They exchanged a brief but intense clinch before turning and opening the door to the outside. Gravity barely strong enough to keep the alien vessel from drifting off into space allowed them to float gently down to its curved metal skin. Ahead, the open alien lock loomed. Above and behind them, they could see the concerned faces of Forty Daughter and her companion anxiously following their progress through the viewport of their hovering repair craft.
The sooner they completed their examination, the faster they could return to the warm embrace of the starship. Twelve-Son led the way forward. Memories of the empty, shattered world below rose unbidden into his consciousness. Something had utterly annihilated the population of a seemingly benign world. Admittedly, the six hundred thousand who had perished had been aliens, but they had been intelligent and warmblooded like the Unop-Patha. Whatever had ruthlessly slaughtered them might not be discriminatory in its taste for extermination. True, the ship they were about to board was unpretentious, far too small to harbor weapons of mass destruction or very many warlike individuals even if they were smaller in stature than the Unop-Patha. But it was more than a matter of numbers. TwelveSon did not want to encounter even one rampaging, murderous alien.
As they entered the lock both he and ThirtyOneSon agreed that the placement of controls and instruments suggested that the lock, and by inference the rest of the derelict vessel, had been designed with beings bigger than the Unop-Patha in mind. TwelveSon was not sure whether to be relieved or further intimidated by this conclusion. Trying to determine its composition, he studied a blank screen of alien manufacture while his companion scanned the inner door and its seals. The screen and its design were far more sophisticated than anything comparable aboard the starship.
ThirtyOneSon turned to him, staring out of his suit's head bubble. "There's no atmosphere on this craft. If there ever was one it has all away leaked."
"It could be there was aboard never anyone." Moving to the inner door, TwelveSon began running his four stubby fingers around the edge. It was darker here, away from the outer portal. "It might have been accidentally from the surface of the fifth planet launched, or from a human starship, or from a vessel of the attacking species. Or it might a true derelict be that has here for generations lain."
"Not many generations," ThirtyOneSon reminded him. "The colonizing humans had not this world for very long occupied before they wiped out were."
"I realize that, but there is still-"
He let out an involuntary yelp and leaped backward as the inner door began to open. The paltry gravity would have sent him crashing headfirst into the ceiling had not an alert ThirtyOneSon reacted in time to grab his companion's lower leg as he began to soar past. Even as ThirtyOneSon pulled his friend back down toward the floor, he was already stumbling toward the outer portal.
"What is it, what happening is?" FortyDaughter's alarmed voice crackled over their simple bubbleset speakers.
"The inner lock door cycling is," TwelveSon reported as he regained both his emotional and physical equilibrium. Together, he and ThirtyOneSon halted themselves in the frame of the outer doorway, watching and waiting.
The inner barrier continued to withdraw until the way was clear. Beyond, they could make out a corridor and more alien instrumentation. A few lights shone dimly. In the stillness of the airless moon, nothing moved.
"In the course of your inspection one of your hands must a still active control have brushed," ThirtyOneSon remarked to his companion. When the pilot, still breathing hard, did not reply, the slightly larger of the pair added, "We should a survey of the interior make."
TwelveSon looked over at him. "I would rather not."
ThirtyOneSon did not possess an especially imaginative personality, a quality that was a definite asset in their present circumstance. His tone was maternal-stern. "We should a survey make," he insisted firmly. "Having been the opportunity granted, we will chastised be if we without doing so return."
"No one will know if... oh, wait," an unhappy TwelveSon muttered. They had already reported to the other repair ship that the inner lock was open. Even if ThirtyOneSon had concurred, it was too late to back out now. With great reluctance, the pilot started back into the lock and toward the ominously gaping inner gateway.
The absence of breathable atmosphere was encouraging. Surely there was nothing left alive aboard the solitary little vessel. As they penetrated deeper within, keeping close to one another, growing confidence began to override his unease. As an exemplar of alien engineering the ship struck him as more primitive than what he had seen of the best of contemporary human and thranx and AAnn technology, but it was still more advanced than anything aboard his own vessel. A sudden thought struck him: If by chance the humans did not know this was here, perhaps he and his people could claim right of salvage. There might be much to learn from the empty, abandoned craft. It depended how advanced it actually was. Arrogated technology was of little use to those who appropriated it if its design and details were beyond comprehension.
ThirtyOneSon bumped into him, knocking him slightly forward and in the light gravity, nearly off his feet. Twelve-Son whirled irritably on his companion. "Watch where you stepping are! And don't so close follow. There plenty of room in here for the two of us is."
That was when he noticed that the hair on his friend's head, face, and neck was standing straight out. ThirtyOneSon was looking to their left, and pointing. "You mean, there plenty of room for the three of us is."
A shape was rising from the shadows. It continued to rise until it towered over the two terrified Unop-Patha. TwelveSon was too frightened to move forward, back, or scramble for a hiding place. More than four times their mass, the ghostly apparition had a similar bipolar body but with much longer limbs. What they could see of its face and head inside a helmet were almost as shaggy as those of an Unop-Patha, but the eyes were far too small and the mouth too large. As details continued to resolve themselves in the feeble light, he and his companion began to relax.
It was a human. Then this was a human vessel, or so they now supposed. But where had the human come from, and why was there only one of them? If this was a scientific vessel engaged in an exploratory jaunt from one of the two huge warships orbiting the planet, TwelveSon would have expected it to house several scientists. And if that was the case, why was this individual wearing an environment suit and not working in a pressurized compartment?
An accident! They had stumbled across a human survey or scientific craft engaged in exploration of this moon. It had run into difficulty and become stranded here. It might be from one of the warships or - he hardly dared countenance the possibility - it might have been caught and trapped here when Treetrunk had been set upon by its unknown homicidal invaders. Overlooked by the otherwise maniacally thorough attackers, its crew had survived.
Except there did not seem to be any crew. Looking past the single tottering figure TwelveSon was unable to discern any others, either erect or lying down. The little vessel was large enough to accommodate a number of individuals the size of the average human. Possibly they were active in another compartment. If this craft was not a component of the present orbiting human detachment and if it had been here since the attack on the fifth planet, then supplies of every kind would be running very low. Retiring to the confines of sealed suits would have allowed the marooned crew to conserve their remaining air by in effect pressurizing only their bodies in lieu of their surroundings. He marveled at the environmental technology that would let so small a craft keep its occupants alive for such an extended period.
Of course, how far and how long any onboard supplies lasted was in direct proportion to the number of crew. The fewer the occupants, the longer the reserves would last. Once again he peered past the awkward bulk of the human. There was still no sign of the rest of the crew.
"Why is it not to communicate trying?" ThirtyOneSon was eying the human intently. This was the first one either of them had ever encountered in person instead of via a communications tr
ansmission or study manual.
"Perhaps it see us does not." TwelveSon weighed how best to proceed. "Or perhaps it is not to open communications authorized and is for one of its superiors waiting."
"That may be," ThirtyOneSon conceded, "but I sure it sees us am. How could it not? We right here in front of it are."
"Protocol it from acknowledging us may prevent. The AAnn like that are, and the thranx somewhat less so. We far less about this species know than we do many others."
"So what do we do? Just here for the rest of them to show up wait?" ThirtyOneSon looked around uneasily. "I this place do not like. I want to back on the ship be."
"No less than I." Protocol be damned, TwelveSon decided. He was not going to stand here waiting on the aliens forever. If his actions resulted in a reprimand, he would accept it with good grace. Anything to accelerate matters so he and his friend could return to their vessel. ThirtyOneSon would support his actions.
Moving forward, he reached out and touched the leg of the human. When it failed to react, he grabbed the flexible material of its suit and tugged on it. This finally produced a response. Turning toward the two Unop-Patha the human glanced down. His eyes widened, the framing flesh pulling back to expose more of the whitish orb, and his mouth opened and began to move.
Wrenching himself away from the Unop-Patha's grasp, the human stumbled backward until it was pressed up against the wall. It stood there staring at them, its mouth still working, arms splayed wide and flattened tightly against the composite material of the bulwark.
TwelveSon took a step forward, then hesitated. Hardly a specialist in interspecies contact, he was once again unsure how to proceed. "Is it to communicate trying or not? It looking right at us is."
"No." In his stolid, unimaginative way ThirtyOneSon was firm. "It not looking at us is. It looking behind us is." Turning as one, the two Unop-Patha examined the space behind them. They saw nothing exceptional, nothing to differentiate it from the rest of the vessel's interior.
"Whatever it is seeing not here is, but in its mind is." ThirtyOneSon's tone was somber. "I don't think I to see it want."
"But at it look! Surely it trying to communicate is." Baffled by the human's reactions, TwelveSon was at a loss as to what to do next. "See how open and active its mouth is? Humans communicate that way, as we do know; by means of modulated sound waves."
"Different frequencies," ThirtyOneSon commented thoughtfully. "We would not its words anyway understand, but specialists on the ship have to the principal human tongue access. Our people may not fluent be, but the necessary data in the library should be." He contemplated the task at hand. "We must back to the ship get this one."
TwelveSon reluctantly agreed. Since he and his companion could not talk to the human, they would have to somehow induce it to follow them into the presence of those who could. Stepping forward, he executed several simple gestures, hoping the human would get the idea. Then he and ThirtyOneSon turned to start back the way they had come.
"It not following is," ThirtyOneSon observed. "It still just standing there staring at the opposite wall is." He peered past the human and down the empty corridor. "Maybe for the rest of the crew it waiting is."
"I'm beginning to think there no rest of the crew is." TwelveSon's thoughts were tumbling. "If there were they ought to have by now arrived. This a very small ship is."
A contemplative ThirtyOneSon was quiet for a moment. "Then this being a sole survivor of the accident that trapped this vessel here is."
"I beginning to think so am." TwelveSon hesitated. "Unless the others, if there are others, are all dead, or otherwise immobilized."
"I don't know about you, but I not looking am." The larger Unop-Patha was adamant. "We our family mandate here and more have fulfilled, by this craft entering and one human finding. Let FortyDaughter or others from the ship explore further. We leavetaking are owed."
"I agree. But one last time let us try." He turned back toward the human, who had not shifted from its splayed stance against the wall. "If it will with us come and our communications people can with it make contact, others may not hunt for answers to difficult questions have to."
"Yes," his companion readily agreed, "and if it a lost craft from one of the orbiting warships is, we valuable merit for performing a rescue should acquire."
"Wonder make one it does, though." TwelveSon had approached to within arm's reach of the much more massive human. "If that the case is you would expect the humans both of these moons to be scouring, as well as the planetary surface in search of their lost comrade. And to have informed our ship upon arriving here that one of theirs had missing gone."
"Communication the key is," ThirtyOneSon observed. "Once that established is, then the human all such questions for us can answer."
Reaching out for the second time TwelveSon grabbed the human, this time reaching up over his head to tug on the creature's arm. Its helmeted head jerked around sharply, and the Unop-Patha could see the large facial orifice gaping and moving once again. But the human would not leave its place flattened against the wall.
Bemused, TwelveSon stepped back - only to see that his companion had retreated several steps and was staring mutely up at the alien. "Now what is it?"
It took ThirtyOneSon a moment to respond. "Your suit's transmission pickup. Off internal communication switch and change to -" He glanced down at the wrist console he had been fingering."- eighty-six point three dash eleven."
"Why, what the point is?" TwelveSon looked from his friend back up at the immovable alien. "Don't tell me you understand it can?"
"Yes." ThirtyOneSon's words were barely audible. "Yes, I can understand it. Just listen, and you will, too."
Bewildered and a bit angry, TwelveSon proceeded to do as his companion suggested. As soon as he entered the recommended frequency into his suit instrumentation his ears were assailed by the voice of the alien, and he understood the truth of what ThirtyOneSon had told him. He found that he could indeed understand the human.
It screaming was.
Chapter 11
They're saying what?"
Having not been told to stand at ease, the orderly remained at attention in the anteroom, surrounded by the Victorian-era bric-a-brac that was the commander's favored decor. "They claim to have rescued a human from the inner moon, sir. They say -" The orderly glanced down at his reader to the printout of the report to make certain he was recounting everything accurately. "- that they found one live human in a single small vessel on the far side of the moon. Beyond being alive, they cannot testify as to his condition, though they believe it to be marginal."
"This is preposterous." As she spoke, Commander Lahtehoja was sealing up the sides of her lightweight duty boots. "Neither we nor the Shaka, are missing any personnel, and I would be more than a little upset to learn that all shuttle craft and lifeboats were not accounted for. I know that the level of boredom is high among the crews, but if some people have gone for an unauthorized joyride I am not going to be pleased."
With each sentence the commander's voice had diminished. Eyes set front, body stiff and ramrod straight, the orderly knew what that meant. In contrast to others, when Lahtehoja grew quiet it meant she was really angry. When a soldier had to strain to hear the commander's words, it was time to look for a hole to hide in.
He pivoted sharply to follow her as she exited the commander's quarters and headed for the bridge, moving with the same long, purposeful, relentless strides that had made her a champion quintathlete in her days at the Academy. Crew they encountered stopped whatever they were doing to snap to attention and salute, gestures that she acknowledged perfunctorily. Anyone who had thought that inspection and survey duty at ill-fated Treetrunk would be a walk through an aerogel had neglected to note the name of the commander currently in charge.
A lift carried them to the auxiliary bridge blister situated on the upper-middle portion of the big ship. Far forward, the immense projection fan of the KK drive dominated the field of vision.
With the warship rotated to face the planet, the white-girdled globe of Treetrunk loomed in the view dome.
More salutes and salutations greeted her arrival. Lahtehoja did not move to take her seat but instead strode directly over to confront the officer on duty. Captain Miles vaan Leuderwolk was a paunchy, easygoing career officer who favored a shaved head and imposing beard. For all his rough appearance he was known to laugh frequently and easily. He looked like he should have been spending his days serving lager in a beer garden instead of directing a warship. Those who served under him were inordinately fond of their easygoing master. No such rumor had ever been attached to Lahtehoja.
"What do we have, Miles?" The commander's eyes were black, small, and intense as a laser. You had to look for them, but nobody wanted to find them.
The captain of the Ronin wore his bemusement as artlessly as his beard. "You read the report from central communications?"
"I've heard it." A flick of the head in the orderly's direction was sufficient to explain. "Who are these Unop-Patha? I'm riot familiar with their kind."
"I'll tell you on the way to B hold." Vaan Leuderwolk smiled through his beard. "I don't know much about them, either. Just the basics. They have very little contact with us, and we with them. When they popped out of space-plus here a few weeks ago they requested and were subsequently granted permission to do some cultural and scientific survey work."
Lahtehoja led the way, forcing the captain and the orderly to have to hurry to keep up. "I don't remember being notified of this arrival."
Leuderwolk shrugged. "It happened when you were on sleep shift. "Buthefasi over on the Alexander Nevsky didn't deem it important enough to bother you."
Lahtehoja muttered something under her breath but did not comment further. She knew it was a failing of hers that she felt the need to know everything about everything that was going on under her command. A good commander had to know how to delegate, a skill that was not among her strengths. Nevertheless, although Buthefasi had acted properly, this was one particular she was sorry she had missed.
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