by Doug Hoffman
“They look like some kind of robot or something,” exclaimed President Stoltz.
“Shut. Up. Roger!” Sally hissed.
“Madre de Dios,” whispered Tony.
“I though you came unarmed, TK,” Sid said, speaking for the first time since the introductions were made.
“I am unarmed,” TK said, emphasizing the 'I', “something that you, Ranger, and you, General, are not.”
“I thought this was a peaceful mission,” Roger babbled.
“It is,” snapped TK, his patience worn thin, “but that there shuttle craft can fly from here to the Moon and back again. It's probably one of the most valuable pieces of equipment on the planet and there's no way we were gonna' risk some fool taken' it into his head to try and steal it.”
“I'm assuming those things are dangerous,” the General stated, not taking his eyes off the two Marines outside.
TK sighed. “Let me put it to you this way, General—did you ever see the movie 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' when you were a kid? I don't mean that crappy remake a decade or so ago, I mean the original black and white film from 1951.”
“Yeah, probably,” the General replied cautiously.
“It was all about a guy in a flying saucer who came to Earth on a peace mission—feller by the name of Klaatu. He came unarmed, like I did.”
“And?”
“Just in case things didn't go so well with the natives he had this big ol' metal feller with him—feller by the name of Gort. It was a big mistake to mess with Gort.”
“Your point is?”
“You can call me Klaatu,” TK smiled, “Them two out there, they're both Gorts.”
NatHanGon's Quarters, Farside
Melissa Scott Hamilton put in a quick appearance at the reception at Jesse's Place before going to check on her friend, the Triad ambassador. Melissa was really not much of a party girl and she found talking with the Ambassador more enjoyable than conversing with a collection of humans in varying states of inebriation.
NatHanGon's quarters were located near the agricultural production spaces, rather fitting in Melissa's mind considering that the triple brained alien was a plant. Down several infrequently traveled corridors, Melissa walked alone until she came to the locked portal that led to the Ambassador's chamber. She had not noticed the maintenance tech who followed her from the mostly darkened atrium.
The environmental conditions in the room that housed NatHanGon were designed to mimic the conditions found on their own world, Gliese 581d. From one wall issued red tinged light that extended into the near infrared, a close analog of the light from the planet's sun, a red dwarf called Gliese 581 by humans. When no one was visiting inside the 5 by 5 meter room, strong artificial winds gusted and rain pelted the interior. The atmospheric gas mixture also mimicked that of the planet and was kept at twice Earth sea-level pressure. To gain physical access to the Ambassador required passing through an airlock that equalized the pressure.
The base's head horticulturist was one of the few whose comm pip code allowed access to the airlock. Other guests visited the Ambassador from an adjacent room more comfortable for Earthlings. Since the Triads conversed using either radio waves or by direct electrical contact through their roots, it did not really matter that the alien was separated from their guests by a thick transparent wall. Conversation was possible because the base computer translated radio frequency transmissions to and from the Triad. Melissa, however, gladly suffered the added discomfort of entering into the Ambassador's physical presence.
The atmosphere inside the chamber was primarily nitrogen, oxygen, water vapor and carbon dioxide. The CO2 levels were significantly higher than on Earth, ten times as high in fact. Humans can be asphyxiated by sufficiently elevated CO2 levels, even in the presence of ample amounts of oxygen. In 1986, a release of gas from Lake Nyos in Cameroon killed more than 1700 people by driving the CO2 levels above 10%. While such levels can render a human unconscious in less than five minutes that danger did not exist at the 0.4% level present in the Ambassador's residence, even at twice normal atmospheric pressure.
There were concerns about long-term exposure, however, and frequent or lengthy visits required the use of a mask that selectively blocked carbon dioxide. Wearing a mask, Melissa stepped through the inner airlock door and greeted her friend.
“Hey, NatHanGon, how y’all doing today?” In this case “y'all” was totally appropriate, since the Ambassador possessed three quasi-independent brains linked through the roots at the creature's base. Or not, since in the deep south “y'all” is singular—a group of people was referred to as “all y'all” where Melissa came from.
“It is good to see you again Melissa; Have you details of your fleet's victory over the interlopers? Is there any news about your captain?”
The Ambassador did not really see Melissa, having no eyes, but rather sensed her presence through weak electrical fields. They did physically acknowledge the human's presence by gently shaking the black, flower like blooms that ran along the ribs of their two meter tall cactus like trunks—an action that humans interpreted as an expression of pleasure. The result was a sound like wind chimes or the tinkling of bells.
Conversing with a Triad could be quite confusing for a single brained creature, as each of the plant's brains provided an independent conversational thread. At first, human researchers thought that each thread belonged to one of the brains, but it was later revealed that they frequently migrated from one physical brain to another. The Triad mind was much more complicated than humans realized, as befit creatures that evolved before Earth had formed around the proto-star that became the Sun.
“It's good to see you too; The fleet and the Marines destroyed the alien ship that attacked our planet; There's been no word from Captain Jack, I'm sure Ludmilla would have said something if there had.”
Humans conversing with a Triad tended to adopt a three part conversational mode themselves. Multiple researchers often carried out three seemingly independent conversations with the Ambassador simultaneously. Melissa had gotten to the point where she could manage three threads by herself.
“We always enjoy your visits, it gets a bit lonely for us without a conclave to commune with; It is good that your forces were victorious, did they bring back any of the aliens alive? I'm sure the Captain is all right, the T'aafhal ship they are in is extraordinarily powerful.”
“I enjoy talkin' with y'all too, more so than with most folk; Evidently the aliens were all killed by the Marine assault, though they brought back some equipment that they think is a navigation computer and a couple of bodies for dissection; I sure hope so, Ludmilla would just die if something happened to him.”
Melissa pulled on a pair of gardener's gloves and got on her hands and knees to inspect the cover vegetation surrounding the Ambassador's roots. The mosses and low clinging plants had been brought along from the Triad planet to make NatHanGon's metal and glass room seem more like home.
* * * * *
Outside the airlock a man in gray maintenance coveralls retrieved the small electronic device he planted near the entrance to the Ambassador's chamber earlier. He had been studying the horticulturist's movements for several weeks and discovered that she often visited the alien plant at odd hours—times when there were no other people about. He checked the device and discovered that it had done its job.
He smiled to himself, feeling his excitement grow. Now was the perfect time. No one was down here wandering the halls, they were all at one of the bars getting drunk. He pressed the device's playback button and it reproduced the identification sequence transmitted earlier by Melissa's comm pip. The outer airlock door slid quietly aside.
Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek
The crew were all at their action stations, anticipating emergence from alter-space. Transiting alter-space was the first way humans had learned to effectively travel faster than light. Only a few short months ago it seemed like the ultimate in high-speed travel, taking only a few days to cross a score
of light-years. But since the M'tak Ka'fek had taken them 1,500 light-years from home in the course of a few moments by generating an annular singularity—a made to order wormhole—passing through the lesser dimensions of alter-space seemed a plodding pace. Unfortunately, the faster mode of travel was energy intensive and until a new supply of antimatter could be secured, alter-space transit was the best the ship could do.
Bear was at the main weapon station and JT at navigation. Sandy McKinnett and Bobby Danner manned the helm with Mizuki Ogawa keeping track of things astrophysical. The rest of the crew and Marines stood ready at weapon stations farther aft. Keeping track of everything, Captain Jack sat in the commander's chair, which he had relocated from its original, lonely position in front of the bridge to a more comfortable location behind the helm.
I hope there is something waiting for us on the other end of this transit, Jack thought. Even doing alter-space transits will eventually deplete our antimatter supplies, then we will truly be up a creek without a paddle.
An interesting analogy, the ship's AI commented wordlessly.
“Emergence in 10 seconds, Captain,” called Mizuki from the helm. The T'aafhal instruments were much better at calculating the time of a transit than the humans' best efforts.
“I'm already getting sensor data from the system ahead, Captain,” reported Bear. The ability of the polar bears to 'smell' things in alter-space was amazing even to the AI. The part of a bear's brain that provided its exquisite sense of smell—capable of detecting a seal beneath Arctic ice at a dozen kilometers—adapted to the T'aafhal targeting sensors as though designed for the job, which in fact it had been.
The reality of 3-space shimmered into existence around the ship. The crew intently surveyed the system before them, straining to pickup a hint of an enemy through senses enhance by the M'tak Ka'fek's multitude of instruments.
“The prey is headed across the system,” Bear reported, “About an AU away.”
Running a standard survey of the system, JT cataloged the star and its planets. “Looks like a single star system, a marginal class A, 1.6 solar masses. A couple of rocky planets, both under an AU out, no atmospheres and way too hot for any know lifeforms. And then there is this...”
JT sent an image to the forward display. There, hanging in space in front of the bridge crew, was a space station. Though the scale was impossible to judge without something familiar to compare it to, the station appeared to consist of six large domed units arranged in a hexagon. The clear, shallow domes covered glittering black structures, all facing the blue-white star. As the image expanded it became clear that the six domed structures were like covered saucers, connected from behind by a framework of ribbed struts.
Each of the saucers was roughly 32 kilometers in diameter, with the spacing between their edges half that. From the centers of their backsides, stems a kilometer in diameter extended downward for five kilometers. At four kilometers lateral struts of similar diameter ran to the center of the array, where they joined with a thicker stem that extended at least 25 kilometers into space behind the structure. The overall effect was of a gigantic cluster of flowers suspended in space, crafted in a style that was disturbingly familiar.
“That looks like it was built by whoever made the Space Mushroom at Comae Berenices,” Bobby said in a hesitant voice.
“Right the first time, Bobby,” JT confirmed, looking up. “Except each of those domes is about 60% bigger than the cap on the Space Mushroom.”
“And there are six of them,” Bear said, stating the obvious. “Which means that is a much bigger station than the one we destroyed.”
“Which means it should have an even larger store of antimatter than that station,” the Captain finished, leaning forward in his chair. “Now all we have to do is figure out how to requisition some of it.”
“Captain,” the ship said, “the station ahead appears to be broadcasting approach and docking instructions on a number of frequencies. There are several languages being used, all derivatives of the ancient trading language.”
“Gun crews at the ready,” Jack ordered. “Well let's not disappoint them—follow the docking instructions, Mr. Danner. Let's go see who's minding the store.”
Chapter 8
NatHanGon's Quarters, Farside
Hearing the airlock door open behind her, Melissa stood up and faced the stranger as he entered. “Who are you?” she asked, puzzled how someone she did not know had gained access to the Ambassador's living space. “What do you want?”
The intruder advanced on her with a smirk on his face. “I want you, bitch,” he said, voice flat and malevolent. He lunged for Melissa and tried to grab her throat with both hands.
The horticulturalist was a slight woman but not totally defenseless. She had taken Ludmilla's Sambo self defense classes during the voyages on Peggy Sue. Bringing both her arms up between his and then out and down sharply she managed to break her assailant’s tentative hold on her neck. Reacting according to Ludmilla's training, Melissa then attempted a stiff fingered jab to the attacker's eyes.
Unfortunately, this was not her attacker's first assault. Reacting before his intended victim could gouge out an eye, he tucked in his chin and lowered his head, causing the strike to hit his browline and not a vulnerable eye socket. He lashed out blindly, a roundhouse blow that caught Melissa on the left side of her face, knocking off her mask and driving her to the ground.
“Shit!” he cried, wiping his forehead with his right hand. It came away stained red with blood from the gash above his eyebrow. He either ignored or did not hear the rattling sound coming from the quivering flowers along the Ambassador's closest trunk—a sound not unlike a nest of baby rattlesnakes.
“You fucking cunt!” he yelled in shocked anger, stunned that his intended victim had managed to hurt him. Rage building, he started toward Melissa again, saying in a low, threatening rasp, “you will beg me to let you die before I'm done...”
A ripple of faint popping sounds emanated from the Ambassador. The would be rapist suddenly sprouted a forest of finger length quills, scattered along the left side of his head, neck and torso. He toppled forward.
Melissa scrambled backward to avoid the falling man, who struck the ground and lay motionless. In horror and disbelief, she backed up the gentle slope until she sat with her back against one of the Ambassador's three man sized trunks.
Jesse's Place, Farside
Beth and Billy Ray had found an empty table near the entrance and were cautiously getting to know each other. They were observed by a trio of females, two human and one ursine, who represented a majority of Farside base's leadership.
“They make an interesting couple, don't you think?” asked Isbjørn. The mating rituals of humans fascinated her. In her opinion bears were much more pragmatic: find an attractive partner; fight a bit to make sure the prospective mate is strong and healthy; and then spend a week mating as often as possible.
“Yes, interesting,” commented Gretchen dryly, “they are like a pair of scorpions circling each other, trying to decide what action to take—do we mate or attempt to kill each other?”
“You are becoming far too cynical, Gretchen,” Ludmilla replied. “The Lieutenant is just being cautious, as she should be given Billy Ray's reputation. But Bill Ray is showing signs of real interest, if I am not mistaken. Do not forget, I have observed him under such conditions before.”
“What do you mean, Ludmilla?” asked Isbjørn. The 300kg bear was sitting next to the two humans, placing her head at roughly human height.
“Ludmilla was the matchmaker who smoothed things over between Billy Ray and Susan on the first voyage.”
“Ah,” the she-bear said, “what a tragedy that the girl died.”
“Yes, yes it was. Mourning is appropriate, even necessary, but eventually one must move on. What Billy Ray needs is someone new, someone to prove that his life did not end when Susan died.”
“You are such a romantic, Ludmilla,” Gretchen said, in a tone tha
t held just a touch of sarcasm. Ludmilla was about to answer her friend when her comm chirped.
“Why do they always call me when I am in Jesse's bar?” she muttered before saying, “Tropsha here, go ahead.”
“LudmillaStefanovaTropsha there has been an attack on MelissaScottHamilton; She is in our quarters and requires assistance; Please accept our apologies, we seem to have killed a member of your conclave.”
Even before the tripart message was finished Ludmilla knew that it was from NatHanGon. A priority message from the Triad ambassador would be put through wherever she was. Ludmilla was already in motion as she issued a terse reply: “We come.”
Her two companions overheard the call and were also in immediate motion, headed toward the exit with Isbjørn in the lead. Her shouted warning of “make way!” was hardly needed—a full grown polar bear charging at top speed tended to clear a path. As Gretchen exited the bar she yelled, “you two, with me!”
Startled, Beth and Billy Ray looked after the receding figure of the Captain. “Did she mean us?” asked Beth.
“I don't know, but I'm not waiting around to find out. Let's move.”
The pair of officers lit out after the running trio. As they passed the Marine guards at the entrance one of them shouted, “Did she mean us?”
“You two stop gawkin' and come on,” yelled Billy Ray, en passant, “we got us a situation here!”
NatHanGon's Quarters, Farside
Isbjørn was the first to arrive outside the Triad ambassador's quarters. She was arguing with the airlock's voice control as Ludmilla and Gretchen pulled up. The quick run in low G was enough to get the blood flowing but not nearly enough to tax either woman.
“Emergency override!” Ludmilla shouted. The outer door slid aside and Isbjørn pushed inside. The others followed and Gretchen quickly cycled the lock.
Entering the Ambassador's chamber, the bear lowered her head and growled at the sight in front of them. The body of the attacker was sprawled on the mossy ground, head twisted sideways with one unblinking eye staring sightlessly at nothing. Propped against the base of the Ambassador was Melissa, glassy eyed, breathing in shallow, panting breaths.
