Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  Issk’ath could not blame the colony for their enthusiasm. It was intrigued as they. The boredom had entirely receded, the iteration slowed to a distant crawl. These animals could talk. They could understand. They were more than prey.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Put it down , Titov. Can’t you tell that it’s trying to communicate?” said Spixworth as he carefully snapped and unsnapped the case latch, copying the pattern of the insect’s clacks.

  “You’re insane, Spixworth,” said Titov, still aiming the weapon.

  “You know that an insect developing sentience is highly unlikely, Spixworth,” Martham’s voice echoed in his helmet and he scowled. “Life expectancy, oxygen levels, exoskeleton weight, nervous system function— they are all factors against it.”

  Spixworth sighed. “On Earth , Martham. Rules are different here. Besides, this isn’t biology. This thing is metal. Manufactured. At least, I think it’s manufactured. Who knows? Maybe they grow metal exoskeletons here. But the lights and patterns and the electronic hums— I’m going to take a gamble and say this is a machine.”

  “Say you’re right,” said Titov, the weapon shaking in his hand. “Say this thing’s some kind of machine— a— a robot. How do you know it isn’t trying to lure us into a trap? It looked like it was trying to eat you.”

  Spixworth hesitated, still snapping the latch in slow sequence after the insect repeated it again. “It wasn’t trying to eat me. Or, I should say, if it’s anything like the locust it looks like. It doesn’t even have the correct mandible for that. I think those were sensors— artificial antennae. I don’t think it can eat.”

  “So what do we do with it?” asked Liu.

  Spixworth shrugged. “I don’t think we do anything with it. If it is interested in us, it will continue trying to communicate.”

  “No, I mean, do we take it back to the Wolfinger?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Captain Stratton. “Are you people out of your minds? This thing is a complete unknown. Just because it can’t eat you doesn’t mean it isn’t a threat. Where are its owners? What do they want? Why did they send it instead of meeting us themselves? You’re to leave it there. If it follows you, you are to disable it.”

  “What?” cried Rebecca. “This is possibly an intelligent life form or the representative of one. We can’t just— wound it or kill it. Aside from the moral issues that raises—”

  “The only moral issue I’m concerned with is protecting my people, Emery. And if this thing gets in the way, Titov, you shoot it.”

  The robot was circling Spixworth, carefully prodding his suit with its tarsus. Spixworth was making it difficult, turning to inspect it himself. He, at least, seemed completely at ease.

  “Aside from the moral issues,” Rebecca insisted, “what kind of message does it send to others of its kind? This is our first contact. Possibly the beginning of history between our species and theirs. Injuring it might put the entire possibility of settling here at risk. Do you really want our first impression to be violent?”

  “And what would you suggest, Emery?” asked Stratton. “That we roll out the red carpet and let it wander into the Wolfinger? See all our tech? Gather intelligence on our numbers?”

  “For a start,” said Rebecca.

  “That’s insanity! This thing is obviously more advanced than anything we’ve got aboard. One look and it will know we’re no match for it.”

  “Then it won’t feel threatened by us.”

  “That doesn’t strengthen your argument.”

  “Look,” sighed Rebecca, “We aren’t here to conquer the planet. We couldn’t even if we tried. There are too few of us and in too desperate a state. We can’t hope to compete with an intelligent, organized society that knows every hiding place, every tactical advantage, every supply source. We’re here because we need help. If whatever made this thing chooses to drive us away, we have no real choice except to go. And if we seem to be a threat, they are going to run us out. That’s how it works. Our best bet is to show them we are peaceful, that we respect them and that we truly need their mercy. This is not a military situation, Captain. It’s a refugee crisis. At best.”

  Titov’s hand sagged. He put his sidearm away. “She’s right,” he said.

  “And if this thing kills us?” asked Stratton.

  “We all knew it could be a one-way trip,” said Liu. “If there’s a chance it could save the people on the Keseburg, shouldn’t we take it? We’re dying up there anyway.”

  The feed fell silent. The insect was looking at them, swiveling its head to turn its massive eyes on each.

  “Oxwell,” said Stratton, “what about bacterial agents?”

  “Spixworth said it is inorganic. It can pass through the decontamination process like the rest of us.”

  Stratton sighed. “Okay, Emery, I guess you’ve had your significant find. Bring it back if it will come.”

  Spixworth handed the case back to Rebecca. Titov and Liu began heading back toward the ship, turning to look back every so often. Rebecca crossed her arms. “How do we do this?”

  “Some insects leave pheromones to signal trails to important locations. Others use special movements or sounds. But I don’t know what this species does. Or even if it was made by an insect species. I’m interpreting its behavior that way because it is what I’m familiar with, but truly, your guess is as good as mine.” Spixworth smiled. “Probably better, actually.”

  Rebecca thought a moment and shrugged. She reached both hands around its bottom leg and tugged. It didn’t budge, but the insect’s large eyes tilted down at her. The head swooped down and maxillae tapped rapidly against the glass of her helmet. She struggled not to flinch. The head retreated and it moved its leg in the direction she had tugged. She took a step back. Spixworth followed. She stopped to tug again and then turned and began walking toward the river. The insect waited for a moment and then skittered quickly to them as she turned to look at it. Satisfied that it got the message, she and Spixworth made their way back to the Wolfinger.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dorothy Hackford was pressed against the stiff plastic of the isolation chamber’s corner. The gun made deep grooves in her skin where her hand clenched too hard. She could hear Emery’s impassioned plea to the Captain, but she had taken one look at the large gold insect and immediately switched off the video feed. She knew, of course, that Emery was right. She’d said as much herself the day before. They were going extinct. They needed a home. But knowing it academically and actually facing what it meant were two very different things.

  It was the eyes. They were so opaque and hard. Dead. She shivered. Just a machine, she told herself, a complicated series of math problems. Nothing more. It had no will, it had no malice, it just was. Like the food printers or the draybots or the Keseburg itself. She closed her eyes and raised one arm to wipe away a slithering trickle of sweat. Got to get a hold of yourself, she thought, stop being such a coward.

  She didn’t belong here. Not on the Wolfinger. Not on this mission. It was supposed to be Paulo’s mission. He was the one that wanted to go, not Dorothy. But then his daughter had taken a turn for the worse. She’d gone on the ventilator almost fifteen Earth months before launch, and Paulo backed out of training to care for her. But the Spindling didn’t let go. She’d died two days before the mission started. The funeral had been the last thing Dorothy had done before departure.

  When Paulo had left training, Dorothy had taken his place. She’d failed the psych tests on purpose, hoping they’d kick her from the teams. The moment she’d had to put on the environmental suit for the first time, she’d realized she would have failed them anyway. The Admiral had insisted though, citing her research record and put her into treatment throughout training. It didn’t help. She’d hoped to pull Bruheim’s crew. The moon didn’t have the same communications problem that the planet had. She’d never have been out of contact. It was barren and silent and all the probe data indicated it would be a simple survey and collec
tion mission. It was meant to be a blank slate. Water, atmosphere, and soil. That was it. Safe. Silent.

  But instead, she’d been put on Stratton’s crew. Bruheim had worked by the book, rejecting anyone outside the norms. But Stratton had been willing. Too willing. And now she was here, stuck in the tiny isolation chamber, her chest too tight, her skin too warm and all the time waiting for a monstrous bug-robot to slice open the plastic and let death come pouring in.

  “Dorothy, your vitals are spiking. Take a deep breath.” Dr. Cardiff meant to be calming, Dorothy knew, but the woman rubbed her the wrong way. She sucked in a long breath anyway. “Good. Now, why don’t we go through the coping exercises—”

  “Stop treating me like I’m crazy!” Dorothy shouted. “There’s a massive robotic alien headed my way. I’m alone in a fucking plastic bubble with a gun— a gun. We don’t even know if jolts will work on this thing. And even if they do, I’m not a soldier. It’s perfectly rational for me to be anxious.” She heaved another breath to catch up.

  “Of course, Dorothy,” said Dr. Cardiff, her tone a deeply patronizing calm. “But you must try to relax. Leroux says you are at risk for a takotsubo cardiomyopathy.”

  “In plain language, doctor,” said Dorothy.

  “You’ve been under extraordinary strain. Your heart is showing indications of a bulge. If you don’t calm down, it could get worse. Cause a heart attack.”

  “Thanks, Phyllis, I really needed that at the moment.” She adjusted her grip on the gun. “Look— my tests are clean. Oxwell said so. I’m not going to get sick in the next six hours. Just— just let me back into the Wolfinger.”

  The feed was silent.

  “Please , Captain.”

  “I’m sorry, Hackford, I truly am, but I can’t risk the crew.” Stratton sighed heavily.

  “Then— then isn’t there anyone who is willing to sit with me? I don’t know many of you— but I’m a person . Like you. All my life I was a good crew member. I followed the rules, I trusted the Admiral, I did everything I was asked to do. And I’m out here because of one minute of panic. It could be any of you. Would you want to be the one alone here?”

  “I’ll come out with you, Dorothy,” said Oxwell.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Stratton.

  “It’s a kind one,” said Oxwell. The feed went silent again.

  A few moments later, the airlock hissed and the door swung open. Oxwell hovered near the entrance twisting to look around the small room. “Dorothy?” she asked.

  “Over here.”

  Oxwell bent to look at her. Dorothy blushed and offered her an embarrassed smile. “Pathetic, I know. I may as well have hidden under the bed.”

  “It’s not pathetic,” said Oxwell and came to sit beside her in the corner. She began unhooking her helmet.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Dorothy, flicking the feed off as she did.

  “You aren’t sick,” said Alice evenly, “and if Captain Stratton wants to keep enforcing arbitrary deadlines, he’ll have to do it to his microbiologist too.” She fluffed her hair with one hand. “Besides, it’s much cooler without. And I can see you better.” She glanced over at the weapon clenched between Dorothy’s fingers. “Does it make you feel better?” she asked.

  Dorothy looked down at it. “No,” she admitted. “Not even certain I could use it. Maybe against a robot. They don’t feel anything, right?”

  “Why don’t you put it down then? Just there, beside you. Rebecca is sharp. If she thinks this thing won’t hurt us, then I trust her.”

  She placed the gun carefully beside her thigh, but kept her hand resting on it. “She doesn’t know anything about it. None of us do, not even Spixworth, he’s just making guesses based on what he knows about earth insects.” Dorothy shook her head. “Not even earth insects. How much have they changed? They’re probably nothing like they used to be.”

  Alice shrugged. “Evolution aboard the Keseburg is kind of beside the point, don’t you think? For all we know, this thing is some kid’s windup toy and we just stumbled across it. It goes through its programming, performs its tricks and then that’s it.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better,” said Dorothy, remembering the repeated clicks and the rapid shifts as Spixworth tried to make it respond.

  Heavy footsteps grated across the dirt outside the isolation chamber. “They’re back,” said Alice, clicking her feed on.

  Dorothy’s hand curled around the gun and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

  “Flaming core, Oxwell, did you take off—” Captain Stratton broke off, mid-bark. “This is it, people. I want Blick and Al Jahi at the airlock to meet them. If it tries to bypass decontamination, don’t hesitate. Refugee or no, I’m not just going to let it waltz in and kill us. Leroux and Martham, I want you on the lab containment switches. If the jolt weapons don’t kill it, maybe fire will. Cardiff, you’re with me in case we need the self-destruct codes. Whatever happens, it can’t get back to the Keseburg.”

  “Captain,” said Dr. Cardiff, “I respect your need to protect us and the Keseburg, but perhaps you should take a deep breath—”

  “Stow it, doctor,” said Stratton, “when I need your medical opinion, I’ll ask. Unless you mean to relieve me, keep it to yourself until this bug-thing is safely off the Wolfinger.”

  “I’m only trying to help—”

  “You want to help? Try talking Hackford down. Her video feed is shaking so badly that it’s giving me vertigo.”

  The feed fell silent for a moment. Alice reached for Dorothy’s hand, the thick vinyl of her gloves not letting much sensation through. Dorothy turned to her and gave her a weak smile. The biomonitor above their heads began to beep.

  “Leroux—” said Alice.

  “I see it. Dorothy, you have to calm down. Take slow breaths. Oxwell, one dose Rem, in the cabinet. Updating the permissions now. It should unlock.”

  Alice sprinted across the small room. The cabinet lit up and she punched in her code. Her hands shook and the gloves made it worse. The cabinet squawked. “Flaming core,” she breathed, wrenching off the gloves. The cabinet ejected a slim syringe. She grabbed it and paused. “Just one, Joan?”

  “She’s already maxed. I’ve upped the adreno-blockers from here, but she needs more than her body can produce. Do the sedative first. I’m on my way.”

  She took two, just in case. Alice knelt beside Dorothy as the Captain started protesting. She gently clicked Dorothy’s feed. “You don’t need to hear that. Here, it’s going to be all right.”

  Dorothy nodded but tears were flooding from her eyes. Something hard jabbed into Alice’s thigh as she pushed Dorothy’s shirt collar aside. She looked down. “Hey now, let’s put that away, huh?”

  “Can’t,” said Dorothy. Alice put the syringe into a nearby tray. She tugged on the gun in Dorothy’s fist.

  “Let me do it, then. I won’t let anything in here, I promise.”

  Dorothy let go and Alice shoved the weapon into the sleeve on her belt. She picked up the syringe again. “Going to unplug you, just for a minute.” She pulled the feed wire from Dorothy’s neck, twisting at the port.

  “That sedative in yet, Oxwell?” asked Leroux. “Her breathing is erratic.”

  “One moment,” hissed Alice as she pushed the liquid through the port. “Okay now,” she said, squeezing Dorothy’s hand. “It should make you feel better pretty fast. Let’s get you to bed.”

  She helped the other woman up and led her to the cot. Dorothy reached for the feed wire and Alice stopped her. “Let’s leave it off for now. Nothing happening anyway.”

  “They must be here by now,” said Dorothy.

  “I’m watching.” She patted the gun at her hip. “Not going to let anything happen. You try to close your eyes and think of something else. You’ll get to go out tomorrow, if you want. Blick found a pebble beach a little way downriver this morning. Says the water and the breeze are all you can hear, even through the helmet.” Alice smil
ed. “And you proved we don’t need those. I’m looking forward to feeling the wind in my hair, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not working, Oxwell. You have to get her to calm down to give the sedative a chance to work—”

  “I’m not a flaming psychiatrist, Leroux,” she muttered, turning away from Dorothy to hide the conversation. “What am I supposed to do? Cardiff, why aren’t you telling me what to do?”

  “I was prepped to handle minor panic attacks— like Titov suffered. I was assured that all crew members were stable enough for service, which is obviously not the case. Medical intervention is outside my purview—”

  “Shut it, Cardiff,” snapped Alice, “nobody’s asking you to come out here. Just help me calm her down.”

  “Get her to focus on something solid,” said Leroux, “The texture of her blankets, or open a ration pack and ask her to identify the smells. She needs something solid to focus on. Something not alien. I’m coming but you need to work fast—”