Retread Shop 1: First Contact

by T. Jackson King

  Sargon, looking both enthused and excited, described his world. “Jack, the Compact is an idea, a pact and a reality. Long ago a Horem named Arix Noren Arax, seeking to deal with the beginnings of xenophobia among the Horem toward the newly arrived Strelka, proposed a simple idea. Mutual Trade of goods. The value of exchanges between our races had been demonstrated by the joint development of the tachyonic communicator, which even now allows us instantaneous contact with our home systems and with each other.” Jack had been shocked at the news of faster-than-lightspeed communications. On the courier he’d wondered if Earth’s bureaucrats would realize this First Contact involved more than an asteroid inhabited by eight alien species. It also involved their home planets. He tuned back into Sargon. “Noren sought a way to bring our peoples together without suffering violent xenophobia, cultural fugue or the collapse of our society due to the unsettling impact of alien perceptions.” Sargon, he saw, seemed to be directly remembering an event from long before the Horem was born. Which, Jack knew, was impossible. “Captain Noren proposed a ceremonial joining of our races in a common endeavor, in a great Trade venture or Hunt through the stars for other species. We could barter with new species for ideas, biologicals and technology of use to us and our home planets. Out of this was developed the Compact, which is simply a mutually binding association of sapients who share a common objective—Trade,” explained Sargon.

  “Nice,” Jack said. “That’s how things started. How do they now work on Hekar, this giant asteroid?”

  In the vid-interview, Sargon stood up, walked over to the portal and stood looking out, his back to Jack but the portal, Earth and many stars were visible.

  “On Hekar, each species occupies a 20 kilometer-wide habitat dome that is its sovereign territory,” Sargon murmured softly. “None may enter a habitat without permission and the laws of that species apply there—as in your Human embassies. We control our population growth mainly through hibernation techniques we call Suspense, which allows us both to survive the long voyages and to experience several alien Contacts in a sapient’s lifetime.” One question answered—Jack had been wondering how the aliens carried enough food for their long voyages. “Of course certain rights are reserved. For example, each species has the right to detach their prime habitat and to colonize a suitable planet if one is encountered. Each species maintains its population at between 2,000 and 4,000 individuals so as to maintain its own cultural identity.” Jack did some quick arithmetic—that meant at least l6,000 to 32,000 aliens were aboard Hekar! “Each species owns its own technology as it existed at Contact and can Trade as it desires, while jointly developed technologies belong to the developers,” Sargon said. “However, most basic scientific and cultural data are put into a common archive maintained by Hekar’s central Core computer. This is open to all for research use, and is accessible through Library Nodes,” explained an enthusiastic Sargon.

  Jack couldn’t resist the obvious question. “Your ship computer, this Core, is it self-aware? That has been something our information researchers have been working on for decades.”

  Sargon turned around. His expression was neutral. “Our Core computer is what you call a quantum computer. One of immense size. And yes, it is self-aware. We treat it as we treat each other. In truth, it is the ninth member species of the Compact.”

  Jack bit his lip. Ask an obvious question, get an amazing answer. “That is fascinating. About your Core, I mean. Do you rule it, or does it . . . control you organics?”

  Sargon chuffed, which he’d come to know was the Horem version of a laugh. The tall, wide-shouldered werewolf walked back and sat down in the chair opposite Jack. “Neither. We cooperate. The same way each species cooperates with other species. We show Hekar the Core our respect and appreciation. It does the same to us. And it is fascinated by our Thoranian crystal members. Thoranians talk in what we call mathspeech. Algorithms come as natural to them as waking up comes to us biologicals. The Core . . . likes dealing with our Thoranians.”

  Jack recalled his thoughts during the vid-interview. Sargon, obviously used to such Contact, already knew most questions he wanted to ask. Was he just a foil in a larger design? Was he hearing only what the aliens wanted him to know? What had he gotten himself into? An interview, that’s what. “Well, what are the duties of your Compact member species? Surely your ship is not run just by the Horem.”

  “It is not,” Sargon said in a low growl. “In return for planting a habitat dome on Hekar, each member species has specific obligations. For example, each species contributes ten percent of their personnel to the ship’s Crew and these people owe full allegiance to the ship, not to their species. Also, each species agrees to abide by majority decisions of the Compact Council, which is composed of a representative from each species and Hekar the Core. In sum, by use of an efficient stardrive, by keeping our organic population and food use low during transits, by creating simulacrums of our home environments, by refueling every chance we get, and by frequent tachyonic contact with our home societies, we Traders of the Compact have endured as a viable interstellar community for centuries.” Sargon’s red-streaked headcrest feathers flared out. “We look forward to continued success in the future as we progress further down this spiral arm. And,” the werewolf paused, “I personally want you Jack to serve as a Liaison between us and Earth.”

  “Damn!” Tommy muttered as he looked Jack’s way. “You accepted, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Bet the president will want to see you ASAP. Hope you like being a target for every other news org, a few dozen spy orgs, and every religious nut on the planet!”

  Jack didn’t like any of Tommy’s points. They were all too real and probable. But saying Yes to being the Earth’s Liaison to this Compact group had been something he could not turn down. Not before they flew to orbit and not afterward. He focused on the closing questions he’d asked.

  “This Compact arrangement makes sense. And surely works,” the onscreen Jack said. “But Sargon—don’t you people ever have a fight, a violent conflict? Or are you advanced beyond that?”

  Sargon nodded his head as if expecting the question.

  “Jack, intelligent life can almost always find something to argue about. Of course we have conflicts, but we carefully control them. Hekar is the only home ever known by most of the 31,381 sapients currently living on it,” Sargon said, a distant look in his yellow eyes. “We may argue, we may disagree, some individuals may act violently against each other, but we are all highly intelligent people who know better than to foul our own nest solely out of anger at another.” The vidcast Sargon glanced across the globeship’s deck at Life and at the porthole image of a blue and white Earth. “Our species are vastly different. Two of them are not even biologically organic. But we have two things in common—we are all curious and we all want to survive.” Sargon looked back to Jack as Colleen’s screen image closed in on the two of them. “As a side comment, your military strategists should be fully aware that the ‘divide and conquer’ tactic would not be effective against us. Recall that we have much experience at this sort of thing and we are determined to leave your system in about ten years to pursue our own interests,” cautioned Sargon.

  “I can’t resist asking,” Jack said. “What would you do if some terrorist group or nation-Clan did attack one of your people or spacecraft? Would you hold us all responsible?”

  “No,” Sargon said, pausing to steeple his fingers together in a very human gesture. “Collective responsibility is proper only for collective actions. As to what we would do if attacked, why, we will defend ourselves of course! The right of self-defense is international law recognized by nearly all of your nation-Clans. Like you, we have our own Military Compound ready and able to respond. As to how we will respond, that is up to Conflict Commander T’Klick T’Klose. Who is an Arrik raptor best left undisturbed.” Sargon grinned, showing teeth in a manner Jack wasn’t sure was meant to be friendly. “You should know tha
t we will not tell you everything about us and, in some areas, there are things about us that you will never know.”

  On the ship Jack had pondered the statement, wondering at the good-cop/bad-cop scenario Sargon had laid out. Who was this T’Klose? Did he outrank Sargon? With a sigh, the video Jack asked his last question.

  “Sargon, you earlier told me this would be a short interview and that we would see only you and the Strelka Life-Who-Is-Song. Why haven’t you shown us other aliens, beyond the holos you are allowing me to put up on the worldwide web? Why a short interview? And do you have any closing statement?”

  Sitting in Tommy’s office, he felt he’d done good in this unique, never before done vid-interview. He just hoped his kids, his vidcast colleagues, and the people of Earth realized there was no training manual for talking to an alien.

  “Jack, the answers are simple and logical,” Sargon growled low. “The appearance of a Horem and Strelka before you Humans is enough of an initial shock. The holos of our other Compact species, which will appear at the end of this interview, are enough for now. In the future you and others will have a chance at more vid-interviews, and to see other Compact members in person. Alive and real. For now, your society needs to adjust to the reality of our visitation.” Sargon smiled again. He was getting better at it—if you just ignored the vampire-like teeth. “You and all Humans should bear in mind you are speaking to a Horem because we are the sapients most similar to your physical form. While you may feel you understand me, don’t be fooled. I communicate to you in your terms because it’s part of my training, because we studied you for nearly 30 ship years as we approached your star, and because our minds share a similar arrow-of-time perception of reality and of cause-and-effect. Other Compact members are deeply alien even to me, and I have lived my life among them.” Sargon sat back in his chair, brown-furred arms crossed. “Don’t think that we of the Compact are cousins to you Humans. We are Brothers-In-Thought, but we are vastly different in many, many aspects. Above all, be patient—we do like you Humans.”

  The vid-cast Jack turned to face Colleen’s sat-vid shoulder-mount. “Well folks, that’s it for now. Humanity is no longer alone in the universe and we find not one but eight new species of intelligent life. What will we do? What will you do? Do we Trade with these apparently friendly Aliens—or do we stick our heads in the sand?” The onscreen Jack gestured at the porthole. “We are no longer alone in the universe and suddenly our local squabbles are overshadowed by a great event. Again, who will Trade with these Traders of the Compact? As promised, I will bring you more on this story as circumstances permit. This is Jack Harrigan signing off for the International Desk of CNN.”

  Back in Atlanta, Jack looked at pixie-faced Colleen, at sober, stocky Tommy Newsome and at thoughtful Lesley Ann Jacobs. Reaching over to take Colleen’s hand in his rough-skinned right hand, Jack looked back at Tommy.

  “Tommy—my one-time broadcast fee for that vid-interview is the usual $20,000. I’d prefer Treasury notes, but I’ll take your personal check. How about paying up?”

  Tommy’s lined face momentarily looked startled, then intent as the former halfback for the Georgia University Bulldogs quickly adjusted to a new reality. Reaching across his desk, Tommy pulled an oldstyle checkbook out of a drawer. He scribbled on it and handed the check to Jack.

  “Here’s your money, though I could have done a straight bank-to-bank digital transfer,” Tommy said.

  Jack tucked the check into one of his vest pockets. “Your check is fine with me. And I tend to be a bit old-fashioned when it comes to money. I prefer gold coins, Treasury notes and personal checks over the worldwide digital money flow scheme. It’s harder to steal money when it isn’t digital.”

  Tommy nodded, having long experience with Jack’s preferences. “Uh, how about a $500,000 annual retainer and ten percent of the syndication rights on any future vid-interviews you do with the aliens? You keep the print rights, action game figure rights, foreign language rights and other subrights. Also, I’ll throw in the services of our corporate legal staff gratis since the FBI may be looking you up pretty soon. Interested?”

  “Interested.” Jack felt good at the way things had turned out. He would of course haggle some more over the fee, but things were off to a good start. Right now, he bet Tommy would ask Lesley Ann to do a live interview of him and Colleen about their experiences on board the Strelka globeship.

  He was starting to like this tiger ride.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Just as the American SITREP meeting on the broadcast was warming up with everyone jumping in to support, refute or question Smith’s assertion, the purple satphone next to President McDonnell called for attention. Literally, using its programmed SmartVoice. With a look of disgust at her “advisors,” McDonnell tapped on the satphone, listened a few seconds by way of her ear buds, then spoke to the group.

  “Well, gentlemen and ladies, it looks like Harold was right. Some guy with a British accent calling himself Arix Sargon Arax is on this supposedly encrypted link asking to talk to me.” McDonnell’s gray eyes glared. “He says his maser tightbeam signal can be received on channel K of this room’s wallscreen. Lucius, turn it on please,” ordered an obviously displeased Chief Executive.

  “—your cooperation in speaking with me at this busy time is appreciated,” said a calm voice as the wallscreen’s sound came on.

  They saw Sargon on the same Strelka globeship deck seen earlier in the interview. However, this time the deck was crowded with other aliens. Life-Who-Is-Song occupied his Control Nexus pilot basin as before and Sargon sat before his Comlink block. But this time, in both the foreground and background of the domed room, they saw other aliens either moving around or on station doing various things.

  There were four other brown-furred Horem in the background earnestly speaking before Imager pedestals—and a fifth one that looked like a female Horem partially enclosed in a transparent alcove that flickered with the lights and touch inputs of a computer station. A few other Horem females, tall, full-breasted and trim-looking in their togas, moved about in the background. Four Strelka were visible on the room’s periphery where they worked the Power, Navigation, Detector and Liaison stations—according to image subtitles that appeared on screen. A bat-winged Arrik—T’Set T’Say—stood before the Defense station block, while a Zik Grade 3 Defender crouched before the Tactical station block, perceptor stalks swaying before infrared data flashes. Lastly, a Gosay—looking like a headless, six-legged black hippo—stood before his Environment block, belly tentacles whipping about. Sargon looked up, speaking directly to McDonnell as the HD wallscreen image sharpened.

  “I am calling you, madame, for two purposes. First, to further convince you and your associates of the reality of the interview that is currently being vidcast, and secondly, to calm any fears this event may have caused among your national security staff, who naturally rely more on deeds than on words in judging a situation.” The brown-furred Horem stared at them from his seated position, his manner all business. “Let me further advise you that this ship is in the L4 lunar orbital position far distant from your planet, as your backtracking of my maser signal will show. So please allow for the 1.3 second time delay between our relative positions.”

  McDonnell looked to Amy Sung. “Send a text to your NASA people. Have JPL or our Goddard astronauts confirm the presence of this ship at that spot.”

  “Working on it,” the middle-aged Chinese-American said as she looked down at her LinkPad.

  Sargon had paused, perhaps to allow for just such orders. “Second, please be aware that my son Arix Corin Arax and his other Probe team colleagues are now having this same discussion with President Bochtov, with Premier Ling Ping, with Prime Minister Narasaki of Japan, with President Katia Abreu of Brazil, with European Parliament President Helga Brandt and with U.N. Secretary General Raoul Espinoza, all with the same objective as this call to you.” The werewolf briefly looked at an Imager pedestal. “The astronauts, cosmonaut
s and taikonauts aboard your several space stations can easily observe our vehicle using any optical telescope. Your military assets can also observe us. We are visible to your GEODSS scopes at Socorro, Maui and Diego Garcia, the orbiting SBSS satellite and the James Webb and Goddard telescopes. Are you convinced enough of our reality to engage in discussions?”

  McDonnell, despite years of thinking on her feet and self-training against freezing at the unexpected, had riveted her eyes on the incredible shapes of the Zik, Gosay, Strelka and Arrik crew members. At the alien’s direct question, she jerked back to the speaker.

  “Mr. Arax, I am prepared to talk to anyone at any time,” said McDonnell said, talking to her satphone. “However, you must realize your sudden intrusion on our world communications system has allowed little time to decide on a course of action. I am ready to talk, but action must await time for reflection. What is your authority and status with this Compact, Mr. Arax?”

  “That of Watch Commander and Trader-In-Charge of this First Contact—the role of ambassador plenipotentiary would match my authority, Madame President,” Sargon said with a toothy smile. “As a sign of your goodwill similar to our current parking orbit far from Earth, you may wish to order your military forces to stand down from DEFCON 3 status and to turn off your PAVE PAWS acquisition radars for your six ABM hydrogen-fluorine lasers and one electron-beam projector. While the planetary defense systems of you, the Russians, the Brazilians and the Chinese are very primitive, they unnerve and contribute to tension among your military establishments.” Sargon paused, looking aside at the Arrik female. “Our Military Compound would also appreciate it. My son is now making the same request of President Bochtov for his six carbon-dioxide ABM lasers and two scalar beam RF implosion devices. His Probe colleague Kagen is doing the same with President Ling Ping. Again, we do not wish to be the cause of increased tension between your nation-Clans.”