The governor looked at the others and they all nodded. “What have we got to lose?” added Crawford. “They already know we’re here.”
“All right, let’s do it.” Shiffeld touched a button on the table’s control panel and was quickly answered by Starsong’s new commander, a former transport captain lured away from his old post by the chance to command the glittering headquarters ship. “Captain, please open a communications channel with the nearest ship out there and pipe it down to us here.” They all swiveled their chairs to face the main monitor and then waited. It took a few minutes, but eventually the monitor came to life and it showed a rather grainy picture of two humans sitting in what looked like a control room. They were staring out of the monitor with great interest. Crawford studied them. Two men, one older and one fairly young. Their skin was a light mahogany color and they were both quite bald. There seemed to be something odd about their faces and after a moment he realized that their noses and ears were very small; there was something strange about their eyes, too, although he couldn’t decide what. Still, there was no doubt they were humans. Shiffeld stood up to address them.
“Greetings, I am Lieu…Rikard Shiffeld, commander of this expedition. Who are you?”
The older man on the screen began talking and Crawford tried to make sense of what he was saying. He recognized some of the words, but others he did not; the grammar was strange and the man was talking too fast to follow. What language was he speaking? After a moment he paused. Shiffeld repeated his greeting and the man on the screen said some more things which made no sense. Shiffeld looked around. “Any of you understand this?” he asked quietly.
“Not really, what language is that?” said Lu Karrigan.
“Sounds vaguely familiar,” said Sowell, “but I can’t place it.”
Shiffeld frowned and tried again, speaking loudly and very slowly. The two men on the screen began talking to each other excitedly. The older one started speaking again. “Eya Jari Farsvar,” he said pointing to himself. “Uya Rikurd Shitfel?” He pointed at the screen.
“Shiffeld,” said the governor emphatically. “Rik-ard Shif-feld. And you are Jari Farsvar. Are you captain of your vessel?”
“Eya execti fa Carlenzer. Starship master uya?”
“I think he wants to know if you are captain of this ship, sir,” said Jervis.
“Yes, I caught that, but what’s a ‘carlenzer’?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Mr. Farsvar, we come in peace and would like to talk with you.”
“Talk! Yia, talk! Eya a uya talk! Maya swappa, tu?” The man made gestures with his hands like he was giving and taking something from Shiffeld.
“Trade? They want to trade?” asked Nassau.
“Could be,” agreed Crawford. “That sounds hopeful.”
Shiffeld and Farsvar continued to exchange talk for several minutes without a great deal of success. Crawford shook his head. The language of the locals seemed almost, but not quite, familiar.
“Governor,” said a woman two places down from Shiffeld. This was Beatrice Innis, a coldly efficient woman who used to work for Lu Karrigan as an accountant or something. Crawford had met her a few times and knew that she was about as unfriendly as a person could get. He wasn’t surprised that Lu had traded her off to Shiffeld. She had been working at her computer terminal busily almost from the moment communications had been opened.
“Yes?” Shiffeld turned to look at his new assistant.
“I think we might have better luck with written communications. I’ve been going through some old literary files from the library computer and I think I know what language these people are speaking.”
“Really? What?”
“The same language we are, actually.”
“Are you crazy?” demanded Tosh Briggs. “That’s not our language!”
“Not anymore, no,” said Innis stiffly, “but it was once. As you might—or might not—know, our present day language evolved from the ‘basic’ language used by the United Worlds. What these people are speaking is very similar to the UW basic. I think. It has changed some from the reference sources I have here, but not too much. Our written language is closer to basic than our spoken language. If theirs is, too then we might have a better chance of understanding each other.”
“Well, it’s worth a shot, I suppose,” said Shiffeld. “Give it a try.”
“Yes, sir.” Innis began typing. While she worked, Crawford was thinking. His thoughts led to a conclusion which was… amazing.
“They must have jumped the Rift back during the days of the UW,” he said aloud and with considerable awe in his voice.
“What’s that, Crawford?” demanded Shiffeld.
“These people must have crossed the Rift a long time ago, sir. Thousands of years ago! Before the fall of the UW. That would explain the language difference. We both started with basic, but their language evolved in one direction while ours evolved in another.”
“God,” hissed Briggs. “They could be all through the Perseus Arm by now!”
“Not all through it,” corrected Crawford. “The Petrunans and the Hebyrnans haven’t reported finding any ‘natives’ in their areas.”
“At least not that they’ve admitted to!” replied Briggs. “The Hebyrnans are so damn secretive about their activities, they might well not have told anyone.”
“True,” admitted Crawford. “But the primary concern to us is that they are here and somehow we’ve got to deal with them.”
Innis finished her message and showed to Shiffeld. It was written in a terribly old fashioned and, to Crawford’s ear, flowery language. But the message was simple enough: we are here in peace and would like to meet and talk with you people. Innis tied her computer into the communications circuit and sent it off. The two locals, who had been waiting patiently all this time, got the message and quickly read it. The older one bobbed his head enthusiastically.
“Yia! Talk! Usa vo uyen talk!” He immediately began typing something into his own controls. A few moments later it came through on Innis’s computer. She frowned and typed something back. Farsvar consulted with the younger man and then sent another message. Innis looked it over.
“Well?” demanded Shiffeld.
“I think they want to know whether they should come here or if we want to go there.”
“Here,” said Shiffeld emphatically. “Let’s start this off on the right foot.”
“We are the visitors here, perhaps we should…” began Regina.
“And our ships are a thousand times the size of theirs and we are representing the Protectorate, Mistress Nassau,” interrupted Shiffeld. “Once the gate is built, this system will become the focus of the Protectorate’s expansion into the Perseus Arm. These people are going to become subjects of the Protectorate whether they like it or not. Best that we make it clear who’s in the dominant position from the start.”
“I see,” said Regina, frowning.
Innis had already sent Shiffeld’s insistence of meeting here and there seemed to be no objections from Mr. Farsvar. But then he typed out a rather lengthy message and Innis was several minutes puzzling it out.
“This is odd, sir. They seem to be asking for information on our life support settings: temperature, air pressure, even the gas mix. I’m not sure why they would need that…”
“Well, get it for them anyway,” said Shiffeld dismissively. “The chief engineer can give you the data.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Innis got the reply together, the others talked quietly. Crawford noticed the expression if intense concentration on Regina Nassau’s face. “What’s up, Regina?”
“Oh, a totally crazy idea, Charles.”
“Well, let me hear it. It can’t be any crazier than the rest of this mess.”
“I was just thinking that these people might want the environmental data because… no, I’m going to wait until our guests get here. We’ll know for sure then.”
“We’ll know what?
”
“Never mind.”
After a considerable delay, the data was assembled and sent to the other ship. Fortunately, they still used standard measurements and they seemed satisfied with what they got. Farsvar smiled and nodded. He typed in another short message.
“They are coming over,” said Innis. “They should be here in about an hour.”
“And then we’ll see,” whispered Regina.
* * * * *
“Life!” gasped Tad. “Will you look at the size of it!” The newcomers’ spaceship was swelling larger and larger on the shuttle’s viewscreen, and Tad stared at it with his mouth hanging open.
“Yeah, it’s pretty damned big,” agreed his uncle. “But look closer: it’s not one ship, but a whole batch all hooked together.” Tad did as directed and he could see that his uncle was right. The enormous structure consisted of dozens of smaller ships connected together by a rigid framework.
“But even the individual ships are huge. That one must be over three hundred meters long! And why would they hook them all together like this? I’ve never heard about anything like this.”
“Nor I. I can’t imagine what the purpose is. But it sure is impressive, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir!” Tad was silent for a moment and then spoke again. “Sir? Thanks for letting me come along.”
“Hey, you are the one who saw them first, you deserve to be here. Besides, you are a full-fledged crewmember now and have to take hazardous duty the same as anyone else.”
Tad felt himself swelling up like there had been a sudden drop in pressure. He’d officially been an adult crewmember for nearly a year, but this was the first time he had really felt it. He sat there smiling for a moment until the other half of his uncle’s statement registered. “You think this might be dangerous?”
“We know nothing about these people. We have to assume there is some danger.”
“Surely if they were hostile there’s nothing we could do anyway. We’re so close we couldn’t run, and we certainly can’t resist something like that!” said Tad, waving his hand at the huge vessel.
“True, which is why I was so quick to agree to meeting with them. Our best hope is to make friends with them as soon as we can. Now shut up so I can concentrate on piloting.”
“Yes, sir.” He did as he was told and watched his uncle maneuver the tiny shuttle between several of the vessels which made up the outer layer of the amazing construct. It was even more impressive from this close. Tad looked hard at the nearest ship.
“The outer layer looks like they could be fighting vessels, Uncle,” he said with a note of worry in his voice. “Those projections could be pulsers.”
“Yes. Maybe.”
They were being guided to one of the ships near the center of the cluster, and eventually they found it and the open docking bay waiting for them. Tad wished he could stay and study the ship for a bit longer. It was, without doubt, the most beautiful one he had ever seen. Gleaming white, sleek and powerful. But all too soon they were inside. The docking bay was oddly constructed, but not so odd that they could not understand it. Instructions kept coming over the com, but his uncle responded more by instinct and common sense than by actually understanding the words. After a few moments, their shuttle was clamped in place and the door to the hanger bay slid shut.
“No docking tube,” said his uncle. “I think they are pressurizing the whole bay. Okay, let’s get ready to… what the…?!” Something suddenly grabbed Tad and yanked him down into his seat. For an instant he could scarcely breathe and he gasped in panic.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re under gravity,” said his uncle in wonder.
“How? They couldn’t have spun up a structure so big this fast,” protested Tad.
“No. They… they must have some sort of gravity generator.”
“Life!” exclaimed Tad. “Artificial gravity! That’s incredible!”
“Yes,” nodded his uncle. “These folks certainly have things worth trading for! Are you all right? Yes? Okay, let’s get ready and meet these people.” Tad carefully stood up. He had not been under gravity in several months and it felt very strange. Slowly he got into his gear. The readings the newcomers had sent them indicated that it was pretty cold aboard their ship. Not frigid, but some insulated underwear, a thick coat, hat, and some gloves would be appropriate to wear. Fortunately, their air was thick enough, although with an unfriendly mix of gasses, that a simple bubble helmet would be all that was needed. Tad finished dressing about the same time his uncle did. They looked each other over and pronounced themselves ready.
“Okay, let’s go.”
* * * * *
Charles Crawford stared through the window overlooking Starsong’s main boat bay. Shiffeld and all the other department heads were there, too, along with a considerable crowd of gawkers. The word about the coming meeting had already spread through the fleet and Shiffeld’s recently recruited police were having trouble keeping the hopeful spectators under control. Fortunately, rank had its privileges and Crawford had a front row seat. The shuttle carrying the locals had just settled into a docking cradle and the bay was pressurizing. Everyone was waiting for the occupants to emerge.
The craft, itself, was about the proper size for a shuttle but was very different in appearance from the ones Crawford was used to. It had a look that he could only describe as ‘hand-made’. It did not look like a vessel made on a production line. It looked more like someone had cobbled it together out of spare parts and scrap metal. That wasn’t to say that it looked shoddy or poorly made. On the contrary, it appeared to have been created by a craftsman; a craftsman with an artistic appreciation as well as an eye for engineering. Crawford found the vessel charming and he hoped he would have the opportunity to speak with whoever built it. He wondered if the locals’ other vessels were the same way.
“Okay, here we go,” said Lu Karrigan, pointing. “The hatch is opening.” A large piece of metal swung away from the hull and folded back on a very odd hinge system. A moment later, two figures emerged. They were wearing rather heavy clothing and bubble helmets, but otherwise looked like regular people. Shiffeld directed that the lock to the boat bay be opened and he led a small crowd out to meet the visitors. Crawford noticed that a group of police with holstered stunners were positioning themselves so they had a clear field of fire. Shiffeld slowly approached the waiting pair. Now that they were closer, Crawford could see that these were the same ones they had talked to over the communications screen. The older man held out both hands in a gesture of peace.
“Welcome aboard Starsong, Mr. Farsvar,” said Shiffeld, smiling and with hands out in imitation of the man opposite him.
“Besi najor, Rikurd Shitfel,” said the man, his voice muffled by the thin plastic helmet he was wearing. “Than uya va bekomin vo starship.”
“Beatrice, can you tell him that he doesn’t need his helmet? The air is safe to breathe.”
“I’ll try, sir.” Innis had brought along a portable display system to send written messages. She typed for a moment and then handed the device to Farsvar. The man conversed with the younger one and then typed in his own message and handed it back.
“I think he’s saying he can’t take the helmet off, sir.”
“Why not? This is a standard atmosphere.” Innis typed again and exchanged messages with Farsvar. The man was now shaking his head emphatically.
“He says that they cannot breathe this air, sir. At least I think that’s what he’s saying.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” protested Shiffeld. “You must have gotten the message wrong.”
“I don’t think so, sir, but I can try…”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Regina Nassau suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her.
“What’s that, Mistress Nassau?” asked Shiffeld.
“She didn’t get the message wrong! They can’t breathe our air! I will be thoroughly and totally damned! This is incredible!” Regina was nearl
y dancing with excitement.
“What are you talking about? Why can’t they breathe the air? They’re humans just like we are, aren’t they?”
“No they’re not! Not like us at all! Oh, this is amazing! I didn’t know any of them even still existed!”
“Any of who?” snapped Shiffeld. “Mistress Nassau, explain yourself!”
Regina Nassau had the look of a child who has just found a lost puppy. “Don’t you understand? They’re terraformers! Real terraformers!”
Chapter Eight
Regina Nassau looked at the two men standing in Starsong’s boat bay and tried to figure out just what she was feeling. She was excited, no doubt, but there was a swirl of other emotions which she could hardly categorize. Wonder, awe, anticipation, and yes, a bit of guilt, too. She could have scarcely been more amazed if the shuttle sitting in the bay had had ‘Beagle’ painted on the side and Charles Darwin had stepped out!
“Mistress Nassau, what are you talking about?” Governor Shiffeld was staring at her, along with almost everyone else.
“They’re Terraformers! Don’t you understand?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. You are a terraformer and I don’t see that these people are anything like you. Explain yourself.”
Regina shook her head in exasperation. “Our so-called education system at work,” she muttered.
“Mistress Nassau, I am a graduate of Albert & Fiona, I’ll have you know,” said Shiffeld icily. “I graduated with honors, too. And I have no recollection of any ‘terraformers’ who can’t breathe our air!”
Regina got control of herself. “Sorry. I suppose it is rather esoteric knowledge at that, for anyone not in the terraforming business. But these are the original Terraformers!” She gestured at the two men, still standing there patiently. “Not these exact men, obviously, but they have to be descendants of the genetically engineered terraforming teams who were created during the first expansion out from Old Earth. That’s why they can’t breath the air here: they were engineered for a different environment!”
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