The Alien Explorer's Love

by Leslie Chase

  At least they could stay in touch. Their improvised radio might not have a great range, but it worked. That was one load off Jaranak's mind; the demonstration they had planned would be much more difficult if the two of them couldn't talk.

  "Clear enough," he said under his breath. The microphone sat against his throat, picking up the vibrations of his voice directly. That meant that he hardly needed any volume to be heard, though it did have the downside that Karnan couldn't hear anything apart from his voice. Hopefully that wouldn't matter.

  "This is embarrassing," he continued, eyes flickering over the crowd. "Putting on a magic show for the natives is hardly what we're here for."

  "Yes, boss," Karnan's weary tone just about carried through the static. They'd been having this discussion every time that they practiced for the lecture, and they both agreed. Neither of them had come up with a better idea, though. "See any likely options? Anyone who might be useful?"

  Jaranak wasn't sure what he should be looking for, exactly. While he'd tried his best to understand human social hierarchies, this was a new planet and a new culture. Even with the help of a local guide, it wasn't easy to work out who was genuinely important and who just looked like they might be. But there was one man who stood out from the rest of the crowd, and who might be worth talking to.

  At the front of the audience sat a sharp-faced older man, eyes bright with curiosity and surrounded by men that Jaranak recognized as guards. Their clothes fitted poorly over muscular frames and barely concealed the weapons they wore under their jackets. Unlike everyone else, their attention was more on the crowd than on the stage. Anyone who felt the need for such protection had to be powerful, and that meant he might be a useful contact. There was a faint smile on the man's lips as he listened to Hennessey, and Jaranak could see he wasn't fooled.

  That was probably good, too. A clever partner would be much more useful than a gullible one, and Jaranak would prefer not to take advantage of the locals any more than necessary.

  Most of the rest of the crowd were more easily dismissed, all of them looking like they were here for a spectacle rather than to learn anything. If that is the price of my access to this city, I shall give them one, he thought, stepping forward as Hennessey finished his introduction.

  "And with that, I present Prince Jaranak of Prindakh," the captain finished with a flourish, stepping aside. Jaranak winced at the mangled pronunciation and did his best to hide the pain.

  "Greetings," he said, waving out at the crowd. A cheer greeted him, the whole crowd enthusiastically welcoming him to their country. All but one.

  In the back, he saw a young woman lean forward, pen poised over a notebook. The expression on her face was disconcertingly like that of a predator watching prey, and she was practically vibrating with energy. The way she looked at him, it was as though she was stripping his deceptions away.

  For a moment, he froze, his eyes caught by hers, and then he tore himself away with an effort. She cannot know who I am, he reminded himself. It is, literally, impossible. On with the show.

  But as he began his tale, he couldn't help looking in her direction again and again. The story of his jungle kingdom seemed flimsy and unlikely under that gaze, no matter how well he'd practiced it. Speaking on autopilot, he let himself tell the tale of how he'd come to meet Captain Hennessey as he explored the islands, and then made his way back to the Captain's home city.

  "He saved my life," he told the crowd, squeezing Hennessey's shoulder. "So I offered him the hospitality of my palace, and he offered to show me his home. That’s how I came to stand before you, in this which must be the greatest city in all the world."

  A brief pause, and then applause from the audience. Hennessey had been right, playing to the locals' love of their city worked wonders — and for all he knew that might be the truth. It wasn't as though he'd seen any of their other cities, after all, and this New York was certainly impressive.

  The woman at the back didn't applaud, though, not even a polite minimum. Instead her eyes narrowed, and she didn't lower her pen. As the cheers died down, she stood and spoke in a voice that could be clearly heard throughout the room.

  "Your English is very good," she said, and her tone made it an accusation. "How did you learn it so well in only the few months since you met Captain Hennessey?"

  "Now, now there'll be time for your questions after the demonstrations, lass," Hennessey quickly broke in. But the damage was done; others in the audience were starting to look curious, and that might turn to suspicion in an instant. Jaranak kept a smile on his face with an effort. Damn it, I was supposed to keep my language simple. It wasn't easy to pretend, though. Despite the need for it, he didn't have a knack for lying.

  "I am a quick study of languages," he said, hoping to defuse the tension the question had raised. "The people in my kingdom speak fourteen languages between them, so I must learn fast."

  That had the virtue of being, if not the truth, then close to it. He spoke the fourteen languages of his homeward fluently, but that wasn't all. His species had a natural talent for languages, and he'd studied hard to hone that skill. Even amongst his own people, Jaranak was regarded as an expert linguist — among humans, from what he'd seen, his talent would seem supernatural.

  The line seemed to work: most of the audience nodded to themselves, happy with that answer. But the woman who'd asked simply smiled, and spoke again. Whatever language she chose, it was not English or anything he'd heard on the human radio.

  He froze, his eyes narrowing to meet hers. The challenge in her look was palpable, and he couldn't help admiring the trap. Was this a language he should know? It had to be. And if he couldn't answer her, how could he keep up this ruse? The flashing light in her eyes told him that she knew she had him cornered, and her delight shone through. It illuminated her face and Jaranak couldn't help admiring her, even if she was infuriating.

  Focus, man, he snarled at himself. When you fall into a trap isn't the time to admire its elegance, or the beauty of the hunter who set it.

  Before he could work out how to respond, Hennessey has stepped forward, answering in the same language. Even to Jaranak it was clear that he didn't have her fluency, and he stumbled over the short sentence. But it was enough. The woman broke eye contact with Jaranak with visible irritation, snapping something at the captain.

  "We can talk about that, ah, later," the captain said with a shake of his head. "The prince here is too, um, too polite to keep everyone else out of the conversation, Miss."

  The woman drew breath to argue, but the captain simply spoke over her. He might not be the most eloquent of men, but years of command at sea had given him a voice that could drown out nearly anything. "Time for a demonstration of the wonders I saw in Prindakh, right, ladies and gentlemen?"

  There was a general rumble of approval and, defeated for now, the woman sat back down. Hennessey turned to gesture for the demonstration table to be brought forward, and as he did so he caught Jaranak's eye. You owe me for that, the look said, and Jaranak nodded agreement.

  That was too close. Hennessey's right, better to bring forward the spectacle and finish this before she lays a trap we can't escape.

  Orshar and Parvak placed the table in front of him and Parvak removed the cloth with a theatrical flourish. Of all of them, he was the only one to really enjoy putting on this show, and Jaranak envied him his ease with it. If only he'd been better at the actual presentation, Jaranak wouldn't have to do all the talking — but while his own grasp of English might be too good for the role, Parvak's was impressively bad.

  "Still there, Karnan?" Jaranak asked quietly. "We're moving up the demonstration."

  "I can see that," Karnan said testily. "What happened?"

  "One of the humans is asking too many questions, and I want to take their minds off it. You ready?"

  A long-suffering sigh. "I don't suppose I have a choice, do I? Let's get it done. But you'll have to guide me; I'm still trying to clean up the video feed, but I'm
not having any luck."

  Jaranak pursed his lips, wishing they'd had more time to practice this. If they'd had cameras watching the room, Karnan's job would be a lot easier — but the only one they could get to work was a poor fit for the job. The tiny camera disguised as a gem in Jaranak's headdress was meant for recording images to pick up later, not broadcasting them. Getting anything out of it was an achievement.

  But as soon as Karnan activated the warp field, the interference would drown out the signal completely. At least the voice channel should stay open.

  Jaranak looked down at the table and the shard of the power core that lay there. Grey, unassuming metal in the rough shape of a knife — they'd wrapped one end of it to make a handle, both for the look and because it was useful to be able to pick up the razor-edged blade safely. But it wasn't a knife, except by accident. The piece of the Far Hunter's engine had sheared off in the crash, and Jaranak didn't like the use they were about to put it to. It smacked of disrespect to his ship.

  I don't have much choice now, we need to do something for the audience. They were watching him, hungry for a show, and disappointing them could be disastrous. Especially now, with questions hanging over them and no way to answer them. The woman who'd asked those questions watched him like a hawk, and Jaranak was seized with a desire to prove himself to her.

  "Alright, let's do this," he said, speaking aloud in his own language. That was safe enough, no human could know it. Raising his hands, he looked skywards, trying to look like this was some kind of ceremony. "One pace up, Karnan."

  Black lightning crackled along the knife as Karnan extended a warp field around it and slowly, carefully, lifted it into the air.

  4

  Lilly

  Lilly stared at the floating knife, not sure what she was seeing. There were no wires, no sign of how the trick was being performed, but it had to be a trick, didn't it? There was no way that the knife could actually fly.

  Energy crackled around it, black sparks snapping through the air. It was hard to imagine how someone could fake this, but then, that was the point of a clever trick, wasn't it? It was probably easily done, once you knew the secret.

  I don't believe in magic, she reminded herself as the blade spun in the air. There is a rational explanation, I just don't know what it is.

  'Prince Jaranak' spoke in a strong, commanding tone, and Lilly had to admit that he could pull that off well. She could absolutely believe that a spirit or god would obey his voice and show off for him. She just didn't believe that such things existed.

  The whole crowd watched in silence, awestruck, as the blade floated this way and that at his command. Whatever skepticism her questions might have woken in the audience was washed away by the wonder of the floating knife. Lilly wanted to blame them for being carried away by the spectacle, but she wasn't immune herself. She tried to focus on the man performing the trick, rather than the trick itself, hoping that she could spot a clue.

  None of the words Jaranak spoke sounded like any of the languages Lilly knew, or any she'd heard from her parents. She frowned. Of course, it didn't have to be made up. There could be languages in the South Seas her parents hadn't encountered. There could be anything out there, in the uncharted spaces, but it was still odd. She'd expect it to be at least related to something she'd heard before.

  "A magic trick?" Margaret wondered in a whisper. Lilly frowned. As they watched, the knife slowly floated out over the audience, to everyone's wonder and amazement. One of the crowd, a daring young man showing off for the pretty lady at his side, reached up to touch it. A black spark snapped between the blade and his fingers, and he snatched his hand away. His yelp of shock was the only sound apart from the chanting prince's voice.

  How is he doing that? Lilly couldn't see any wires but the electricity had to come from somewhere, and it vexed her that she couldn't work it out. Jaranak spoke calmly and steadily, his face a mask of concentration. But something was a little off. She couldn't quite place it, but his performance looked a little too much like just that — a performance.

  Lilly had inherited her mother's gift for languages, and while what he was saying wasn't even remotely similar to anything she'd heard before, she could pick up the patterns of it. Though Jaranak tried to make it sound like he was chanting, sometimes he interjected too quickly for that to be the case. It was as though he was giving orders, correcting himself on occasion. That didn't answer the question of how he got the knife to obey his commands, of course. Doubtless the 'explanation' would be some kind of spiritual nonsense, Lilly thought, but something was going on.

  It reminded her of something, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. Then it came back to her — as a little girl, she'd been at the docks to see their ship being loaded for an expedition. The foreman who'd directed the laborers had sounded like Jaranak. Left a bit, left a bit, no your other left... the memory faded but she couldn't dismiss the similarity.

  Frowning, she did her best to note down the words he used. There were sounds in that language that weren't easy to transcribe, but she caught a few repeating patterns. With a little time, she thought she might be able to match them up against the motion of the knife in the air. Lilly wasn't sure how to feel about that. It implied that his words were controlling the blade, but she didn't believe in magic.

  She turned her attention to the crowd. In the front row of the audience, the Coopers watched the knife. Michael had an innocent expression of awe on his face, but his father Ambrose looked on with a more calculating expression. Doubtless seeing all the ways something like that could make him money, if it were real. That was the most convincing part of the display to Lilly: Cooper was rich but he was no easy mark. Even she'd heard rumors of what happened to men who tried to con him, and they were both vivid and unpleasant.

  He wasn't an easy man to fool, and he looked as though he believed in that flying dagger. As though he saw a fortune in front of him, not a fortune hunter.

  Is this just a very good confidence trick? Lilly wondered. It seemed unlikely — surely anyone who could manage the floating knife trick could have sold it better without the ridiculous costume elements of this story. Her mind spun, trying to find a way to combine the technical brilliance of this demonstration and the clumsy nature of the disguises.

  On the one hand, she seemed to be the only person here who wasn't taken in by the look of the 'foreigners' — but that couldn't last, and surely no one would think that it could. These visitors were hardly shying away from attention. Within a week or two they'd be besieged by experts who'd want to know more about their supposed island kingdom. For all Lilly's distrust of the average expert, only an idiot would hope to fool them all.

  Whatever their plan is, they must think it'll be finished by then, she thought. Or at least able to withstand growing skepticism. Getting Cooper's money? How much can they pocket before it falls apart? It was infuriatingly difficult to see what their endgame might be, and Lilly found herself wondering if the simplest explanation might not be the unlikely one. What if their story was true?

  She shook the doubt off. It couldn't be, there were too many inconsistencies. She had to admit it wasn't completely impossible — there were, she was sure, plenty of discoveries to make in the South Seas. The compounded unlikelihoods of the story Captain Hennessey had told were too much for her to accept, though, especially with the ridiculous costumes.

  The strange floating knife made its way back to Jaranak's hand, and he lowered it onto the table with a heavy thump. For a moment longer the audience was silent, and then the applause started. Lilly sat back frowning, but even Margaret was on her feet joining in.

  Some were shouting questions, but Captain Hennessey stepped forward to wave them down.

  "Now, friends, I'm afraid his Highness has exhausted himself with that demonstration of what he calls, ah, skymetal. It is, I can tell you, a commonplace wonder of his kingdom," he said, beaming broadly as he spoke. "I myself saw a cart with no wheels, suspended above the gr
ound on a bed of skymetal. Why, Jaranak didn't believe me when I told him we had none of the stuff in the United States, did you my friend?"

  Was that a glare the false prince shot the captain? If so, it was over too quickly for Lilly to be certain it had ever happened. Then the blue man smiled out at the crowd again, and his eyes met Lilly's.

  They were the most startling gold in color, eyes that didn't seem to belong to a man. More suited to some kind of demigod perhaps, the contact knocked the breath from her and she felt her chest tighten once more. Breaking eye contact, Lilly hurriedly fumbled through her bag for her bottle of medicine while the big man addressed the crowd.

  "I am sorry to have to withdraw. But if you have questions, please ask Captain Hennessey," he told them, to evident disappointment. Then he was gone, turning and disappearing from the stage, his guards close behind him. One of them stopped long enough to snatch the 'skymetal' from its table first.

  Members of the crowd shouted after the departed prince, but Hennessey stepped in to answer their questions. Answer was perhaps a strong word for it, in Lilly's opinion: he took each as an excuse to tell a tale that would be more appropriate in a pulp magazine than on a lecture stage.

  "That was amazing," Margaret breathed.

  "Oh, don't tell me you were taken in," Lilly said with disappointment. Her chest felt better for the medicine, but didn't lessen her annoyance at her friend.

  "Goodness, no," Margaret answered with a little laugh. "By which I mean that I don't know anything about any of this so I'll trust your judgment. But that flying knife, I can't understand how they did that. Magnets in the ceiling, or under the floor?"

  "It can't be that," Lilly said, frowning. "Think how much they'd need to move them, and how would whoever had the magnets be able to control them so finely? But I've got no better idea myself."