Illegal Alien

by Robert J. Sawyer

  “That’s where the Robinsons were headed in Lost in Space,” said Dale.

  “Anything else?”

  Dale shook his head.

  “Well, as you heard in the courtroom, Alpha Centauri isn’t really one star—it’s actually three stars very close together. We call the three parts Alpha Centauri A, B, and C, in descending order of brightness. The Tosoks claim they come from a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri A, and I’m inclined to believe that. If they came from B, the principal lighting aboard their mothership would be orange instead of yellow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, Centauri A is almost a twin for our sun. It’s what we call a G2V star, precisely the same spectral class as Sol, and—”

  “Sol?”

  Frank smiled. “Sorry. The word ‘sun’ is actually a generic term. Any star that has planets is a sun. Our sun’s proper name is Sol, after the Roman god of the sun.”

  Dale nodded.

  “So, as I was saying,” continued Frank, “Alpha Centauri A is actually damn near a twin for our own sun, Sol. It’s the same color, the same temperature, and so on. And it’s about the same age—actually, a little older. But there’s one significant way in which Centauri A differs from Sol.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Its brightness. Centauri A is an inherently brighter star—fifty-four percent brighter than our sun.”

  “So?”

  “So even on cloudy days here, all the Tosoks wear those pop-in sunglasses. If they’re from a world of a brighter star, our dimmer sun shouldn’t bother them.”

  “Maybe they have a different atmosphere from us; maybe it’s not transparent like ours is.”

  Frank nodded, impressed. “That would be an excellent explanation, except for one thing: the Tosoks breathe our air without any difficulty, and when Clete went aboard their mothership, he breathed their air without trouble, too—and you saw in those videotapes that it was crystal clear.”

  “Well, then, maybe they orbit their sun farther out than we orbit ours.”

  They had come to a park bench. Dale motioned for them to sit down.

  “Exactly,” said Frank, lowering himself to the bench. “In fact, when I was talking to Kelkad about how long it would take to build replacement parts for the mothership, he got upset when I said two years—but he calmed down when Hask explained I meant two Earth years. The Tosok year is obviously much longer, and since Alpha Centauri A is about the same mass and size as Sol, to have a substantially longer year, the Tosok home world must orbit much farther out from it than we do from our sun.”

  “I don’t know anything about astronomy,” said Dale, “but that sounds reasonable.”

  “Well, it is—sort of. Remember, Centauri A is the same size, but 1.54 times as bright as our sun. A planet orbiting the same distance from Centauri A as Earth is from Sol would therefore get 1.54 times as much light from it.”

  “Okay.”

  “But if you double the distance, you only get one quarter of the sunlight. So, a planet orbiting Centauri A at a distance of two AUs—two times the distance between Earth and Sol—would get one quarter of 1.54 times Sol’s light as seen from Earth. That works out to—let me think—something like forty percent of what we get.”

  “Well, that would explain why they always need sunglasses, even on cloudy days. But wouldn’t that also make their world much cooler than ours?”

  Frank smiled. “For someone who doesn’t know anything about astronomy, you ask all the right questions. Certainly, Clete said the mothership’s air temperature, even outside the hibernation room, was only about fifty degrees Fahrenheit. But how far away from a G2V star can a planet be and still have a fifty-degree surface temperature? Well, the answer depends on how much carbon dioxide, water vapor, and methane there is in the atmosphere of the Tosok home world. See, those gases trap heat. You’ve heard of the greenhouse effect? It’s caused by excess amounts of them, all of which are clear, colorless gases. They’re the wild card in planetary positions. If you’ve got enough of a greenhouse effect, you could be much farther from our sun and still have surface temperatures comparable to those on Earth—in theory, there could be an Earth-like planet out in the orbit of Jupiter as long as it had enough greenhouse gases to trap sufficient heat.”

  “So there’s your answer,” said Dale. “The Tosoks come from a planet that orbits much farther from its star than we do from ours.”

  “Ah, but you’re forgetting something when you say ‘its star,’ singular. Alpha Centauri is a multiple-star system. When Centauri A and B are at their closest to each other, they’re only eleven AUs apart—just about one billion miles.”

  Dale frowned. “So you’re saying the light from Centauri B would make things bright, even if the Tosok world orbited a long way from Centauri A?”

  “No, no. Even at its closest approach, Centauri B would only appear about one percent as bright as our sun. That’s still thousands of times brighter than our full moon—meaning nights on the Tosok home world when A has set but B is still up are probably reasonably bright, but surely no brighter than our streetlights make our streets.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, the problem isn’t Alpha Centauri B’s light—it’s its gravity. Clete explained all this in his show. According to celestial mechanics, planetary orbits in a double-star system are stable out to a distance of one fifth the closest approach between the two stars. Since the closest A ever gets to B is eleven AUs, then planetary orbits around A are stable out to just over two AUs—just over twice as far out as Earth is from our sun.”

  “But farther out than that, they’re unstable?”

  Frank nodded. “And an unstable orbit could be threatening them with extinction. In which case, it’s possible that they’re not just here for a visit. The Tosok race may be looking for a new home.”

  “You mean, as in invading ours?”

  Frank shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “God.”

  “Exactly,” said Frank. “And think about the missing body parts: the eyes are clearly one of our most fragile components. And the throat—you heard what Professor Wills said: the design makes it easy to choke to death. And the appendix, a part that can be made to burst, causing death if not treated immediately.” He paused, and looked at the old lawyer. “You know what Linda Ziegler’s got Packwood Smathers doing: looking for a way to kill a Tosok, should the jury hand down a death sentence. Perhaps the Tosoks were doing something similar: looking for a way to wipe us out, to make room for them to come here.”

  CHAPTER

  33

  The video monitors in Judge Pringle’s courtroom flickered into life again with a view aboard the alien mothership. But this time the images weren’t old tapes—this time, they were a live broadcast…

  Francis Antonio Nobilio floated down the dim corridor of the alien ship. It was exhilarating! He felt ten years younger. There had been a hint of nausea at first, but his body had quickly gotten used to the lack of gravity, and now he was enjoying himself thoroughly. The air had a slightly salty taste, as though he were at seaside, and there were several other faint smells. Frank had never noticed a Tosok body odor before, but over the centuries the beings had spent aboard this ship, whatever normally undetectable scent they gave off had been magnified past the threshold of discernibility.

  There were lots of sounds. A low-pitched electrical hum, the occasional sloshing of water or other liquids moving through pipes, and a tick-tick-ticking that Kelkad, who was accompanying Frank, said was caused by uneven heating of the ship’s hull as its orbit moved it out of the Earth’s shadow and into direct sunlight.

  Frank was carrying a video camera, on loan from Court TV. He also had a radio microphone and earpiece. Kelkad, who was wearing a headset that had been specially adapted for him, had arranged for the signals to be broadcast directly from the ship to the courthouse; the problems that had prevented Calhoun from broadcasting during his original impromptu visit had proven trivial to overcome. Doubtl
ess over a billion people the world over were watching the live broadcast—but the only audience Frank was really interested in consisted of six women and six men in the Los Angeles County Criminal Courts Building. Judge Pringle had told Dale Rice to find a way to bring the evidence there, and Dale had done precisely that.

  “Dr. Nobilio,” said Dale’s voice over the radio, “can you hear me?”

  Frank reached a hand up to adjust his headset. “Yes.”

  “All right,” said Dale’s voice. “The jury is present, and we would like to now continue with the testimony. Captain Kelkad, will you please escort Dr. Nobilio into the Tosok medical facilities?”

  “Certainly,” said Kelkad. He gave an expert kick off a wall and headed down the corridor. From underneath, the alien looked a bit like an amputee squid, with his four evenly spaced limbs dangling straight behind his body. Frank struggled to keep the camera steady as he, too, pushed off the wall and tried to head in the same direction. Kelkad managed a pretty straight path down the corridor, but Frank ended up bouncing off of both walls as well as the ceiling and floor. At one point the camera lens ended up jammed directly into one of the circular yellow lights set into the ceiling. Frank mumbled an apology to the people watching back on Earth.

  Finally they came to the starship’s sick bay—a room no human had ever seen before, but that the Tosok biochemist Stant had described to Dale during his deposition. In its center was a wide operating pallet, with a trough down its long axis to accommodate an arm. The ceiling sported a mechanical octopus of surgical tools attached to articulated arms—they apparently could be pulled down as required to aid the surgeon. Along the walls were interlocking storage units with hexagonal openings, each about eighty centimeters in diameter. The color scheme was mostly light blue, with silver and red highlights. Rather than the usual ceiling lighting disks, the whole roof seemed to be one giant luminescent panel that glowed yellowish white.

  “Thank you,” said Dale’s voice. “Now, Kelkad, I am informed that this is the room in which Hask would have performed the organ harvesting of Seltar, the member of your crew who was accidentally killed, correct?”

  Kelkad was floating midway between the floor and ceiling, keeping himself in place with his front hand lightly gripping the operating pallet. His cranial tuft waved forward. “That is correct.”

  “Dr. Nobilio,” said Dale, “please pan the camera around the room, and while you do so please describe the room’s level of neatness or disarray.”

  Frank moved the camera over the walls and floor, and did a long, slow pan up the length of the operating pallet. “Everything seems immaculate to me,” he said. “There’s no sign of messiness.”

  “No blood splatters?” said Dale’s voice. “No evidence of carnage?”

  “None.”

  “Now, Dr. Nobilio, please show us the storage units mounted in the wall.” Frank complied. “I would like you to zoom in on the labels on each one, and, Kelkad, I would like you to translate those labels for us.”

  Ziegler’s voice over the headsets now: “Objection, Your Honor. Sidebar?”

  “You may ap—” Judge Pringle must have killed the microphones; her voice was cut off in mid-word. Frank, still floating, tried to shrug in Kelkad’s direction. “Sorry about this,” he said.

  Kelkad’s topknot rippled. “Your courts do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time on procedural issues.”

  “You should try working in government,” said Frank ruefully. “It seems all we do is argue.”

  “I thought Mr. Rice said you were an idealist?”

  “Compared to Dale, I certainly am. But I’m an idealist in the sense that I believe the ideal is attainable, whether it’s efficient courts or efficient government. And besides—”

  “—stand back.” Judge Pringle’s voice again. Whatever legal issue had been raised had apparently now been sorted out. “Mr. Rice, proceed.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Nobilio, you were showing us the wall storage units.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Frank re-aimed the camera. “How’s that?”

  “Fine,” said Dale’s voice. “Captain Kelkad, would you translate?”

  Frank realized Kelkad was looking at the upper right unit, while the camera was focused on the upper left—one of those little cultural differences. “This one says—”

  “No, Kelkad,” said Frank. “Please start at the upper left.”

  “Oh, sorry.” The Tosok used his front hand to push himself along the wall. “This one says ‘surgical’—well, you would call it ‘supplies,’ but the word is more general. ‘Surgical stuff.’”

  “Miscellaneous surgical equipment?” offered Dale’s voice.

  “That’s correct.”

  “And the next one?”

  “Horizontally or vertically?” asked Kelkad.

  “Horizontally,” said Dale. “The next one to the right.”

  “‘Bandages and gauze.’”

  “And the next one?”

  “‘Artificial joints.’”

  “By which you mean mechanical elbows, knees, and so on, correct?” said Dale.

  Kelkad’s tuft moved forward in agreement. “Yes.”

  “And the next one?”

  “That green mark is not a word; rather, it is a symbol we use to indicate cold storage.”

  “As in refrigeration, correct?” said Dale.

  “Yes.”

  “So the contents of that unit are kept at low temperatures?”

  “That is right.”

  “Beneath the symbol, there’s some more writing. What does it say?”

  “The first column says ‘organs for transplant.’ The second column says ‘hearts.’”

  “Now, Kelkad, the words that you are referring to look fundamentally different from the writing on the previous units you showed us. Why is that?”

  “The writing on the previous units was machine-produced. This is handwriting.”

  “Tosok longhand, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you recognize the handwriting?” asked Dale.

  “Objection!” Ziegler’s voice. “Kelkad has not been established as an expert in Tosok graphology.”

  “Overruled.” Judge Pringle’s voice. “You may answer the question.”

  “That is Hask’s handwriting,” said Kelkad. “It is quite distinctive—and rather sloppy.”

  Frank could hear a small amount of laughter in his earpiece.

  “So is it fair to say that this compartment was labeled after the commencement of your voyage from Alpha Centauri?” asked Dale.

  “Unquestionably. We had no organs for transplant in inventory when we left.”

  “Where did these organs come from?”

  “From Seltar, the deceased member of my crew.”

  “I know Tosoks are sensitive to cold,” said Dale’s voice. “Is it safe for you to open a refrigerated compartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doing so won’t trigger your hibernation reflex?”

  “No.”

  “Will you do so?”

  “I must protest,” said Kelkad. “Internal organs are not to be displayed for nonmedical reasons.”

  “I understand,” said Dale. His voice seemed to go off the microphone. “Perhaps the other Tosoks would like to leave the courtroom?”

  There was some muffled commotion as they did so.

  “There are no other Tosoks viewing this now,” said Dale. “Will you please continue?”

  “If I must,” said Kelkad. Just above the bottommost edge of the hexagonal door were four circular indentations. He slipped the four fingers of his front hand into these. Frank zoomed the camera in to show the action. Kelkad’s knuckles flexed, and there was a clicking sound. The alien pulled the hatchway toward him, and a transparent hexagonal module, like a giant quartz crystal, pulled out of the wall. He brought it out about eighty centimeters, making the exposed part equal in length and width. Cold air drifted toward Frank, propelled by the gentle currents of t
he mothership’s air-circulation system. Through the viewfinder of his camera, he could see the image briefly fog then clear.

  “Dr. Nobilio,” said Dale’s voice, “can you get us a good shot inside the chamber?”

  Frank flailed about trying to comply. Kelkad reached out, offering his back hand to Frank. Frank took it, and managed to haul himself into position. “How’s that?”

  “Fine,” said Dale. “Now, Kelkad, can you identify the object we’re seeing?”

  The chamber contained a pink mass about the size of a clenched fist, apparently wrapped with a clear film of plastic and packed around with ice chips. “Certainly. It is a Tosok heart.”

  “Which one?”

  Kelkad peered closer, then moved his front arm vaguely in the air, as if working it out for himself. “The right-front heart, I believe.”

  “Very good,” said Dale. “Is that the only thing in the chamber?”

  Kelkad gripped the four holes on the front panel and pulled the transparent drawer out farther. A second Tosok heart, packed in ice, was revealed.

  “No,” said Kelkad. “Here is another one—the left front, it looks like.” He continued to pull out the drawer. “And a third one—right rear,” he said. He pulled on the drawer again. “And a fourth—the left rear.”

  “Are you sure it’s the left rear,” asked Dale. “Or are you just anticipating that?”

  Kelkad’s front eyes compressed from the sides—a Tosok squint. “No, it is indeed the left rear.”

  “Anything else in there?” asked Dale.

  Kelkad yanked on the handle some more. There were two additional compartments in the drawer, but both were empty. “No.”

  “So, just to be clear for the jury, there are four hearts there, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And a normal Tosok has four discrete, individual hearts.”

  “That is right.”

  “And those four hearts are each distinct in shape.”

  “The overall shape is pretty much the same, but the positioning of the valves is unique on each one.”