The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

by Gardner Dozois

  Mannion was writing as I entered ComSection. He stopped his recorder and offered me a sheet. “This is what I’ve got so far, Captain,” he said.

  I read:

  INVADER; THE MANCJI PRESENCE OPENS COMMUNICATIONS.

  “That’s a highly inflected version of early Interlingua, Captain,” Mannion said. “After I taped it, I compensated it to take out the rise-and-fall tone, and then filtered out the static. There were a few sound substitutions to figure out, but I finally caught on. It still doesn’t make much sense, but that’s what it says.”

  “I wonder what we’re invading,” I said. “And what is the “Mancji Presence’?”

  “They just repeat that over and over,” Mannion said. “They don’t answer our call.”

  “Try translating into old Interlingua, adding their sound changes, and then feeding their own rise-and-fall routine to it,” I said. “Maybe that will get a response.”

  I waited while Mannion worked out the message, then taped it on top of their whining tone pattern. “Put plenty of horse-power behind it,” I said. “If their receivers are as shaky as their transmitter, they might not be hearing us.”

  We sent for five minutes, then tuned them back in and waited. There was a long silence from their side, then they came back with a long spluttering sing-song.

  Mannion worked over it for several minutes.

  “They must have understood us, here’s what I get,” he said:

  THAT WHICH SWIMS IN THE MANCJI SEA; WE ARE AWARE THAT YOU HAVE THIS TRADE TONGUE. YOU RANGE FAR. IT IS OUR WHIM TO INDULGE YOU; WE ARE AMUSED THAT YOU PRESUME HERE; WE ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR INSOLENT DEMANDS.

  “It looks like we’re in somebody’s back yard,” I said. “They acknowledge our insolent demands, but they don’t answer them.” I thought a moment. “Send this,” I said. “We’ll out-strut them:”

  THE MIGHTY WARSHIP GALAHAD REJECTS YOUR JURISDICTION. TELL US THE NATURE OF YOUR DISTRESS AND WE MAY CHOOSE TO OFFER AID.

  Mannion raised an eyebrow. “That ought to rock them,” he said.

  “They were eager to talk to us,” I said. “That means they want something, in my opinion. And all the big talk sounds like a bluff of our own is our best line.”

  “Why do you want to antagonize them, Captain?” Joyce asked. “That ship is over a thousand times the size of this can.”

  “Joyce, I suggest you let me forget you’re around,” I said.

  * * * *

  The Mancji whine was added to my message, and it went out. Moments later this came back:

  MANCJI HONOR DICTATES YOUR SAFE-CONDUCT; TALK IS WEARYING; WE FIND IT CONVENIENT TO SOLICIT A TRANSFER OF ELECTROSTATIC FORCE.

  “What the devil does that mean?” I said. “Tell them to loosen up and explain themselves.”

  Mannion wrote out a straight query, and sent it. Again we waited for a reply.

  It came, in a long windy paragraph stating that the Mancji found electro-static baths amusing, and that “crystallization” had drained their tanks. They wanted a flow of electrons from us to replenish their supply.

  “This sounds like simple electric current they’re talking about, Captain,” Mannion said. “They want a battery charge.”

  “They seem to have power to burn,” I said. “Why don’t they generate their own juice? Ask them; and find out where they learned Interlingua.”

  Mannion sent again; the reply was slow in coming back. Finally we got it:

  THE MANCJI DO NOT EMPLOY MASSIVE GENERATION-PIECE WHERE ACCUMULATOR-PIECE IS SUFFICIENT. THIS SIMPLE TRADE SPEECH IS OF OLD KNOWLEDGE. WE SELECT IT FROM SYMBOLS WE ARE PLEASED TO SENSE EMPATTERNED ON YOUR HULL.

  That made some sort of sense, but I was intrigued by the reference to Interlingua as a trade language. I wanted to know where they had learned it. I couldn’t help the hope I started building on the idea that this giant knew our colony, in spite of the fact that they were using an antique version of the language, predating Omega by several centuries.

  I sent another query, but the reply was abrupt and told nothing except that Interlingua was of “old knowledge.”

  Then Mannion entered a long technical exchange, getting the details of the kind of electric power they wanted.

  “We can give them what they want, no sweat, Captain,” he said after half an hour’s talk. “They want DC; 100 volt, 50 amp will do.”

  “Ask them to describe themselves,” I directed. I was beginning to get an idea.

  Mannion sent, got his reply. “They’re molluscoid, Captain,” he said. He looked shocked. “They weigh about two tons each.”

  “Ask them what they eat,” I said.

  I turned to Joyce as Mannion worked over the message. “Get Kramer up here, on the double,” I said.

  * * * *

  Kramer came in five minutes later, looking drawn and rumpled. He stared at me sullenly.

  “I’m releasing you from arrest temporarily on your own parole, Major,” I said. “I want you to study the reply to our last transmission, and tell me what you can about it.”

  “Why me?” Kramer said. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I didn’t answer him.

  There was a long tense half hour wait before Mannion copied out the reply that came in a stuttering nasal. He handed it to me.

  As I had hoped, the message, after a preliminary recital of the indifference of the Mancji to biological processes of ingestion, recited a list of standard biochemical symbols.

  “Can we eat this stuff?” I asked Kramer, handing him the sheet.

  He studied it, and some of his accustomed swagger began to return. “I don’t know what the flowery phrases are all about, but the symbols refer to common proteins, lipins, carbohydrates, vitamins, and biomins,” he said. “What is this, a game?”

  “All right, Mannion,” I said. I was trying to hold back the excitement. “Ask them if they have fresh sources of these substances aboard.”

  The reply was quick; they did.

  “Tell them we will exchange electric power for a supply of these foods. Tell them we want samples of half a dozen of the natural substances.”

  Again Mannion coded and sent, received and translated, sent again.

  “They agree, Captain,” he said at last. “They want us to fire a power lead out about a mile; they’ll come in close and shoot us a specimen case with a flare on it. Then we can each check the other’s merchandise.”

  “All right,” I said. “We can use a ground-service cable; rig a pilot light on it, and kick it out, as soon as they get in close.”

  “We’ll have to splice a couple of extra lengths to it,” Mannion said.

  “Go to it, Mannion,” I said. “And send two of your men out to make the pick-up.” This wasn’t a communications job, but I wanted a reliable man handling it.

  I returned to the bridge and keyed for Bourdon, directed him to arm two of his penetration missiles, lock them onto the stranger, and switch over to my control. With the firing key in my hand, I stood at the televideo screen and watched for any signs of treachery. The ship moved in, came to rest filling the screen.

  Mannion’s men reported out. I saw the red dot of our power lead move away, then a yellow point glowed on the side of the vast iodine-colored wall looming across the screen.

  Nothing else emerged from the alien ship. The red pilot drifted across the face of the sphere. Mannion reported six thousand feet of cable out before the pilot disappeared abruptly.

  “Captain,” Mannion reported, “they’re drawing power.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let them have a sample, then shut down.”

  I waited, watching carefully, until Mannion reported the cannister inside.

  “Kramer,” I said. “Run me a fast check on the samples in that container.”

  Kramer was recovering his swagger. “You’ll have to be a little more specific,” he said. “Just what kind of analysis do you have in mind? Do you want a full.…”

  “I just want to know one thing, Kramer,” I said. “Can we assimilate these
substances, yes or no. If you don’t feel like co-operating, I’ll have you lashed to your bunk, and injected with them. You claim you’re a medical officer; let’s see you act like one.” I turned my back to him.

  Mannion called. “They say the juice we fed them was ‘amusing,’ Captain. I guess that means it’s okay.”

  “I’ll let you know in a few minutes how their samples pan out,” I said.

  * * * *

  Kramer took half an hour before reporting back. “I ran a simple check such as I normally use in a routine mess inspection,” he began. He couldn’t help trying to take the center of the stage to go into his Wise Doctor and Helpless Patient routine.

  “Yes or no,” I said.

  “Yes, we can assimilate most of it,” he said angrily. “There were six samples. Two were gelatinous substances, non-nutritive. Three were vegetable-like, bulky and fibrous, one with a high iodine content; the other was a very normal meaty specimen.”

  “Which should we take?” I said. “Remember your teeth when you answer.”

  “The high protein, the meaty one,” he said. “Marked ‘6’.”

  I keyed for Mannion. “Tell them that in return for 1,000 KWH we require 3,000 kilos of sample six,” I said.

  Mannion reported back. “They agreed in a hurry, Captain. They seem to feel pretty good about the deal. They want to chat, now that they’ve got a bargain. I’m still taping a long tirade.”

  “Good,” I said. “Better get ready to send about six men with an auxiliary pusher to bring home the bacon. You can start feeding them the juice again.”

  I turned to Kramer. He was staring at the video image. “Report yourself back to arrest in quarters, Kramer,” I said. “I’ll take your services today into account at your court-martial.”

  Kramer looked up, with a nasty grin. “I don’t know what kind of talking oysters you’re trafficking with, but I’d laugh like hell if they vaporized your precious tub as soon as they’re through with you.” He walked out.

  Mannion called in again from ComSection. “Here’s their last, Captain,” he said. “They say we’re lucky they had a good supply of this protein aboard. It’s one of their most amusing foods. It’s a creature they discovered in the wild state and it’s very rare. The wild ones have died out, and only their domesticated herds exist.”

  “Okay, we’re lucky,” I said. “It better be good or we’ll step up the amperage and burn their batteries for them.”

  “Here’s more,” Mannion said. “They say it will take a few hours to prepare the cargo. They want us to be amused.”

  I didn’t like the delay, but it would take us about 10 hours to deliver the juice to them at the trickle rate they wanted. Since the sample was okay, I was assuming the rest would be too. We settled down to wait.

  I left Clay in charge on the bridge and made a tour of the ship. The meeting with the alien had apparently driven the mood of mutiny into the background. The men were quiet and busy. I went to my cabin and slept for a few hours.

  * * * *

  I was awakened by a call from Clay telling me that the alien had released his cargo for us. Mannion’s crew was out making the pick-up. Before they had maneuvered the bulky cylinder to the cargo hatch, the alien released our power lead.

  I called Kramer and told him to meet the incoming crew and open and inspect the cargo. If it was the same as the sample, I thought, we had made a terrific trade. Discipline would recover if the men felt we still had our luck.

  Then Mannion called again. “Captain,” he said excitedly, “I think there may be trouble coming. Will you come down, sir?”

  “I’ll go to the bridge, Mannion,” I said. “Keep talking.”

  I tuned my speaker down low and listened to Mannion as I ran for the lift.

  “They tell us to watch for a little display of Mancji power. They ran out some kind of antenna. I’m getting a loud static at the top of my short wave receptivity.”

  I ran the lift up and as I stepped onto the bridge I said, “Clay, stand by to fire.”

  As soon as the pick-up crew was reported in, I keyed course corrections to curve us off sharply from the alien. I didn’t know what he had, but I liked the idea of putting space between us. My P-Missiles were still armed and locked.

  Mannion called, “Captain, they say our fright is amusing, and quite justified.”

  I watched the televideo screen for the first sign of an attack. Suddenly the entire screen went white, then blanked. Miller, who had been at the scanner searching over the alien ship at close range, reeled out of his seat, clutching at his eyes. “My God, I’m blinded,” he shouted.

  Mannion called, “Captain, my receivers blew. I think every tube in the shack exploded!”

  I jumped to the direct viewer. The alien hung there, turning away from us in a leisurely curve. There was no sign of whatever had blown us off the air. I held my key, but didn’t press it. I told Clay to take Miller down to Medic. He was moaning and in severe pain.

  Kramer reported in from the cargo deck. The cannister was inside now, coating up with frost. I told him to wait, then sent Chilcote, my demolition man, in to open it. Maybe it was booby-trapped. I stood by at the DVP and waited for other signs of Mancjo power to hit us. The general feeling was tense.

  Apparently they were satisfied with one blast of whatever it was; they were dwindling away with no further signs of life.

  After half an hour of tense alertness, I ordered the missiles disarmed.

  I keyed for General. “Men, this is the Captain,” I said. “It looks as though our first contact with an alien race has been successfully completed. He is now at a distance of three hundred and moving off fast. Our screens are blown, but there’s no real damage. And we have a supply of fresh food aboard; now let’s get back to business. That colony can’t be far off.”

  That may have been rushing it some, but if the food supply we’d gotten was a dud, we were finished anyway.

  We watched the direct-view screen till the ship was lost; then followed on radar.

  “It’s moving right along, Captain,” Joyce said, “accelerating at about two gee’s.”

  “Good riddance,” Clay said. “I don’t like dealing with armed maniacs.”

  “They were screwballs all right,” I said, “but they couldn’t have happened along at a better time. I only wish we had been in a position to squeeze a few answers out of them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Clay said. “Now that the whole thing’s over, I’m beginning to think of a lot of questions myself.”

  The annunciator hummed. I heard what sounded like hoarse breathing. I glanced at the indicator light. It was the cargo deck mike that was open.

  I keyed. “If you have a report, Chilcote, go ahead,” I said.

  Suddenly someone was shouting into the mike, incoherently. I caught words, cursing. Then Chilcote’s voice, “Captain,” he said. “Captain, please come quick.” There was a loud clatter, noise, then only the hum of the mike.

  “Take over, Clay,” I said, and started back to the cargo deck at a dead run.

  * * * *

  Men crowded the corridor, asking questions, milling. I forced my way through, found Kramer surrounded by men, shouting.

  “Break this up,” I shouted. “Kramer, what’s your report?”

  Chilcote walked past me, pale as chalk. I pushed through to Kramer.

  “Get hold of yourself, and make your report, Kramer,” I said. “What started this riot?”

  Kramer stopped shouting, and stood looking at me, panting. The crowded men fell silent.

  “I gave you a job to do, Major,” I said; “opening a cargo can. Now you take it from there.”

  “Yeah, Captain,” he said. “We got it open. No wires, no traps. We hauled the load out of the can on to the floor. It was one big frozen mass, wrapped up in some kind of netting. Then we pulled the covering off.”

  “All right, go ahead,” I said.

  “That load of fresh meat your star-born pals gave us consists of about six fa
milies of human beings; men, women, and children.” Kramer was talking for the crowd now, shouting. “Those last should be pretty tender when you ration out our ounce a week, Captain.”

  The men milled, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, as I thrust through to the cargo lock. The door stood ajar and wisps of white vapor curled out into the passage.

  I stepped through the door. It was bitter cold in the lock. Near the outer hatch the bulky cannister, rimed with white frost, lay in a pool of melting ice. Before it lay the half shrouded bulk that it had contained. I walked closer.

  They were frozen together into one solid mass. Kramer was right. They were as human as I. Human corpses, stripped, packed together, frozen. I pulled back the lightly frosted covering, and studied the glazed white bodies.

  Kramer called suddenly from the door. “You found your colonists, Captain. Now that your curiosity is satisfied, we can go back where we belong. Out here man is a tame variety of cattle. We’re lucky they didn’t know we were the same variety, or we’d be in their food lockers now ourselves. Now let’s get started back. The men won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  I leaned closer, studying the corpses. “Come here, Kramer,” I called. “I want to show you something.”

  “I’ve seen all there is to see in there,” Kramer said. “We don’t want to waste time; we want to change course now, right away.”

  * * * *

  I walked back to the door, and as Kramer stepped back to let me precede him out the door, I hit him in the mouth with all my strength. His head snapped back against the frosted wall. Then he fell out into the passage.

  I stepped over him. “Pick this up and put it in the brig,” I said. The men in the corridor fell back, muttering. As they hauled Kramer upright I stepped through them and kept going, not running but wasting no time, toward the bridge. One wrong move on my part now and all their misery and fear would break loose in a riot the first act of which would be to tear me limb from limb.

  I travelled ahead of the shock. Kramer had provided the diversion I had needed. Now I heard the sound of gathering violence growing behind me.

  I was none too quick. A needler flashed at the end of the corridor just as the lift door closed. I heard the tiny projectile ricochet off the lift shaft.