signal?”
“On the Terragar situation, yes,” the captain replied. “But I’d like to make the report as informative as possible. We have to go into space to send it, so I want to take a closer look at that alien ship before I do. Don’t worry, I won’t make direct contact or do anything stupid like deploying another sensor connection cable. Rhabwar will be back in three to four hours. And Doctor, we’ll be visiting a hunk of sick machinery so there will be no need for a medical presence.”
“There is, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla gently. “You are visiting a ship disaster situation and, regardless of the type or condition of the casualties, as the senior medical officer I should be there. About this I must insist.”
Before any of his team could voice their objections, which were based principally on concern for his safety, he went on. “Don’t worry, I shall take no unnecessary risks nor allow friend Fletcher to do so. Are there any decontamination procedures you can suggest before I transfer to Rhabwar?”
Murchison and Fletcher looked at each other for a moment while their feelings changed from concern to a grudging acceptance of the inevitable.
“The usual organic decontamination drill at the airlock,” said the captain, “which is almost certainly unnecessary, but I don’t believe in taking chances, either.…” It gestured towards the tester lying on the deck. “And, of course, don’t bring any computer viruses on board.”
* * *
Even though the alien vessel was clean, bright, shining, and highly streamlined—a clear indication that it had taken off from a planetary surface rather than being assembled in space—among themselves, Rhabwar’s officers were calling it the Plague Ship. As a vessel crewed by robots it was probably as clean inside as it was out, Prilicla thought as he watched the image enlarge beyond the edges of his viewscreen, but then they were not talking about that sort of plague.
They moved in to a distance of two hundred meters and began a series of slow circles around its longitudinal axis. At close range, the only blemishes visible on the sleek hull were the two small craters with the heat discoloration around them and an open access hatch cover with heat-damaged equipment of some kind projecting from it.
“There’s something odd about that hull damage,” said the captain. “I would like a closer look at it, or better still, a hands-on examination. I’m thinking aloud, you understand, but what if I was to go over there in a lightweight suit, and didn’t touch it with any computerized test equipment, and even retracted the suit antenna to reduce the risk of making metal-to-metal contact with the hull? It would also mean not carrying a weapon, but that is normal practice in a first-contact situation. At this short range I wouldn’t need the antenna, and as an added precaution I could wear non-conducting gauntlets, and insulated covers for the boots, during the…”
“Pardon the interruption, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla quietly, “but I feel you radiating intense curiosity. I have similar feelings and would like a closer look, too. Admittedly the contamination we would be investigating is nonorganic, but the presence of a medical advisor could be an advantage.”
The other radiated indecision for a moment, then it made the soft, barking sound that Earth-humans called laughter and said, “Right. But I have the feeling that if Pathologist Murchison had been here she would give you an argument about that, as well as subjecting me to a great deal of verbal abuse for allowing you to take the risk. Chen?”
“Sir,” replied the engineering officer.
“We intend closing to a distance of twenty meters, very slowly,” Fletcher went on. “Be ready to pull us out again faster than that.”
By the time Fletcher and himself had suited-up and flown clear of Rhabwar’s personnel lock, Prilicla had had time for many second thoughts and had foolishly discarded all of them. It was not always an advantage to carry Educator tapes whose donors were less cowardly than himself, especially when he allowed them to influence his own thinking. The alien vessel was now rolling ponderously at a distance of about thirty meters, but no attempt had been made to kill its spin because the tractor beam might have furnished an avenue for electronic infection. As they compensated for its movement with their suit thrusters, it felt as if they were tiny insects sandwiched between the vast white wall that was the ambulance ship’s hull and the silvery surface of the alien vessel, with a broad, circular band that was divided into star-sprinkled space above and the mottled carpet of the planetary cloud blanket below them.
They used their suit thrusters to bring themselves to a halt within three meters of the open hatch cover. After a moment’s hesitation, Fletcher edged closer and one of its hands made fleeting contact with the metal projection, then gripped it firmly in both.
“No harmful effects noted,” it said for the benefit of the recorders.
“The mechanism projecting from the small compartment behind the hatch cover,” it went on, “appears to be a simple, extendible metal arm with a hinged outer section that is capable of rotation horizontally and vertically through one hundred and eighty degrees, and there is a gripping mechanism at its extremity. It has the appearance of being an unsophisticated device used for placing in position on, or removing objects from, the external hull. There is evidence of scorch damage.…”
While the captain continued to describe in meticulous detail everything it was seeing and thinking, Prilicla waited until the slow, rolling motion of the vessel caused them to move close to the cratered area. With small, precisely timed bursts of thruster power he maintained position about two meters above them. He was not a forensics expert, but his visual acuity was exceptionally good and the type of damage he was seeing, although probably caused by the same agency, displayed a major inconsistency in its effect.
The first crater showed a normal, circular depression whose depth was approximately half of its diameter and with the interior and lip edges compressed and fused by the explosive pressure of a high-temperature blast of some kind, but the second one was entirely different. It had a shallower, ringlike formation with an area at its center that showed pressure but minimal heat damage. Deep scratches covering the area with what looked like small traces of silvery metal were adhering to some of them. Even though he was trusting to visual observation alone, Prilicla was sure that the metals of the hull and of that adhering to the scratches were markedly dissimilar. He edged closer to make absolutely sure before he spoke.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said, “there is something very odd here that I would like you to see.”
“The compartment behind this access hatch looks very odd, too,” said the captain. It moved to join him and looked in the direction of his pointing digit for a moment before it added, “But you first, Doctor. What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“The difference in the extent and depth of the damage at this and the other crater,” he said. “You can see that this crater is shallower than the first one and, while the perimeter of this one has been fused by intense heat, the central area
has been depressed but is not as badly burned. There is deep scratching that contains small traces of a brighter metal that is foreign to the surrounding hull. It looks as if a large, fairly smooth metal object made heavy contact at this spot. Friend Fletcher, the size and outline of the unburned area are suggestive.”
“You’ve got organic microscopes there instead of eyes, Doctor,” it said. “But suggestive of what? I’m seeing what you’re seeing, with great difficulty, but what should I be thinking about it?”
“Your pardon, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “I cannot be absolutely certain without analyzing a specimen for purposes of comparison, but the traces of foreign metal you see suggests that this is where the alien robot we found on Terragar sustained its injuries or—since it was not an organic life-form—damage. The weapon or other agency which blew a crater in the front of its body, also blasted it backwards against the hull with the results you can see. Perhaps it was trying to protect its ship from something, or someone. If the crew were defenders rather than attackers, their lethal assault on Terragar’s computer systems may have been due to a panic reaction following an earlier attack as well as a simple, first-contact misunderstanding.”
“You could be right,” said the captain, “but I think you’re giving them the benefit of a very large doubt.…” It reached towards the equipment satchel at its waist. “Grab my backpack and use your thrusters to hold me steady while I scrape off a specimen.”
“Friend Fletcher…!”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” said the other, radiating reassurance as it produced a short, broad-bladed screwdriver. “This thing is too simple and stupid to be infected by a computer virus.… Oops. That’s strange.”
While it had been scraping hard to remove the largest of the specimens, the tool’s sharp blade had penetrated the hull and torn out a narrow triangle of metal. It was surprisingly thin, structurally weak, and its underside was covered by the fine, geometrical shapes of integral circuitry. When it had bagged the original specimen, Fletcher removed the hull sample and placed it in an insulated box as a precaution against possible electronic infection. The captain’s accompanying feelings of impatience and barely controlled excitement suggested that it would rather be doing something else.
“I feel that you, too, have found something interesting, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” the other replied. It secured the two specimens in its sample box before going on. “I had time for a quick look into what seems to be a long, thin and apparently empty compartment or corridor behind the access hatch. It would be easier to show you, Doctor. There’s enough room for both of us, and your extra helmet light will help us see whatever is in there, and, if necessary, make a fast retreat.”
CHAPTER 11
Their lights showed a length of corridor leading inboard whose walls, except for a large cylindrical structure on one side that was enclosed by seamless metal plating that was warped and heat-discolored, was composed of a lightly-built, boxlike framework that appeared to be nonmetallic. Continuous lengths of open-mesh netting were secured to and stretched tightly along all four inner surfaces of the framework and, about thirty meters inboard, a similar netted passageway intersected theirs at right angles. When the captain’s foot caught accidentally in the netting, the whole corridor vibrated for a moment before returning to stillness.
“That wall netting tells us one important fact about their level of technology,” said Fletcher, for the benefit of the recorder as well as Prilicla. “They don’t have artificial gravity. And look at the internal supporting structure of the hull. It reminds me of the interior of one of Earth’s old-time zeppelins—it’s just a light framework on which to hang a streamlined skin that will aid passage through a planetary atmosphere.”
“A skin,” Prilicla reminded it gently, “that your second specimen suggests could be one single, overall, multipurpose sensor.”
“Yes, indeed,” Fletcher said. It pointed at the warped metal cylinder near them and went on. “I want to take a closer look at that later. From its size and shape I’d say that it houses one of a pair of matched hyperdrive generators which malfunctioned, either by accident or through malicious intent, and caused them to detonate a distress beacon.”
Fletcher moved its vision pickup carefully so as to sight it inboard between the open mesh of the net. Prilicla pointed his helmet light in the same direction.
“Several more enclosed structures are visible,” it resumed. “All are solidly-built, some with complicated shapes and many projections which badly needed that streamlined outer hull. They appear to be joined to each other by a latticework of structural-support members. All of the ones we can see are linked together externally by short stretches of open-weave corridors like this one. But our point of entry, which may not be the only one, was by a simple, close-fitting, hinged cover that appears to allow access deep into the entire ship. It was not a pressurized seal, and nowhere can we see anything like an airlock.
“But then,” the captain added, allowing itself a small bark, “a crew of intelligent robots wouldn’t need air.
“There is no obvious threat here at present,” it went on, “so I shall continue the investigation deeper inside the ship. In case of unforeseen developments, Doctor, would you like to remain here so that you can make a fast getaway?”
Prilicla was silent for a moment while common sense and his evolutionary imperative of survival through cowardice warred with the intensity of his curiosity, and lost.
“I would like to remain here,” he said, “but I won’t. Lead the way.”
The captain didn’t reply but its feelings regarding such stupid behavior were very plain.
Slowly and carefully and with many pauses while Fletcher directed its vision pickup at objects that might or might not be of importance, they continued to move inboard while Fletcher described everything it saw and deduced in its flat, unemotional, observer’s voice.
Their helmet lights showed many cable looms running along the members that joined the large and small structures and mechanisms that were coming into view. Some of the cable runs were attached to the outer framework of the passages they were traversing, and clearly visible. The individual lengths were color-coded, their gradation in coloration and shading suggesting that the visual sensitivity of the ship’s crew was slightly higher than that of Prilicla’s Earth-human companion, but lower than his own. When they drew level with a large, blocky mechanism of indeterminate purpose with what was obviously a control panel and two access hatches on it, the captain’s curiosity became so intense that Prilicla felt obliged to issue a warning.
“No, friend Fletcher,” he said. “Look but don’t touch.”
“I know, I know,” it replied with a flash of irritation. “But how else can I find out what it is and does? I can’t believe that these people—robots or whatever—would plant a virus to booby-trap every internal control panel and hatch. That wouldn’t make sense. It would lead to a lot of unnecessary accidents among the crew.”
“The robot crew,” said Prilicla, “should be resistant to their ship’s computer viruses.”
“Good point,” said the captain. “But so far there has been no sign of them. Are they in their quarters? If so, what would the accommodations for a crew of robots look like?”
It didn’t speak again until they came to the next intersection, a T-junction leading into a passageway that led fore and aft to the limit of visibility provided by their helmet lights. The support frames carried what seemed like hundreds of differently coded cable runs and the new passageway was obviously a main trunk route for crew members, but it was no wider or deeper then any of the others they had encountered.
That suggested infrequent traffic, Prilicla thought, or a small crew.
“We have to find out what this ship can do,” said the captain suddenly, “apart from simply killing other ships. For our own defense we must learn and understand its weapons capability and, if possible, that of it
s attacker. Next time I’ll bring something more intelligent than a screwdriver. A radiation sensor, perhaps, that will work without being in direct contact with the target object.…”
“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla broke in, “would you please be silent and absolutely still?”
The captain opened its mouth and shut it again without speaking. As it waited motionless, the curiosity, puzzlement, and increasing anxiety it was radiating hung about it like a thick fog.
“You may relax, friend Fletcher, at least for a few minutes,” said Prilicla finally, directing his helmet light forward. “I thought I detected vibration in the corridor netting that was not being made by us, and I was right. Something is moving aft towards us. It is not yet visible. Shall we withdraw, I hope?”
“I want a look at it first,” said the captain. “But stay behind me in case hostilities break out. Better still, you head back to Rhabwar, now.”
The calm, controlled expectancy with a minimum of fear that was being radiated by the other compared very favorably with Prilicla’s own cowardly feelings. He moved a few meters behind the captain but no farther.
In the netting around them the vibration increased, and suddenly it was within range of their helmet lights, a flattened, ovoid shape that moved like an enormous blob of animated quicksilver. The digits of the six short appendages spaced equally around its body were grasping the netting expertly and using it to pull the creature rapidly towards them, but at a distance of ten meters or so it slowed to a stop. Obviously it was watching them.
“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla said anxiously, “don’t open your satchel—a tool could be mistaken for a weapon—or make any movements that might seem threatening.”