Baswin

by Aurora Springer

  Chapter 6

  WITH THE FAKE CREDENTIALS of Ben Brown, Baswin soon found a job as a junior Com Tech on a cargo ship bound across the Pacific Ocean to the port of Taipei in the Sino Pacific Pact. The huge vessel was loaded with crates of goods in lower cargo holds and stacked on the open upper deck. Most of its functions were automated. Competent Com Techs were essential to oversee onboard and remote communications and monitor the cargo.

  His quarters were spartan, although he was grateful to have the cabin to himself, and the meals were adequate. His job was easy, mostly involving routine checks of the cargo monitors during his shift. He alternated shifts with the senior Com Tech and had minimal contact with the officers or other crewmen. On each shift, Baswin performed his duties of surveying the displays in the com room and climbing to the decks to inspect the external monitors on the cargo crates.

  Five days elapsed without incident.

  On the sixth day of his voyage, Baswin was sitting alone in the small com room, dividing his attention between the monitors surveying the ship’s deck and cargo holds and the TriD with the world news. A landscape of reddish rocks caught his attention. The news headline read, ‘Warrish discuss mystery of alien crashlanding on Mars.’

  He clicked on the headline to display the details.

  The announcer said, “We bring you the latest insight into the mysterious alien spacecraft that crashed on Mars. We welcome Ambassador Zerrin Galamis Jervaron, who is speaking from the Warrish embassy in the Pacific Ocean. Ambassador Jervaron has graciously agreed to describe what the Warrish have learned from their investigation of the spacecraft. Our reporter, Harry O’Connor, will lead the discussion.”

  The view shifted to the ambassador, or more correctly, the head and shoulders of one of the Triad of ambassadors in the Warrish embassy on Earth. The reporter seemed to be unaware of the existence of this Triad. If Baswin recalled correctly, Zerrin was the Third of the Purple Sun Triad, which suggested this interview had low priority in Warrish eyes. On another wave, he deduced the Purple Sun Triad held a high status on Rishalt. The male element of their hexath family name was Galamis, indicating a descendant of the illustrious Prime Tol-Jadel.

  How had such an eminent triad been persuaded to live on a strange planet? Baswin felt incompetent to speculate about the motives of the elite triads. He glanced at the monitors. Nothing had shifted, so he refocused on the ambassador.

  Zerrin wore a formal jacket in the crimson of the Red Tridents. His triad mark seemed like an ugly purple bruise above the downcurved purple mustaches on his pale green face. His hair was styled in a short upright crest. Skipping the usual greeting gestures, he merely touched his fingers to his chest and said, “Calm seas, Mr. O’Connor.” He spoke the casual greeting in Warrishan. Another affectation, Baswin guessed. Surely the ambassador could speak the Earther standard language. It was easy to learn with the aid of an earbud translator.

  The reporter, an amiable expression on his long face, asked, “Ambassador, please explain what you have discovered about this alien craft.”

  Again, Zerrin spoke Warrishan, using a slow, measured tone, and pausing for the translation of each phrase. “The spacecraft that crashed on the red planet is a small vessel used as a lifepod when the mother ship is in distress. The Martian microbes destroyed much of the vessel. The deceased alien occupant is of the Eekrepisth species, and the spacecraft is a type they often employ. Our technical experts are probing the remnants of the controls. At this time, they have discovered no anomalies.”

  O’Connor said, “Can you translate the distress signal sent by the alien?”

  An eerie repeated sequence of squeals and wails sounded in the background.

  “We can interpret the Eekrepisth language,” the ambassador said coldly. “The signal translates as, ‘Dry, dry, dry. Precious. Save.’ We can extrapolate the meaning from our knowledge of the physiology of these aliens. They require water to survive. Hence, ‘dry’ implies the Eekrepisth was suffering from dehydration. The repetition indicates the severity of the dehydration. The creature might be swimming close to death. Our analysis of the organic remnants confirms this interpretation.

  The meaning of ‘Precious’ is more difficult to interpret. It might refer to the alien itself or to some treasured object. However, we have identified nothing of special value in the wreckage. We suspect the precious item was destroyed by the microbes.”

  He gave a grim smile. “The final word ‘Save’ is obviously a plea to save the precious item.”

  “Thank you for giving this explanation, Ambassador,” the reporter said. “In your opinion, will your investigators be able to uncover any more information from the wreckage?”

  “At this time, I cannot comment on the possibility of future discoveries.”

  O’Connor fired off a series of questions, “Can you speculate on why the Eekrepisth flew to Mars?”

  The ambassador fielded the queries with neutral, almost cynical replies, “The red planet is too dry to be a desirable destination for an Eekrepisth.”

  “Are you suggesting the alien visited Mars by accident?”

  “We suspect the flight trajectory was unplanned since it ended in disaster for the pilot.”

  “If the spacecraft was a lifepod ejected from a ship, where is the larger spaceship?”

  A haughty sneer creased the ambassador’s face. “The mother ship might be anywhere. Hyperspace threads weave throughout the galaxy. In our perspective, Eekrepisth are reckless space travelers. They have no skilled navigators like our tripilots. Their ships often become lost in the web of hyperspace.”

  O’Connor frowned. “Lost in hyperspace? That’s terrible.”

  “It is dreadful.” His expression suddenly bleak, the ambassador stared at the camera. “We do not advise traveling in hyperspace without tripilot navigators.”

  This warning appeared to disconcert the reporter, who quickly brought the interview to a close.

  Again, Baswin noticed the ambassador’s omission of the formal gestures of farewell. Did Zerrin consider the Warrish gestures inappropriate for use with an Earther? It indicated lack of respect, or perhaps uncertainty about the reporter’s status and the appropriate parallel in the Warrish hierarchical system. Whatever the ambassador’s reason, the absence of proper protocol did not bode well for the shaky alliance of Warrish and humans. Humans were not stupid, they would detect the ambassador’s disregard of respect in this interview.

  As Zerrin’s face vanished, Baswin switched off the TriD. With a flare of guilt at his lapse from com duty, he fixed his gaze on the monitors. He watched Fernandez, one of the crewmen, wander across the upper deck and tug on the chains around the containers. Merely the deckhand’s routine check for the security of their cargo.

  Baswin sighed. His shift of duty did not end for another two hours and twenty-five minutes.

  DURING HIS REST PERIOD two days later, Baswin was lounging on the bunk in his cabin and watching a documentary about the recent Earther war, when the qtel’s tickle startled him. The code indicated an incoming call from his brother. Wary of anybody overhearing their conversation through the thin walls, he increased the volume on the TriD and transferred the com speaker to his earbud. As an additional precaution, he shut off visual before answering in a cautious whisper, “Alarik?”

  “Who else? You sound nervous.” His brother, of course, guessed his emotions correctly.

  Baswin breathed, “I am.”

  “Can we talk safely?”

  Glancing warily at the cabin door, he whispered, “Urish.”

  His First speared a critical question, “Is my disguise exploded?”

  Twisting his face into a grimace, Baswin said, “In truth, I cannot tell what they know or believe they know.”

  “You’re out of sight?” Alarik asked.

  “For the moment. If they’re on my track, I’ll swim across the Pacific Ocean.”

  “A long swim. Be careful, Bas. We have a bigger problem.”

  Taut with tension
, Baswin demanded, “What?”

  “Listen, I’ll explain in a twenty-fourth of an hour. I’m on Pallas Station in the Asteroid Belt. It’s the space ferry’s only stop between Mars and Europa. One of my business acquaintances, a ship refitter named Josh, gave me a new line on the mystery about the Eekrepisth ship that crashed on the red planet. His Belter pals intercepted a signal from somewhere nearby. The transmission was directed at major cities on Earth. It had an image of the Eek ship before the Martian microbes chewed holes in it. The senders demanded payment for images of the undamaged cabin and controls. The crooks, or an accomplice, must have entered the ship’s cabin to capture the images.” After a brief pause to enable Baswin to assimilate the implications, Alarik added in his dry fashion, “Webale will be interested in this attempt at extortion.”

  “The kankreth hoodlums,” Baswin swore. “Our Triarchs will be madder than a frithis in a squall.”

  “Urish. I may experience their wrath.” Alarik sounded grimly amused. “Since I dare not return to Earth, I’ll extend my voyage to Europa.”

  “On the Earther space ferry?”

  He gave his usual airy response, “It’s a convenient transport.”

  Baswin cautioned, “Don’t dry your gills, eldest brother. Send a message when you’re safe on our submarine outpost.”

  After giving the standard farewell, “Swim in calm seas,” Alarik shut off the qtel.

  As he contemplated his brother’s shocking information, Baswin massaged his knuckles. Nothing in the interplanetary newscasts had mentioned new images of the Eek ship or anything about the blackmailers’ demands. The Earther governments had probably suppressed the news. How much would they give for information on the alien craft? Or had the Warrish investigators persuaded them of the Eekrepisths’ lack of hostility toward Earth? Yet, who knew what an Eek thought? They were truly alien beings, unlike Earthers who shared many physical attributes with Warrish. Eeks resembled crustaceans with hard carapaces and many jointed limbs. Amphibious like Warrish, they could live on land or in water, although they preferred to live on the seashore. In light of the Eeks love for wet environments, their crashed ship on arid Mars became more of a mystery.

  Baswin sighed. Like the Eeks, he also enjoyed life in the sea. He pounded his fist on the wall, frustrated with this tedious voyage. This overloaded cargo ship was plowing across the ocean’s surface at a sluggish pace. When he climbed onto the deck, the ocean extended on all sides to kiss the horizon. Waves splashed against the hull, temptingly close, but he dared not dive in. He could not risk exposing his gills. Not yet. Not until he had traveled within swimming distance of the embassy.

  In this melancholy moment, he wondered where he and Alarik would find a home if they survived this dangerous duty as spies. They were illegal aliens on Earth, while society on Rishalt would reject them for their missing sixth fingers and damaged triad.

  Chapter 7

  TWO WEEKS LATER, THE Moon sisters were sitting on the sofa to watch the evening newsreels when a call arrived from Dr. Reddy.

  After greeting him, Holly transferred his image from her wrist com to the wall-mounted screen.

  “Congratulations, Misses Moon,” he said. “I am delighted to inform you of your success. You have both passed our initial assessment by demonstrating strong psychic abilities.”

  “Super,” Rosie exclaimed.

  Holly offered a more cautious, “Good. What’s next?”

  “If you are willing, you may move into the next stage in the selection of candidates. It is entirely voluntary, although we would be disappointed to lose you. Unfortunately, many of our initial invitees were excluded for one reason or another.”

  “Oh,” Holly said, “what reasons? Can you tell us?”

  “Some were unable to convince the examiners of their skills. Others are too young, too old or the wrong gender for tripilots. The Warrish were very insistent on candidates being young women, whereas we believed the women must be of legal age to volunteer for this program. Several excellent prospects cannot travel due to family commitments. We plan to keep a list of verified psychics in preparation for future opportunities. Our plans for extrasolar space travel do not rely entirely on the Warrish. They believe hyperspace navigation is solely the responsibility of highly trained women, ideally three sisters. If possible, we mean to go beyond their preconceptions.”

  “Three sisters?” Holly shook her head in doubt. “Have you found many families of three psychics?”

  Dr. Reddy nodded. “Very few indeed, Miss Moon. You have deduced one of our difficulties. You are the only sisters with verified skills. The Warrish, however, accept adoptees into their triads. We can emulate their system in that manner with three unrelated women.”

  Holly glanced at her sister. Interpreting her beaming smile, she said, “Okay. I guess we’re willing to adopt a psychic sister. Though, she might not achieve the same close connection as Rosie and I share.”

  Wriggling in excitement, Rosie said, “What’s the next step?”

  “You will fly to the Warrish embassy for their evaluation. They will teach you about their language and culture.” He lifted a forefinger to emphasize his words. “It will be advisable for you to learn how to conform to their society. Once the Warrish give their approval, the chosen candidates will travel to their home world of Rishalt and enter the school for tripilots.”

  “I see,” Holly murmured. “Will the training take long?”

  “They cannot be certain since their teachers have never trained humans as tripilots. They mentioned potential durations of one to three years to complete the education.”

  “Three years?” Rosie uttered a groan of dismay. “That’s a long time to be away from Earth.”

  “We have negotiated for you to return home for a holiday after each six months in the school on Rishalt. That would mean a break of three months in total comprising about a month on Earth and two months of travel time between here and Rishalt.”

  Compressing her eyebrows in thought, Holly said, “Three years would be a serious commitment to this program. Can we have a little time to discuss the plan?”

  “Of course,” Dr. Reddy replied in a genial tone. “You may have until next Friday. I’ll call again to learn your answer.”

  After he had said goodbye, Holly and Rosie gazed at each other without speaking for a moment.

  Rosie broke the silence, “What’s to discuss? I’d still like to visit Rishalt for a few months. Can’t we halt this tripilot training whenever we want? Even after a year?”

  “I’m not sure. We might get to a stage where they won’t allow us to drop out.”

  “Okay. We’re taking a chance.” Rosie gave an eloquent shrug. “We might not pass the next tests, or we might get kicked out of this school for breaking the rules. I’m game to try.”

  “Well,” Holly said, “If you’re sure you want to train as a tripilot, I’m going too. Sisters have to stick together.”

  Rosie grinned. “We’ll get to meet the mermen.”

  “I wonder...” Holly’s thoughts flew back to her vision of the orange-haired man.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember when you rushed in with the letter from Minister Braithwaite?”

  “You had just finished a scrying session.”

  “True. But something peculiar happened just before you came in. I saw a strange face in the mirror. He smiled at me. Then, you interrupted and the letter distracted me.”

  “Weird.” Rosie screwed up her lips.

  “At the time, I was mystified. But now, I think he was Warrish. He had the right sort of hairstyle, a wave of orange, and gold-amber eyes.”

  “You mean you saw one of the Warrish at their embassy?”

  “Possibly.” Holly shrugged. “Maybe we’ll meet him.”

  “Was he handsome?” Rosie teased.

  “He had an attractive smile. As if I were the most wonderful person in the world.” She shook her head. “I know, it sounds silly. But I can see people at a distance.�
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  Rosie nodded. “I hope we do meet him.”

  “I wish.” Holly laughed.

  “We ought to tell Mum and Edgar what we’ve decided,” Rosie said.

  Holly frowned and shook her head. “They won’t like it. Our stepdad has always hated our psychic talents. Edgar believes anything unnatural is the work of the devil. He doesn’t understand. It’s how we help people.”

  “Mum won’t complain. Maybe she understands. She appreciated our talents while Dad was around. They were both proud of us.” Rosie’s eyes filled with tears.

  Holly rubbed her sister’s arm in silent sympathy. When they were children, their father had often been away from home on business. Four years earlier when they were still teenagers, he had contracted a mysterious illness on his travels and died. Their mother’s fondness for her daughters had diminished since her second marriage to Edgar Wilberforce, an overly religious pastor of the church in the neighboring town.

  Sharing her sister’s grief, Holly mused, “Mum must understand even if she can’t admit it to her husband. Surely we must have inherited our abilities from one of our parents.” She and Rosie had mulled over this idea for years without coming to a conclusion about the origin of their paranormal abilities.

  “Styx, we’re adults,” Rosie exclaimed. “We don’t need their permission.”

  “No. They can’t stop us from doing what we want.” She gave a rueful laugh. “Why, we might be rejected by the Warrish at their embassy and never set foot on Rishalt.”

  “Or we might fail to match up with a third psychic for one of those tripilot triads.”

  “I can see many obstacles to becoming a trained tripilot,” Holly said. “Tons of tests. Neuro-implants. Learning to sense threads in hyperspace. We might fail at any stage. We can only try to succeed.”

  “What if you pass the tests and I don’t?” Rosie asked quietly.

  Holly dismissed her objection with a shrug. “I don’t see why. We both have psychic talents, just different types.” An idea flashed into her mind and she chuckled. “I know what we can do. We’ll tell Mum and Edgar that we’ve won a trip to an island in the Pacific. Then, if we don’t get accepted for the next stage of training, they won’t need to know about us leaving Earth.”