by Ken Pence
***
Brad Kyger was looking over the displays at the moonbase control center. He had grabbed a cup of coffee and straightened his hair. The key thing was that they shouldn't leave Earth thinking we were pushovers. The moonbase was ready. The ships were spread out and ready. Guess it’s show time. He moved to a comm console and activated a link to Andrew at the manufacturing field.
"Glad you were in a real-time mode so I could contact you without delay," Brad said looking at Andrew's disheveled figure in the display.
"What's the deal? One ship? How big is it...where is it...how do you intend to handle it?"
"We're going to shadow it in. The beacons are on...nav con is on...just like in the manuals... We're moving ships around like crazy and varying field signatures so the older ships will look like large freighters compared to the new standard ships." Brad looked away at the scan displays. "This ship is about five times larger than any of our ships and moving as directed by beacons toward the station. They'll pick up a shadow up in…" he turned his head away from the console so another technician could tell him," …about four minutes. They're about to Jupiter's orbit. We'll hail them when they get within radio range."
"Sounds like you have it set up fine Brad. I just hate sitting here picking lint from between my toes. I know we're ready. I just want this to go well. Everything we've worked for is riding on it. We'll wait a bit to notify the media 'cause there is everything that could go wrong. Keep a line open. We're gonna stay on real-time down here so we won't miss anything."
"Captain. We have visual contact with one of their ships off to port."
UmBllatt swung his oculars to see the image on the viewer. "Pretty small," he said to the crewman but pretty slick looking all the same. "How small is it compared to us?" UmBllatt asked the crewman.
"Sir. Looks to be about one fifth our size but it puts out a field as strong as ours."
UmBllatt grunted and wished his cousin's son was here -- so he could lance his oculars. Early trading contact indeed...this didn't look like any jerkwater outpost. Deity. They had navigation beacons as good as any Core system. He didn't like being shadowed this far out but he would have done the same if it were his home system.
"Captain. You wouldn't believe the amount of electromagnetic traffic around."
UmBllatt grunted.
"Captain. Do you wish to initiate contact with the craft near us? I think we're supposed to contact any port authority craft."
UmBllatt looked around. "Someone find the damn manual. We're supposed to have one on every ship this size but damn if I EVER actually used one."
No one left their post but only swiveled oculars to look at their own area and at their neighbors. "Now!" shouted the captain. The control room became a bedlam as EVERYONE started tearing through storage lockers and looking for their procedural manual.
"Here it is! Here it is!" exclaimed a wizened crewmember who held it up like a prized vegetable in the field.
The captain brusquely plucked it from the crewmembers grasp and grunted as he opened it and started rifling through the pages. "Ah ha," he would say and then "Humm," and the other crewmembers began to drift closer and several started looking over his shoulder. "Right here," he said as he jabbed the pertinent section of the manual and handed it to his comm officer. "Transmit this basic message and code and let's see what they do. We're even supposed to send them a list of trade goods and length of stay. Do it. They will tromp in panic trying to make a decision," the captain said relishing his decision and the anticipated outcome.
The comm officer did as he was told and the scanning post reported a couple of minutes later, "Sir. The ship that was near us is pulling away rapidly and headed toward the fourth planet...very fast sir. I don't think we could hope to catch up."
UmBllatt grunted and would have smiled if that was what his race did...but his race doesn't smile, so he gave forth a very satisfied grunt and began to pontificate; "See. They are running away to have someone else make a decision for them. I knew they wouldn't have the legs to stand belly to belly with us."
The comm officer made a very small grunt for attention. That didn't work so he grunted a bit louder for attention.
The captain swiveled his command prop around to face the comm officer...he was very annoyed to be awakened from his little daytime reverie. "What is it?"
"I don't think they were going somewhere to make a decision… " his voice was very quiet.
"What do you mean by that? Are you questioning my decision?" thundered UmBllatt.
"No… No sir!" stammered the comm officer.
"Well?" UmBllatt demanded.
"It's just that the other ship responded to the message I sent."
"What?" blurted the captain, "They didn't have time."
"Sir. They did. They responded almost immediately with the proper response, a return list of items approved with an approval entry number pending inspection, a list of items that are currently sought after, items/information banned, current mediums of exchange, landing patterns, nav control frequencies and the coordinates for a trading/quarantine station on the third planet's moon."
UmBllatt was flabbergasted. "How could they do that in such a small space of time?"
"I don't know sir. I have only just now played back the cylinders that recorded the exchange. They also inquired about necessary life support for the crew. It was generally in listing the pertinent cites in the manual that says these items are banned and they listed the manual edition, page and quote."
"Surely you didn't tell them what life support we needed and the complement of the crew?"
"Yes sir. Regulations stated very clearly that I was to list every being on board and the species classification," the comm officer felt distressed after seeing the captain's expression. "We all have visa approval numbers," he said timidly.
"Was that all?"
"No sir. What does, Take a ticket, take a seat mean?"
***
The crew of the Hawk was howling.
"You wouldn't believe how slow they transmitted that information. I think they were doing it by hand!" one crewmember said.
"We got their data and then incorporated that into the canned computer response. We sent it back as slow as we could. It's hard to slow down data when you spend your entire life trying to speed it up."
"Did you get a peek at their cargo and crew manifest?" said another. "Better fire that baby off to Colonel Kyger right now or he'll skin you alive."
Brad Kyger voiced through the display as the message from the Hawk. Andrew was looking at the information at the same time and he turned toward Brad in the display.
"Look at those trade goods. I don't know what half of that stuff is but I want it. Brad. You think we can pull this off?" Andrew asked.
Brad shrugged. "Guess it's a little late to be worried about that. If what Rett told us is true, and I don't have any real reason to doubt him, they know as little about us as we know about them."
"That paper I signed is only as good as our enforcement. I want to stay as close to those manuals as we can while we build more ships. I want trade but I want to be able and police our system while we can. That Abbreviated Atlas of Signatories and their History was scary as hell. Reading between the lines showed disease, war, and environmental damage...you name it. I don't want to be a statistic in the next edition."
"Look. I'll let you know what's what. We're set up for this. We'll pick their brains while we entertain them. We have lots of 3D documentaries dubbed with Trade and music videos that they will never understand plus some neat gewgaws to trade for."
"I expect you to brief me on everything. The damn unaligned nations are rumbling again even though the portable power supplies are being distributed. I had hoped they would destabilize their governments enough that they wouldn't be an immediate problem but we'll see... and I want everything recorded Brad."
"Will do mom," Brad said. "Now go stare at the ceiling for a while and pretend you're getting some rest. I'll keep y
ou up to date."
Andrew grinned and cut the connection.
Captain UmBllatt noted the new station and its unusual design. I hate light gravity worlds, he thought. It does have an interesting symmetry though.
The navigator noted the automated controls and relinquished control of his ship jealously until he noted how gently and smoothly the ship was being handled. Some Central Worlds crew must have come here and set this all up. They must have put in a new, improved, experimental version because this isn't like anything I've ever heard about ...too smooth…too perfect.
The captain looked at the navigation control crewmember as the ship swiftly landed at the moonbase quarantine station. "Excellent job navigator. That should show these primitives how real beings should handle a ship."
The navigator swiveled his ears and politely grunted but decided he shouldn't tell the captain that the ship had been landed by an automated navigation system used by these 'primitives'.
The captain thought it was about time these primitives found out who they were dealing with. The last ship had had contact with Tros ships, evidently, since they had spoken the Tros language but that had not occurred this time. All the communications had been in High Trade. We Ullumff have always been better suited for trade and first contacts than any Tros -- they were so ugly compared to us. Their snouts bulge out so grotesquely. I understand that these 'humans' have smooth skinned hides in different shades with tufts of hair sprouting out of their heads with tiny little, fragile hands. I must remember that they consider themselves intelligent and not silly looking...deity it's hard to remember all, the 'first meet' training. Here we go, he thought as he walked out the hatch.
***
"Colonel, they're coming out. Video match seems to be Tros...no…Ullumff. That's it...Ullumff...mean gravity is 1.4 Earth, sorry, compensating to 1.25 gravities to make them feel a little lighter...moisture level about our norm but they like 31 degrees Celsius equivalent...compensating...we have Ling as the only one qualified with the Ullumff language cylinders. She's headed your way. That's about it. They are milling about at the exit to their ship and look a bit hesitant. I'm adjusting the light spectrum - you'll find it a bit bright with fair size, randomized breeze. They can use the color-coding similar to ours sir…suitable spectrum.
***
Captain UmBllatt was feeling better. The primitives were afraid to meet them so they had made his team wait while they gathered their courage. His people could wait as long as it took. He was surprised by how cold and dim it seemed at first but for some reason, it was feeling better here. This moon must be denser than I thought since it has decent gravity...almost equal to home. The light seems brighter now too and I was cold when I stepped out and now it feels comfortable. This might work out after all.
"Greetings, Captain, " Brad said in Trade. "I desire your trade here to be successful for all." Brad said in the phrases derived from the contextual associations in the manuals.
UmBllatt was a bit taken aback by the very understandable Trade language and content of the welcome. "Greetings, Administrator. Where will we have dialogue and do you have sections of your facility suitable for my crew?"
Brad realized that chitchat was not being called for and indicated the yellow strip on the floor next to other colors just as Ling came walking up. She had five yellow key tabs on bracelets, hastily shaped to fit around the aliens' wrists, and handed them to Brad.
"You take over. This is no big deal right," Brad said to Ling in English and raised his eyebrows.
"Thanks a lot," she said knowing it was a psychological ploy and he was probably scared for her but hell, here goes. "Greetings. I will be your guide until you have rested and had a quick tour of the facility," she said in the Ullumff language as best she could but many of the grunts and gutturals were hard for even her to produce.
Captain UmBllatt was shocked. The administrator had met them properly but had left and then another being, smaller comes in and starts talking in our home language. Leaving us with an underling. Impolite. Having it speak our language is impossible. There have been no contacts with these people. Who could have come here before us? This one is smaller and malformed. No, it must have utters for feedings its young on the front. How disgusting! How could they look at that all day and not get nauseated? Endure. Remember your training. Oh. It is beginning to talk again and it was having difficulty with the easiest words.
"It is pronounced 'uolluumfp'. Proceed with what you were saying," Captain UmBllatt directed.
"These... bracelets go on your arm and allow you to go almost anywhere in the station. Follow the yellow pointers and they will direct you back to the ship if you desire. Any door with a yellow pad on it is safe and suitable for your crew and will answer simple questions. These are keys – tokens that allow privacy or passage," she held up the keytags, "and will open doors after your initial tour. Feel free to wander," Ling said and had had trouble with the term wander. It had come out more like moving from area to area with no set schedule...yeah...wander. Hurry up guys, she thought to her co-workers, as she looked at the scanner panel on the wall with a pleading expression not visible to the aliens. She knew her people would be rushing to convert the closest habitats for these Ullumff.
Ling began to walk through the structure and point out the different areas of the complex. She pointed out the athletic complex -- essentially a clear area with a resilient floor. The aliens filed in quietly behind her. The captain did not ask any questions and thusly the crewmembers with him did not ask any. Finally the comm chirped in her ear. "Ling. We have their quarters set up. You wouldn't believe that these guys sleep propped up and their restroom is a bizarre one," said the communicator.
"Captain, your rooms are prepared now. Let me show you where they are."
"You have rooms for my crew?" the captain asked incredulously. "We require special arrangements."
"These should meet your requirements," Ling answered and walked down the corridor to the habitat wing. The door opened to the final corridor and the dry heat hit her in the face. The heavy gravity and heat was physically draining and the stress didn't help. She motioned for her 'followers' to enter and she showed them around. "You have two personnel per room for sleep. Each room has a fresher section for cleaning and elimination.” Ling looked in the bathroom and the overhead light was glaring and hot.
“Hey Ling,” came over her headset in English. “They prefer the sun overhead and bushes near them when they defecate. Manuals say they like to see the desert is clear of enemies when they shit and they like to do that near bushes…some kind of symbiotic thing because bacteria in their pee and poop fertilizes plants wherever there is an oasis. Did the best we could with the wind…had to reverse the output fans to be directional and we used a couple of photos scanned from the damned manuals for the wall panorama on the high definition walls. Good luck.”
“Why do you delay?” demanded the Captain.
“Excuse me sir. I was examining your facilities here to make sure they would be adequate. They seem so but please scrutinize them yourself,” Ling said rapidly – a little taken aback by the abrupt tone and volume from the Captain.
“Certainly I will,” he said and strode brusquely past her.
There were several minutes of silence and then the Captain returned to the main room. “It appears adequate but there were no controls. How will we do anything if we are supposed to clean up our own waste products? Do you not have buckets and scoops? What type of facility are you running?”
“No controls?” Ling said to the Captain and then, “Guys? What gives?” she said sotte voce in English. “The computer scans and cleans up after them. Sorry. They just leave. They don’t even have to turn off the light.”
Ling grunted lightly into her pad (her hand) in best, embarrassed Ullumff. “Captain. You do your…you use the facilities as if you were on your home planet. This facility is self-cleaning and you need not do anything. Please just ask the computer if you need anything.”
&
nbsp; The Captain seemed incredulous but took it with aplomb. Ling could tell he was an old campaigner.
“Who is this computer and how do I contact him if we require aid?” asked the Captain.
“The computer is a machine. Just speak 'Computer. Service' ...if you need help… Say, 'Computer' and then ask simple questions in Trade and the computer will try to answer. This sheet includes the services you can access from your room. You may have to repeat words in Trade or try alternate phrasing if it doesn't understand. You can also ask for a Steward if you require a being." Ling handed a packet to the captain and then turned to the entertainment center.
She flipped through the documentaries and 'advertisements' in Trade that had been produced specifically to show at the base. The aliens were so enthralled by the 3-D videos that they almost did not hear her parting words. "Just ask the computer to schedule trade talks and that will be arranged. Keep food and drink in your rooms please. You may not bring any food out of your ship but you can order suitable food from these lists," hastily printed in Ullumff and matched against candidates from Earthly stores she noted. She saw that one of the crewmembers had entered the fresher section and he had not shut the doors. Ling guessed why they had been called Ullumff after that and eased out the door where she took a deep breath of relief.
"Good job, Ling," Brad said. "We've been with you every step of the way."
"Where'd you get all those soap bars and knickknacks and printed towels on such short notice?"
Brad laughed. "You know Harold, the guy that works with Susan and Rett at the Field...he was manager of a chain of Quality Inns™ and knows what beings need when they travel...no matter where they're from."
"What about all that snack fruit and nuts and bread sticks in the room. Shouldn't we be worried about how they will react to our foods and spices? Most of that is commercial stuff. I even saw a refrigerator in the room."