He flashed the same response: “I am me.” The translator did not react, so either it had been developed by these beings, or it had omitted his language. If the latter, there might be something he could do. He concentrated on the pendant.
There.
In his mind he could see the inner workings. It had transducers for vibration, a small processor, and a set of sonic emitters. There was also a transceiver that was probably used for programming. He could use that even if he didn’t know how he was doing it.
“I do not know my name; I cannot remember.” The translator spoke in the air-vibration language of these creatures, but, somehow, he was “speaking” to it directly from his mind. “What is this place, and how did I come to be here?”
The two creatures were clearly surprised—both by the fact the pendant was translating full sentences, and the fact that he had made no language sounds of his own. If they were superstitious, they might think it was…a word for more superstition, but he could not remember it.
“How…what?” The tendrilled one was confused, but the other, the…bald one…had a look of surprise. No, not surprise, curiosity.
The latter being looked at an instrument he was holding in the small protrusions at the end of one of the large arms, then back at the being with the ornate translator pendant. “He’s communicating with the translator directly, Ms. Miller. This sensor says the device is active although it’s not registering any electronic signals.” He turned back. “My name is Bailey, this is Administrator Miller. This planet is Azure, and we found you in a ship that was badly damaged. You were the only one we found.”
“A…ship? I do not know. I do not remember.”
“A water-filled ship. It was badly damaged, but you were in a compartment that was isolated from the rest. “
“I have no memory from before. I…remember being carried; I remember a bright flash, pain, and seeing one of your kind fall from a height.”
“Yes, Cavanaugh. He’s a bit singed. Apparently, your pod decided to self-destruct once you were out. He claims nothing happened until he took off his gloves. Did you have some sort of DNA-sensing security?”
“DNA. Security.” He felt he should know these words or the concepts behind them. “I do not even know how I came to be here. Something is missing.”
“You seem to have hacked into my translator just fine for someone with amnesia.” The one called Administratormiller spoke again. His…her…expression had changed to one of…doubt.
“Hacked? I do not understand. I know only that the
“Well, Doctor Bailey, it seems like you have a like mind here.” Miller snorted. “Typical scientist won’t tell you how or why, just ask you to trust while they do things behind your back. You are welcome to this…thing.” She turned to leave but came back and raised a finger at Bailey. “But you will stop spending colony credits on this—whatever. Do you understand?”
“I understand you’re a closed-minded fool.” He heard the message clearly through the translator, but, strangely, the one called Bailey never made the mouth movements that normally accompanied the translation. Or, well, maybe slight movements. Administratormiller did not seem to react. Bailey made a movement that raised the ends of its mouth. “I understand, Ms. Miller. However, I do need one thing.”
“What do you need now?” The translator rendered the speech with indicators of strong negative emotion.
“Well, I sort of need your translator.” Bailey replied. His emotional indicators were considerably different. There was a hint of…humor? He was teasing the other? No. he was taunting the other being! This was interesting.
Administratormiller took off the pendant and threw it at Bailey, then pivoted on one of her supporting arms and ambulated away. Remarkable. There must be some sort of endoskeleton to support the weight. In addition to being too thick, these must not be true arms like his own. He had so much to learn.
Bailey spoke again, holding the translator in hand. “Todd. May I call you Todd? You’ve only been here a day, and you’ve gotten under Miller’s skin. Congratulations.” He made that strange mouth movement again. The corners turned up and the flesh around the eyes tightened and small wrinkles appeared. “I think we’re going to be great friends!”
* * * * *
Chapter Six
Over the next time segments—Todd learned that the…Humans…called them “days”—he learned many things about the colony and his rescuers. As he came to know the words and concepts familiar to Bailey and the other Humans, he had rare flashes of knowledge, but still nothing about himself, his kind, or any events before his rescue.
Derek Bailey was an oceanographer and was supposed to be working with the aquaculture rafts that farmed seaweed and harvested fish, plankton, and small crustaceans. Azure was a small planet, about eighty percent of the size (and gravity) of the Human home world, and about ninety percent shallow seas. There were a few deep ocean trenches, since the planet was tectonically active, but for the most part the water was less than a kilometer deep. Bailey said it was proof the planet actually had too much water, and that most of the landmasses should have been continents, not simply islands, but their coastlines were flooded.
Todd did not understand most of what his new friend told him, but he understood the seas were of higher salinity than he preferred. However, in the marshes and estuaries where fresh river water and salty seawater mixed, the water was comfortable, if a bit bland.
Bailey had been brought in when the salvage and rescue team realized the ice samples and water from the rescue pod were similar to diluted seawater. There was also more than a trace of sulfur, and the oceanographer theorized Todd’s race evolved around deep sea vents such as those called smokers on Earth. Azure was not well enough developed for anyone to know how prevalent such vents might be, but it was Bailey’s suggestion to use water from the river that drained the volcanic runoff from Mount Sparky, about a hundred klicks from the colony site. The aptly named Styx River contained sulfur, phosphorus, selenium, iodine, and trace amounts of other elements that made it toxic to the Humans after prolonged exposure but made good fertilizer when diluted or when the water was evaporated, leaving the minerals to be mixed with soil prepared for dry farming.
Until the colony prepared more land for farming, the colony’s food production was dependent on the aquaculture rafts, and Administrator Miller—two separate words, he’d learned—felt Bailey spent too much time with Todd and not enough time ensuring the rafts remained healthy and productive. As a result, other colonists were occasionally assigned “baby-sitting” duty. Todd did not understand the concept of a “baby,” nor why it was necessary for Humans to ensure one was “sitting,” but he welcomed the company. If he could not remember his own past, at least he could learn that of his new friends.
Neill Cavanaugh didn’t entirely trust Todd, since he was convinced the rescue pod had tried to kill him. He was, however, certain that babysitting was punishment for whatever Kazimatsu thought he’d done to cause the destruction of all the instruments in the pod. After all, it was clearly not his fault the thing detected his DNA and decided to melt down. He had tried to ignore Todd, and, frankly, Todd would have been happy to ignore Cavanaugh if it hadn’t been for the cards.
Todd watched as Cavanaugh laid small rectangles of thin plastic out on the surface of the small table next to his tank. All the cards had mostly the same pattern on one side, but different patterns on the other. The Human seemed to be trying to match some sort of pattern by flipping certain cards over into stacks. As Todd observed the behavior, he thought about what the object might be. Suddenly his vision was filled with numbers, probabilities, odds, and predictions. It appeared to be a mathematical game, but Todd could not understand why the Human did not always succeed—after all, the pattern on the backs of the cards gave away what was on the front.
“This is a game of chance?” Todd’s translator-
supplied voice asked his babysitter. A translation pendant now hung on the side of Todd’s tank. Miller had taken her expensive, decorated pendant back, and confiscated a spare from the trade office. They could have simply purchased another from the gate master’s staff at the stargate, but the five-year-old colony did not have the credits to spare.
“Solitaire,” Cavanaugh said with a grunt. “Just playing against myself since there’s no one else here.”
“Then I do not understand why you do not win when no one contests with you.”
“Look here, squid, you’ve been here, what, four weeks? How do you know anything about playing cards?”
“I assure you, Mister Cavanaugh, that whatever I am, I am not a ‘squid.’ Doctor Bailey and I have had many discussions, and he has sent an inquiry to Earth for more information. I am most assuredly not like any of your Earth creatures, appearance or not.” Todd generated a cascade of light with his chromophores, and the translator rendered it as a sigh. “I do not need to know my own species to see the mathematical progression of your game. It is simple probability.”
“Oh yeah? Simple probability? Okay, try this.” Cavanaugh took all of the cards and formed them into a single deck. With a manipulation of the appendages that Todd had learned were called “fingers”—such marvelous little arms!—he altered the order of the cards and then placed five cards in front of him, and another five in front of the tank. In each set, three cards showed the unique markings, and two showed the mostly-uniform backs. “This is called five card stud, and you try…”
“To make patterns. Yes, I know. I watched you playing with the others several day-cycles ago,” Todd interrupted. “You have three of the single-symbol cards, and I have two with two-symbols and three with nine symbols. Analysis of probability suggests that my set outranks your set.”
“Wait—how—I haven’t turned any face up!” Only two of the aces were showing.
“What I do not understand is why you turn the pieces over; it does not conceal the pattern.”
“You can see through the cards?” Cavanaugh asked.
“No, it is merely that the markings on the back reveal what is on the front,” Todd replied.
“Where? Show me!” Cavanaugh held up one of the cards.
Todd lifted one of his tentacles out of the water, vibrated it slightly to remove droplets, and then retracted tissue from the tip to narrow the appendage. He used it to point to an area of the card.
“Damn. A marked deck. I got these from Ythan. He was trying to cheat me.”
“Evidence suggests that Mister Ythan was not successful at changing the odds. He seemed to be quite disappointed during your last contest. However, Mister LaFanto seemed to be quite satisfied with his results. The flush of his skin and the movements of his eyes suggest he was withholding information, though.”
“Damned hot-shot pilots.” The Human moved his finger appendages through the thin black tendrils on his head. “You could read that in Mickey LaFanto’s expression? Hmm.” He paused and hummed for a few more time segments, then turned back to Todd and raised the ends of his mouth in what he had learned to recognize as a “smile.” Cavanaugh’s smile was particularly broad. “I have an idea. How about we play next Sevenday’s game over here by the tank? I could even deal you in and perhaps the both of us can teach LaFanto a lesson.”
Todd thought for a moment. The result seemed quite pleasurable, and he flashed a signal of acceptance. “Yes, Mister Cavanaugh. I think I would like that very much.”
“Call me Neill.”
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
“I believe I have learned enough about Humans to say you look tired, Derek.” Todd basked in the sunlight on the interaction shelf Cavanaugh had built in his newly expanded tank. It was more appropriate to call it a pool now, occupying most of the basin that had originally been formed before opening the rescue pod. The pod had been lifted out of the basin, the bottom filled with sand, and it was gradually being stocked with plants and water creatures that lived in the brackish water of the Styx River delta.
Cavanaugh took the original klearplas-sided tank and embedded it into one wall of the basin, creating a submerged shelf about thirty centimeters below the water surface. The other side of tank wall now had a walkway and seating area dug down so the Humans could sit at eye level to the klearplas. The translator was permanently mounted in the wall making the area the primary site for interaction between Todd and his new friends.
Bailey had just brought in a supply of plankton, brine shrimp, and prawns from one of the aquaculture rafts. A portion was set aside for Todd’s nutrition, and the rest were used to build up a stable ecosystem in the tank. The Human sat down heavily on a chair and looked blearily back at him.
“We’ve got red tide threatening rafts Zeta, Iota, and Lambda. I’ve been fighting continuously to keep the contamination out for the last four days. I’m afraid we’re going to have to relocate the rafts, but I can’t be completely certain they’re not contaminated themselves. We may have to write them off, along with thirty percent of our production.” Bailey’s head hung low, but Todd could clearly see the signs of fatigue in his face. It surprised him when he realized he was quite adept in identifying the health status of the Humans.
“Red tide? The ocean turns colors?” The Humans had such an interesting language. At first, the translator was incapable of rendering many words, but Todd spent time examining the programming of the device, and it gradually improved in the months since he had first arrived.
“No, a red tide is a plankton bloom, and not the good kind.” Bailey got up and moved to the seat next to the small refrigerator Cavanaugh had snuck in one night. He opened it and pulled out a brown bottle, uncapped it, and began drinking the cold, amber beverage. “The ocean near the Styx delta always has some red algae because of the sulfur and phosphorus. It usually stays right there because the levels dilute too much in the open water. However, over the last two weeks we’ve seen a bloom of red algae—what we call red tide—off of the aquaculture rafts nearest the Styx delta. The river concentrations aren’t changing, or we would have seen that here. So, we’re not sure what’s causing it, but we know it’s driving the fish away, even though the brine shrimp love it.”
Todd sat quietly as the oceanographer drank his beer. There was something very familiar—a feeling. “Can you bring me a sample?”
“I’m not sure that’s a smart thing to do. If it contaminates the pool, it could harm you.”
“You said the brine shrimp tolerate the algae, so I should be able to survive. You can always flush the pool from the river if needed.” He knew it would be uncomfortable, but he could survive the low salinity river water because of its high mineral content. “I do not know why, but I have a feeling I know what to do about the algae.”
“If you say so. I wish these feelings of yours included some actual memories.” Bailey held up the bottle and looked at it. There were about two centimeters of beer left. As had become his custom, he poured the final amount into the pool, then dipped the bottle under the surface to fill and rinse it, finally pouring the rinse water back into the pool and placing the empty bottle into a cloth sack hanging from the side of the refrigerator.
Todd swam to the spreading puddle of organic byproducts. The diluted alcohol felt invigorating, and the ritual had become Todd’s way of sharing a beer with Derek and Neill. In fact, he could reach the refrigerator himself and retrieve a bottle if he felt like it. The beer came from a small batch Cavanaugh brewed using a mixture of fermented grains and seaweed. Neill called it piss-beer, but Derek reminded him that any beer was good beer when it was all you had. Administrator Miller called it an abomination, but then she did not approve of many things that Derek, Neill, and Todd did. Mostly she called it a waste of credits and was constantly complaining that Todd was consuming resources.
“So do I, Derek. So do I.”
Bailey turned to leave when his comm squawked. “Emergency. The shuttle is making a hot lan
ding. We need all emergency crews to the starport. Emergency.” Just as the Human reached for his belt unit, a nearby concussion shook the ground and splashed water from the pool. The radio crackled again. “Correction: Cancel emergency at starport. All crews report to twenty-one point two-eight-five north, one-five-seven point eight-three-five west. Shuttle is on the ground, condition unknown. All emergency personnel report.”
“That’s about a klick from here. Must be in bad shape if they missed the starport by thirteen klicks.” Bailey acknowledged the call and grabbed his work belt off of the dolly he used to bring the brine-shrimp in from the ocean platform. “Gotta go, Todd. See you whenever.”
“Take me.”
“What!? What did you say?” Bailey was clearly shocked, after all, this was the first time Todd had expressed an interest in leaving the enclosure since his rescue.
“I said, take me with you.”
“But why?” Bailey narrowed his eyes and stared at Todd. “For that matter, how? It’s not like I can just put you in my backpack!”
“Actually, you probably could. I can tolerate the dry for a short period of time.” Todd quickly ducked into the rock shelter he used when he wanted to get out of the sun and returned with several arms curled around odd objects. “It would be easier to simply put me in the tank for the brine shrimp. You already have it loaded on the transporter. Give me half a decimeter of water, and I’ll be fine.”
“Sure. Fine. I can do that.” Bailey’s tone belied the words. “You still haven’t told me why.”
“There will be people hurt. Pilot LaFanto, Captain Elick. Maybe others. I can help.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. I do not know why, but I know I can help.”
Do No Harm Page 3
