Retread Shop 1: First Contact

by T. Jackson King

  Sargon sat upright. This was it. Once the issue had been Called, a vote was mandatory. Consensus was much preferred. Failing that, a large majority vote would decide an issue. And it was one species, one vote, including one for Hekar itself, if the Core AI chose to vote. Sargon scanned the gathered aliens.

  Looseen looked at Alis. “Thank you, Coordinator. I support the Command decision.”

  Algonesus’ tracglobe clanked with movement as it rolled closer to the meeting rock. “Contact:visit . . . Trade:exchange . . . purpose:need . . . supported.”

  That was two votes. Sargon watched intently as several Council members entered their votes on comdisks, or other private communication modes. Eeess floated closer to Alis, its green crystals shining in the light.

  “The military issue, not us concern, not us worry,” broadcast Eeess to the assembled Council. “The issue, true issue, curiosity is. Go. Contact.”

  Three. That he knew about. Out of a vote total of nine. When would they know?

  Hekar spoke up, its sensor cone whirring slightly. “Honored Sapients, seven of you support the decision to visit the G2 star and eight of you support the Zik probe and colonization support request.” The sensor cone shifted tone. “I myself support both courses of action. It shall be as you have decided. Are there any other issues to share among us?” No one spoke; apparently they’d had enough arguments over courtesy, population control and wisdom. “Very well—our business is concluded.”

  Everyone quickly dispersed. Looseen and Mother Esay back into the blessed wetness and buoyancy of the Bubble’s salty sea. Lady Essene lumbered swiftly across the dunes, paced by Swirling-Blue-Thoughts, both debating who could run the fastest after prey. Algonesus’ tracglobe and Eeess’ quartz globe headed back to the chamber’s main entrance, the air perhaps buzzing back and forth with radio messages. T’Klick T’Klose spit into the sand, flapped both wings, turned into the sea breeze and launched himself into the air. His clawed toes trailed in the surf as the Arrik flyer sought altitude and a warm updraft. Sargon wondered if he would tumble into the sea, only to be rescued by a Zik. It would be . . . justice.

  Alis turned around, shaking sand off his toga, and flared his headcrest at Sargon.

  “Well, Watch Commander, will you sleep until Contact with these new sapients? Or will you spend the light years working on the Command Deck?”

  Sargon stood up, but looked out to the sea. To the richness of life suggested by this imitation of a planetary sea. He scanned the active, playful forms of his Compact mates. Fellow travelers on a far, far different sea. He turned to join Alis.

  “Suspense, I think. At least for most of the time. But I won’t give up my Command deck duties.” Sargon chuff-laughed. “Call it an unusually long . . . shift rotation.”

  Alis laughed also. “So be it. I wish you and Bethrin the best. And send your son Corin to me for training. Clan Arax has always been useful to the race.”

  Pride burned within Sargon. He’d made the most important Command decision of his life. And the Compact Council had supported it. A decision little more than intuition, until supported by the deciphered images of the new sapients.

  “I will, Alis. Good fortune.”

  “To you, also.” Alis headed away down the beach, away from the main exit portal, arms behind his back, looking thoughtful.

  Sargon hoped Alis would live to see these new, Horem-like sapients. But Clan Coordinator Sotet Alis Sarex would almost certainly be dead before Contact time. Despite that, Alis had campaigned tirelessly to secure the Council’s support for him, and to secure a future opportunity for the Horem.

  Such was the Long View that had developed among most biologically older sapients now living on Hekar. The Trek was a powerful dream that bonded them all together no matter what their form, their view of reality, or their social structure. It had endured the passing of lifetimes and would endure long, long into the future

  Could he accept that? Could he adjust to the artificial lengthening and separating of the generations? To waking from Suspense and seeing young friends now old and aged, or worse—dead?

  So long as Bethrin loved him, and joined him in Suspense, Sargon could endure. He could be patient.

  Corin and Persa would make their own way, once they awoke from Suspense.

  Just as these new sapients would, in the years until Hekar arrived.

  No one would make survival easy for them. No one had for the Horem. Or the other Compact species. Each had their own Way. Each their own destiny.

  Passing into the rock-cut hallway of the Bubble’s exit, Sargon wondered—what were the new beings really like?

  OBSERVATION

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sargon slowly became aware of another reality outside of his being. A reality that enclosed him in padded comfort, that slowly pulsed under him in an arrhythmic tempo designed to reinvigorate long unused muscles. A reality that signaled to him through slight air pressure changes that he lay enclosed in a space slightly larger than himself. It was a reality that shone brightly through the transparent inspection port covering his Suspense capsule.

  Suspense.

  This was his third time to awaken for a few months of exercise, news, reflection, observation, and training motor reflexes anew. For learning what had come over the tachyonic communicator from Horem in the years of Suspense hibernation. For seeing if his awake period overlapped with that of his son Corin and daughter Persa. And for sharing closeness with Bethrin, who had joined him in Suspense and in love.

  Remembering the awakening procedures, Sargon kept his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and simply daydreamed in that timeless void between sleep and full wakefulness. He thought of his previous awakenings since Detection of the new bipeds.

  The first had been fairly normal. He awakened after three ship years in Suspense, moved back into his quarters with Bethrin, and keyed for information on the yellow star aliens. The signals were 2.29 years older in biped years than his years in Suspense, thanks to the time dilation effect of Hekar moving at ninety percent of the speed of light. The biped primary language was not yet deciphered, and new signs of violent conflict showed in the broadcast imagery. Notable was the image of two tall skytowers tumbling down after being struck by airplanes flown by unknown parties. That imagery had dominated the audiovisual signals for many days after the event. More positive was other imagery that showed the presence of many satellites in orbit above the blue-white world. That imagery also showed an occupied station in orbit. Hekar’s archival library bulged with enigmatic images of bipeds doing various things singly and in groups, of speeding air and ground transports, of oceans, of exotic birds, animals, and aquatic creatures most large—the aquatic imagery sent the Ziks and Sliss into paroxysms of excitement. Sadly, more armored violence occurred in barren parts of the world shortly after the two towers fell. The new evidence of violent conflict raised the Council ranking of T’Klose. But now they knew there were nine worlds present in the system, thanks to radial velocity analysis of changes in yellow star photometry. Two of the system’s planets were large enough to be gas giants, which reassured everyone who worried about renewing their fuel supply. Later translation of the biped primary language said the date of the first set of images had been A.D. 1994, with the second image set dating from A.D. 2001.

  Three ship years later, after his second awakening, the language barrier had been pierced. The world year was early 2008. The bipeds called themselves Human. They were dual sexed much like the Horem. There were billions of them occupying the planetary ecosphere. And there was a planetary datanet that the Humans called the Internet. Most interesting to Sargon was the imagery from a red-brown world named Mars, which came from two small mobile landers. The landers were called Spirit and Opportunity, and they were transmitting thousands of Mars images whenever the Mars day grew bright enough. It was clear the Humans were expanding their exploration of the planets and moons in their star system. But what disturbed everyone about the second set of translated signals
was the presence of Human subgroups engaged in killing other Humans because a supernatural deity wished such killing to be done. Individual suicide attacks were a favored approach of this Human subgroup. Broadcasts by Communications clans named Nova, Discovery and National Geographic documented past Human history. It seemed the last time the Humans engaged in a planet-wide conflict had been during World War II, which was ended by the explosion of two primitive atomic bombs. Later atmospheric explosions involved hydrogen-based thermonuclear weapons. Fortunately, those blasts in the planetary ecosphere had been stopped.

  The second awakening in 2008 had justified his intuition. These Humans had made rapid technological advances in manipulating the physical and electromagnetic universe. The yellow star Humans had refrained from attacking each other with thermonuclear bombs, they had built a planetary Trade economy, they were incredibly diverse in culture, appearance and ideology, and many Humans argued against violent military behaviors.

  They are close to a unified planetary culture, Sargon had thought during his second awakening. But will they survive themselves?

  Despite the shortsightedness and factionalism of Human culture, Sargon had felt encouraged. But some mysteries remained. Why were there so many images of humans engaging in sexual copulation? Perhaps there were rites associated with sex that required it to be broadcast to other humans. Nor did he understand the Human fascination with fictional aliens who resembled a variant of some Strelka pets. Except for the Gosay, the Compact had no pure carnivores. And the Gosay were picky eaters—they weren’t about to eat Humans. Or engage in forcible sex with Humans. There was just no way Gosay reproductive organs could match up with either male or female Human anatomy. Only the Horem were similar in sexual anatomy to the Humans, but Clan morality forbade forced sexual congress. And yet, Humans saw aliens from the stars as always coming to destroy them, eat them, or make off with their females. It had been amusing.

  Now had come his third awakening from Suspense. Sargon opened his eyes and peered through the observation plate above him. Only the gray stone roof of the chamber was visible. He glanced aside at the capsule chronometer, expecting it to show the longer six year Suspense he’d requested. It didn’t. Only four ship years had passed—he was being awakened early! Why?

  Thoughts muddled about in confusion for a few seconds as his backmind told him the Human signal year would be A.D. 2017. Then he realized something unusual had occurred either with the ship, with the Horem, or with the target species. Only major events justified disrupting the precisely synchronized pattern of Suspense and Awakening. Sargon had little muscle control, but he had to start somewhere. He began rapid isometric exercises, trying to speed up the awakening of his organic shell.

  A large, caterpillar-tracked globe came partly into his line of sight.

  It was the standard tracglobe used by Thix-Thet crew when on duty outside their home habitat. Several mechanical extensor claws were extended. They moved carefully and deliberately as they adjusted external capsule controls that regulated the flow of air and liquid nutrients into his capsule. Sargon waited impatiently for primary umbilical detachment and the retreat of hair-fine wires from sensor positions in his cranium, chest, spinal cord and circulatory system. Finally, he was detached and breathing on his own. The Suspense capsule cracked open lengthwise with a slight hiss of pressure equalization across the silicone gaskets.

  Sargon sat up slowly, bracing himself on the capsule rim. He felt the chill of the chamber’s cold air on his naked body despite his thick fur. He looked at the Thix-Thet, vaguely visible in its tracglobe. Several pseudopods moved internal controls that worked the remote manipulators.

  “Compact Mate, why am I awakened early? Is the Ship safe?”

  “Ship:us. . . normal:safe. . . query:request. . . answer:response. . unknown:lacking,” said the flat voice of the Thix-Thet from its tracglobe.

  “Bethrin! My wife—is she well?”

  The Thix-Thet slowed its backward roll away from the capsule. “Bethrin:mate . . . alive:normal . . . patience:quiet.” The tracglobe finished moving away, halting beside a wall control panel.

  Sargon lay back, waiting for the rest of the capsule decanting procedure. He soon felt the feathery touch of a local tractor beam. It raised him up out of the capsule, turned him vertical and moved him sideways to a waiting floaterseat that hovered just above the metal floor. The beam deposited him in the floater.

  Looking around, Sargon saw many other white Suspense capsules lining the cavernous chamber in long rows. To one side of the high-ceilinged room the Thix-Thet’s tracglobe rested beside the tractor beam control panel. A fiber optic cable ran from the tracglobe to the panel. Nice. This Thix-Thet cared enough for his comfort to directly control the tractor beam with its interior tracglobe console rather than using the remote manipulators. The cable method allowed the Thix-Thet to exert careful pseudopod control over beam adjustments. The cable now retracted, its job finished.

  He sat patiently in the floaterseat as it glided through chamber after chamber of Suspense capsules, trailed by the Thix-Thet biomedical technician who had awakened him. The eerie stillness of cold chambers filled with thousands of cylinders reminded him of grubs hidden away deep inside an insect nest he’d once disturbed while clearing rocks from his Clan’s Farm plot.

  They soon arrived in a medical examination room where he met a Gosay doctor specializing in Suspense and Awakening techniques, the red helix of Biomedical painted on his black skin. The armor-plated Gosay focused two of its eyes upon Sargon, while observing floor and wall-mounted medical instruments with the other two. A few belly fringe manipulator tentacles made adjustments to a floor-mounted control panel. The alien yawned widely.

  “Hail, Watch Commander, may your Trade be profitable,” the Gosay grunted. “I am called Lord Terene.” The Gosay’s four black eyes blinked slowly, no doubt half-blinded by the low ultraviolet light levels comfortable for Sargon. “I regret the disturbance to your life rhythms produced by this early awakening. But your presence has been ordered in a meeting of Command crew at the Military Compound.” One of Terene’s belly tentacles pointed to a nearby pedestal. “A dress toga, your Command comdisk and personal effects are adjacent to your floater. A bowl of water, towel and salyx root are also next to them in the Horem custom. Do you require assistance in preparing yourself?”

  The Military Compound? Something was definitely wrong. He looked closely at Lord Terene. “Can you tell me anything about the emergency?”

  Terene’s belly tentacles curled nervously. “I know little. You should wait until your briefing from the Conflict Commander.”

  “Understood.” Sargon reached for his clothes, water bowl, and comdisk. “Is my mate Bethrin awake?”

  “No,” said Terene. “She still sleeps. Unless you request otherwise.”

  “Not yet.” Memories came back to him in a rush. “What about my father—Salex? Does he still live? My mother Peilan, sister Grethel—all of Clan Arax?”

  Terene hooted slightly, perhaps in laughter. “You have many questions for a Command person. Still, I know some answers.” Terene ambled closer to Sargon on his six short, stumpy legs, the spiral pattern of his black armor plates moving with the flow of massive muscles underneath. “Former Watch Commander Arix Salex Arax still lives, though quite aged. I believe he is on a Contemplation visit with the Thoranian Group MIND.” Amazing. “All of your relatives still live, although their number has increased. Your sister Grethel has given birth to twin males recently.”

  Wonderful! Sargon picked up the water bowl, washed his face and eyes, toweled off, and took a bite from the carbohydrate rich salyx root before talking further.

  “My thanks, Lord Terene, for your perception of Horem needs and the news of my Clan.”

  Terene shivered the flanks of his massive body. “It is nothing. Do you need assistance in rising and dressing?”

  Sargon flared his headcrest in amusement—the alien meant well. “I doubt I’ll have a problem. But feel free
to stand nearby.”

  Terene ambled closer to Sargon, sharp claws on his feet clicking on the room’s metal floor. The Gosay extended two belly fringe tentacles toward Sargon, ready to support him if he collapsed.

  Sargon stood up from the floaterseat on bare feet. Feeling well, he dressed, finally sitting down on a nearby bench to pull on soft boots. He grabbed several high energy food bars for later and clipped the comdisk onto his toga. Touching it, he called Hekar.

  “Hekar—Sargon reporting. Ready to report to the Military Compound. Any news on the yellow star Humans?”

  The comdisk rasped slightly. “Understood,” the Core computer said in Horem normal words. “The floaterseat has been downloaded with your assignment. Sit in it and you will be conveyed to the Military Compound. You will learn more about these Humans in the briefing.”

  Sargon did not care for the AI’s smug tone. Nor for its evasion of a direct answer. “Lord Terene, I’m well. Do I have your medical clearance to depart?”

  “Most assuredly Watch Commander Arax.” Terene stepped back from Sargon, two eyes twisting to monitor wall screens. “Your status is excellent and the floaterseat will report to the Suspense computer for the next 52 hours. Please stay on or near the floater so we may assist you if necessary.”

  “I will. And thanks again for your caring.” Sargon touched a stud on a seat arm, activating Hekar’s destination program. The floaterseat moved out of the Biomedical room and into the deep tunnel depths of Hekar.

  The AI’s use of the word Humans had sounded . . . sardonic. Or was he imagining things? Did a sentient computer understand emotions?

  Eventually he arrived at a grav-tube station. It led upwards a short distance to the access portal of the Military Compound, which was buried well below the surface of the asteroid. Entering its reception chamber, he identified himself, was scanned by several varieties of electromagnetic and subatomic sensors, and passed through a long security passage that twisted, turned and eventually opened onto an Administration level. A thick airlock door of solid boron-titanium steel moved aside to admit him. His floaterseat entered the Administration level and made its way a few Horempads down a wide corridor to a circular, high-domed briefing room.