“When will they wake?” Syrona asked.
“And what do we do with them when they do?” Nimisha asked.
“Feed them?” Casper’s expression was amused.
“Any ideas on what they eat, Doc?” Nimisha asked. “Meat certainly turned that one off.”
“Stomach contents have been analyzed and they have recently eaten grain products and a protein I cannot identify with what few biological entities of this planet this ship has been asked to examine. I can see no reason why what is nutritious for us may not be equally edible for them, given that we may have descended from the same type of primordial pond scum.”
“The burger was protein, not scum,” Syrona said.
“But not in a recognizable form or with a familiar smell,” Doc replied.
“You’ve been living here longer. And you made bread,” Nimisha said, turning to Jon. “That’s grain. Fish is protein—did we scan enough of the area around the wreck to know if there is a body of water in the vicinity that would supply fish?”
“I can provide fish for them, and greens,” Cater replied. “Helm sent me an update of what you have been eating, Captain.”
“Thanks, Helm. As efficient and forethoughtful as ever,” Nimisha murmured.
“Only doing my job, ma’am,” was Helm’s response. They all chuckled.
“We’ll take fish—cooked, I think,” Nimisha said, looking at the three for confirmation. “And greens, plus some sort of bread, coarse grained, but a finer quality than what Jon made.” She shot him a teasing glance. “And water in clear glass.”
The requested items were available within minutes.
“They’re waking up,” Doc advised them.
“Let’s move the table closer to the med unit so they can see the food. You don’t generally offer edibles to an enemy,” Jon said.
“We hope,” Nimisha said as she took one end of the table nearest her to help Jon move it. Casper and Syrona, with Timmy’s help, set the food on the table. “Tim, you’re small. Stand in front and offer them food. Take a piece of each and show them you’re willing to eat it.”
“Sure, only I wish it was burger instead of fish,” Timmy said, promptly taking his position.
“If we are seated,” Nimisha went on, “we may not look as threatening.”
“You took the course, too?” Jon asked her, pulling chairs to form a row well behind the set table.
“No, it just seems sensible,” she replied, and he nodded approval.
“I’m opening up,” Doc said.
“Talk to them as soon as they start moving, Timmy,” Jon said. “It doesn’t matter what you say.”
“But what will I say?” Timmy asked, anxiously turning to his mother.
“Tell them who you are, who we are, that we didn’t mean to scare them, and are they hungry?”
“When do I eat?”
“Drink first and offer it to them,” Doc said. “They’ll likely be thirsty after what I’ve done to them.”
Everyone watched as the alien creatures began to stir.
The more violent captive of the two roused first. They could tell by the sudden tautness in its body.
“Hi, I’m Timmy. I’ll bet you’re thirsty,” the boy said, pausing to take a drink of water before offering the glass.
The alien hissed, but its now-open black optical slits were obviously focused on the glass as it watched Timmy drink. If it drew back from his extended hand, the action was more in an automatic defense.
“Move slowly, Timmy,” Syrona said. “Maybe place the glass beside it in the unit?”
Timmy did so, taking the three steps slowly, glass still in his outstretched hand. Some of the water slopped in his hurry to put it down and the alien backed away, crowding into its fellow, who was just beginning to stir.
“Try it. Good clean water,” Timmy said, taking the second glass and again drinking from it. “And we got good food. You can have what you want to eat.” He picked up one of the bread slices and moved to place it beside the glass.
“Eat a bite, Timmy,” Jon murmured softly.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” His next words were muffled around the slice as he bit into it before placing it beside the glass. “See? I’m eating it. And drinking the water, too. Try it. Won’t hurt you. Please?”
The alien sniffed at the wet spill that had become drops on the nonabsorbent covering of the medical unit. It put one of its two fingers on a drop and watched it run away from the touch. It sniffed the glass and then, slowly rising to a seated position, lifted the glass in both hands and took a tentative sip. Its fellow had now roused and was watching, turning its head just enough to take in what was happening.
Having had a quick sip, the first one made a short soft sound to its companion, who also pulled itself up into a sitting position and reached for the offered glass. It took one sip and then another before handing the glass back.
“Would that mean Ay is dominant over Bee?” Syrona asked.
“Ay was awake before Bee,” Nimisha said, smothering a chuckle.
“Give Bee its own glass, and the greens, Timmy,” Jon said. “Eat some before you put them down where they can reach them.”
Timmy, obviously enjoying his role, did so, taking a bite of the green leaf with exaggerated eagerness before adding it to the offerings. He got a second piece of bread, breaking off a piece and eating that before giving the slice to Bee.
Ay took the bread and sniffed it, licked it, and bit into it, chewing quickly and then nibbling more enthusiastically. Bee took the leaf, sniffed, licked, and then crumbled the whole thing into its mouth, swallowing almost instantly.
“You’re supposed to chew your food, not swallow it whole,” Timmy said, frowning.
“They caught that facial change fast, didn’t they?” Nimisha said as both aliens stopped eating, their bodies tense.
“Smile, Tim,” Jon said.
“I didn’t scare them, did I?”
“I don’t think so. They’re eating again.”
“They must be starved,” Timmy said. His offerings were all gone and the water drained from the glasses. “What do I do now? Fill the glasses?”
“Hold out your hand and then gesture to the table, showing them they can leave the medic unit,” Jon said. “Smile.”
“They’re not smiling back,” Timmy said, but he was urgently pantomiming what he wanted them to do.
There was a low-voiced exchange of sounds before Ay pushed itself forward and slid off the unit, landing lightly on its feet with knees bent, ready to move.
“No, it’s all right, come along. It’s much easier for you to take what you want,” Timmy said with expansive and explanatory gestures.
“He’s good at this,” Nimisha said in a low voice to Syrona.
“We used to do playacting at nights or during long storms,” Casper said. “Passed time, and it was amazing how much dialogue we could remember from plays we’d seen a long time ago.”
“In bits and pieces,” Jon added, also keeping his voice low.
Slowly, and with Timmy encouraging them every step, the aliens made their way to the table, clutching their glasses against their squarish torsos. Timmy pointed at the glasses, patted the table, and picked up the pitcher.
“You put ’em down and I’ll pour. We might spill otherwise. Ever used a pitcher before? Yes, that’s right, put the glass down, Ay. You’re Ay, and you’re Bee. I’m Tee.” And Timmy started to giggle at his wit. Both aliens reacted, taking two quick backward steps before they realized Timmy’s unusual noise was not harmful. “I’m pouring, I’m pouring you water,” he said, hastily putting action to words. Then he stepped back and glanced over at the adults watching him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve laughed like that, should I?”
As the aliens were far more needful of water than concerned about his odd noises, they were quick to take possession of and drain both glasses quickly. They replaced the glasses on the table and turned meaningfully toward him.
“I get the m
essage,” he said, cutting off another giggle as he refilled. “What about some more of this nice bread?” he asked, passing the plate from one to the other.
As daintily as if they were at a proper tea in Lady Rezalla’s salon, they used one finger and the opposing thumb to lift a slice from the plate.
“We got some fish, too,” Timmy said. Then he regarded his mother. “I can eat it with my fingers this time?” When she nodded, he pinched a portion of the cooked white flesh and, tipping his head, dropped the morsel down his throat.
Ay and Bee watched, their jaws dropping slightly open. Their eyes glittered. Then they relaxed and continued eating bread. Ay approached the fish, and its sniffing was quite audible, the vents of the vertical slit visibly fluttering. So quick was its pincer-like motion that the piece of fish was in its mouth before the humans caught the transfer. Then it turned slightly toward Bee and pointed to the fish. They both set about snatching pieces, alternating bites of fish, bread, and greens until they cleared all that had been set out for them.
“You were hungry and thirsty, weren’t you?” Timmy said.
Syrona covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You’ve said that a time or two, I guess,” Nimisha commented to Syrona.
“A time or two.”
Having fed themselves, Ay and Bee now regarded Timmy. The observers could see that they were no longer as tense as they had been. They were, she thought, seeing the almost imperceptible movements of their head, and the flick of their digits, assessing their current surroundings and the inhabitants.
“Now what do we do?” Timmy asked the adults, raising his hands, palms upward in query.
Immediately the aliens assumed a similar position. “Good question, Timmy. Why don’t you sit down on the floor and see what happens?” Jon suggested quietly.
The aliens’ heads moved slightly, indicating they knew where the voice came from.
“So.” Timmy crossed his legs and sat down.
The aliens leaned slightly forward and turned to each other; Ay made a sound and Bee lifted one shoulder, but both settled down cross-legged, too.
“Their knees are funny,” Timmy said, but he kept his expression bland.
“Now, Tim, point to yourself and say your name.”
“Timmy or Tee?”
“I told you that boy’s a born comedian,” Casper murmured.
“He’s the best one at charades, certainly,” Syrona replied in the same careful tone.
“Timmy! Tee!” said the boy and then, without a cue from Jon, he pointed to Ay and cocked his head, eyebrows set at an inquiring level. When there was no immediate response, he leaned toward them, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“They don’t seem to have ears, Timmy. That gesture may not be understood.”
“Tee! Timmy,” he repeated, pointing to himself and then at each of the aliens in turn.
Ay said a sound.
Bee said a sound.
Timmy shook his head.
“Any ideas, Helm?” Nimisha asked softly.
“A liquid noise, neither vowel nor diphthong,” Helm replied. “I have not heard sufficient of their sounds to replicate them.”
“Tee. Timmy!”
“TTT,” Ay said, stuttering out the consonant but unable to complete the “ee” sound.
“Hey, that’s great!” Timmy said, clapping his hands. This startled the two, who reared back away from him. “Ooops!” he said in dismay, hunching his shoulders and clapping fingers to his mouth.
“Oooo!” repeated both aliens at once, turning to each other as if both pleased with his word and their repetition.
“Try more vowels, Timmy.”
“Vowels?” Timmy turned for an explanation.
“A, e, i, o, u,” his mother replied.
“Ay is what we named him.”
“AAAA,” Ay echoed politely.
“Bee?” Timmy said, pointing to Bee.
“EEEE,” Bee said.
“We’re going to have to change their names,” Timmy suggested.
“Try ‘I’ . . .”
The vowels were easier for the aliens to manage and they went through the five.
“Open your mouth enough, Timmy,” Jon suggested, “so they can see how you make the Tee sound.”
Timmy did so, grimacing and showing his teeth, his lips peeled back as far as possible. The boy kept on, and the aliens seemed to be trying to enunciate what they heard.
“I have turned to a wider frequency band, ma’am,” Helm said in a quiet voice. “Human aural equipment is not adequate to hear all the sounds they do make. I have tracked their voices up to fifty kilohertz, far beyond what humans are capable of, and nearly the limit of my receptors. Also, there are some glottal stops, fricatives, and labials that do not register properly. In their own voices, they are approximating the sounds Tim makes.”
At just that point, Timmy threw both arms up in the air in total frustration and exasperation. “I give up. Can’t we do something else?” he asked, turning toward the adults.
“Yes, why don’t you show them around the ship, Tim?” Nimisha suggested.
“Great!” Timmy leaped so quickly to his feet that the aliens, surprised, slid backward from him with great agility and speed. “Aw, sorry. I keep forgetting. It’s all right. Get up—” He made appropriate gestures. “—and I’ll show you the ship.”
“Ooo uuu t eep,” Ay said, peeling its lips back in an effort to emulate Tim’s exaggerated pronunciation.
“Let’s give that alien a high score for trying,” Jon said in a whimsical tone.
“Helm,” Nimisha said in a low voice, speaking over her shoulder toward the bridge, “keep on recording at the necessary frequencies and see if they speak to each other while Timmy’s showing them around.”
Timmy was leading the way now, chatting all the time. The aliens were a good head taller than he was. They walked with a very smooth gait though they were slightly knock-kneed.
“So what do we do now?” Syrona asked when the trio was out of earshot. “We’ve doctored, watered, and fed them and—”
“I’d say we take them back where we got them,” Jon said, looking at Nimisha, who nodded agreement as did Casper and Syrona. “Showing good faith . . .”
“As well as giving Helm time to parse their language,” Nimisha added. She peered out the front screen. “We’ve enough daylight left, I think, to bring them back before any of the nocturnal predators you told me about emerge from their lairs.”
“Let’s see if we can arrange another meeting with them in . . . say, two days’ time?” Jon went on, checking with each of the others.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Tim’ll need the break,” Syrona said, but she was obviously delighted at her son’s performance. “I didn’t think he’d be able to do so well.”
“He did a great job,” Casper said.
“Still is,” Jon added, for Timmy’s voice could be plainly heard. “He hasn’t had much chance to . . . socialize. Only barely remembers the others.”
Nimisha thought of the society into which her daughter had been reared, with all its restrictions and traditions. “I don’t think Tim has suffered any neglect you could have avoided. I’m a parent, too, you know.”
Syrona blinked. “No, I didn’t realize.”
Nimisha laughed. “The subject never came up. Cuiva should be just over twelve now. My mother has her in keeping—” She stopped speaking for a moment, gave a little sniff, and went on. “We’ll have to get Timmy to do the pantomiming.”
“Is there a chance the aliens will think he’s in charge?” Syrona asked, startling herself at the notion.
“Not when they both see us handling the gig on its return, with Timmy safely belted in a passenger seat,” Jon said with a grin.
Being escorted with Timmy to the gig after they had toured the Fiver did not surprise Ay and Bee. They did not resist when they were belted into seats just as they had seen Tim do. On the other hand, their
ship awed Tim when he saw it.
“Looks like a gigantic bird—nicer than the ones that dive-bomb you, though. Ah, its head got broke.”
Jon had explained to Timmy what he wanted to communicate to the aliens. Timmy did a good job, pointing to the setting sun in the west and then to the east, making a circle with his hands and passing it twice around the sky. Ay nodded, with Bee as quick in comprehension.
“Two days. We meet. Here. Your people . . .” Tim swung his finger to indicate the adults.
That caused Ay and Bee to communicate with each other with oo’s and uu’s and other unheard noises. Then they both nodded.
Bee took a half step forward, bending at its midsection, and raising a glass to its lips with one hand, and then miming food in the other that it chewed lustily.
“I getcha,” Timmy said, clapping his hands. Again the reflex action of the two aliens was to recoil from the noise. “Does it hurt their ears or something?” he asked Jon.
“Could be. They hear in a different range than we do.”
“Oh.” It took a moment for Timmy to digest that information. “Like the whistlers?”
“Like them.” Jon nodded. “He’s referring to a flier we’ve encountered, not as large as some, but when it dives it emits a whistle. Only if you hear it, it’s homing in on you and you’d better find cover fast. We think the noise is used to paralyze some of the indigenous creatures.” He turned to the aliens and mimed drinking and eating.
Neither Ay nor Bee moved as the others went back to the gig.
“You better move back,” Timmy said, leaning out of the hatch and flipping his hands at them.
“I’ll take off vertically, Tim,” Jon said from the pilot’s seat. “Don’t worry.”
Timmy watched the two figures, who braced themselves against the slight wind of uplift, as long as he could on the rearview screen. Then he took a seat and very shortly was fast asleep.
“Hard day’s work when you’re only six,” Casper said with great pride and affection.
VI
Nimisha's Ship Page 17