Dirge

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Dirge Page 15

by Alan Dean Foster


  Each utilitarian vessel could accommodate a maximum of four, but two were adequate to fly and operate the compact craft. Taking silent leave of their respective air locks, they fired programmed bursts from their tiny engines as they descended toward the scabrous surface of the noticeably ellipsoidal moon. The feeble electronic anomaly that had sparked the unplanned visit grew no stronger as they tracked it, suggesting emission from a natural source.

  The reality turned out to be anything but.

  The pilot of the first ship altered his trajectory as soon as visual contact was made, directing his backup to do the same. Anxious communications flew back and forth between the two repair craft and the starship.

  “A vessel of some kind it is, MotherTwo.” The pilot and his companion did not have to use instruments to reach their conclusion. The silhouette that was floating above the crater was unmistakably synthetic.

  “Can you it identify, TwelveSon?” came the apprehensive response.

  Both Unop-Patha stared at the quiescent, shadowed object that lay in front of and below them. “Ours it is not, but that without saying goes.” Alongside the pilot, his companion hazarded a guess.

  “FortyDaughter here being. Human maybe it is, because it on a moon sits that a human world orbits it does.”

  “Real you speak, FortyDaughter,” came the reply. “However any space-going species belonging to it could. Including maybe sentience unknown that the population of this world made dead.”

  However reasonable and indeed, unavoidable, the verbalization of such a possibility was, it was seriously disconcerting to the crew of both observing repair craft. Yet there was no sign of movement or life from the unidentifiable ship, nor any indication that anything aboard, organic or artificial, was aware of their presence.

  “Very small it is,” the pilot of the second repair vessel reported. “No larger than our own. Not capable of space-plus travel it is, would I estimate.”

  His colleague in the other ship continued the reportage. “No generating projector visible is, nor anything that an analogous structure might be called. Old it looks. If elsewhere encountered, not capable of flight of any kind would I think it. Almost at the end of a decelerating synchronous orbit it appears to be. If not for the slightness of this moon’s weak gravity I imagine it long ago into the surface would have crashed.” When no response was forthcoming, he inquired hesitantly, “Closer looking should we take?”

  This time the ensuing silence from the starship was understandable: The commanding family was taking the request under advisement and discussing it with the heads of the other dominant families. The pilot was not sure whether to be happy or despondent when the response that was finally forthcoming was affirmative.

  “Distance where and when possible keep,” the pilots of the two investigating craft were admonished. “Remove yourselves if any hint of trouble or hostility there is. Scrutiny we perform will, recordings you take will, and when done all a report to the human authorities we make will.”

  TwelveSon waited for FortyDaughter to bring her little ship up alongside his. Together they advanced on the silent, inactive alien craft. No, silent not, he reminded himself. It continued to emit its feeble, intermittent electronic sputter.

  What if a scout ship of the unknown ravening species that had annihilated Argus V it was? He could feel his copilot shivering and shuddering alongside him. Together they sloughed off an inordinate amount of nervous energy. He knew that FortyDaughter and her companion must be experiencing similar terrors. He wanted to turn around, to flee this dark, dead place and return to the familiar family warmth and comfort of the starship. Wanted to, but did not. The Unop-Patha were not particularly courageous, but they were persistent. Oftentimes all that kept them stumbling down the road of progress was the fear of being laughed at.

  The two investigating repair craft were soon close enough to the alien vessel for their integral manipulative armature to reach out and touch it, should the pilots wish to do so.

  “How the emission is?” FortyDaughter inquired.

  “Unchanged still,” came the reply from the starship. “No reaction from the subject craft?”

  “Nothing,” TwelveSon reported. “No movement, no lights internal or external visible are.” Carefully he edged his ship along the length of the silent vessel. Within the repair craft all was hushed. “A lock I have maybe found. Sealed it is.” Plaintively he inquired, “Can return to ship now maybe?”

  “No. Families further information wish. Conclusiveness is sought.”

  “Conclusiveness points to nothing living here,” Twelve-Son’s copilot murmured. “Automatic emission only there is. Not even signal we are sure it is. Energy release from broken equipment or failed instrumentation could well be. Let the humans further probe.” Tilting his round, heavily furred head back, he surveyed their grim surroundings. “Unpleasant this place is. Dead ship in a dying orbit above a dead moon.”

  “Conclusiveness sought is.” The directive from the starship was tranquil but unrelenting. “Search lock external release for. Try.”

  “Not even certain builder-owners of ship oxygen breathe.” Grumbling, FortyDaughter maneuvered the manipulative arms of her craft into position above the possible lock door that TwelveSon had located. Unfortunately, there were indications of exactly the sort of controls they were looking for. Unfortunately, these responded to the pilot’s gentle, precise handling. The lock or seal slid into its retaining wall, revealing a small alcove beyond. Both pilots maneuvered their ships close enough to shine lights within. They were unable to ascertain the identity of the instrumentation and internal engineering. Both dreaded the directives that reached them subsequently.

  “Enter and explore. The source of the emission try to establish.”

  “I here will remain to keep watch,” TwelveSon immediately offered.

  “No,” argued FortyDaughter. “You better at such exploration than we are. You enter, watch we will keep.”

  The dispute was settled from the ship. “TwelveSon and ThirtyOneSon enter will. FortyDaughter watch will keep. Care to be taken.”

  “Care to be taken.” Muttering, TwelveSon released himself from his restraints, disconnected himself from the repair craft, and prepared to follow his copilot into the repair craft’s tiny lock.

  It was a cramped space whose confines made donning a suit for outside work more difficult than it ought to have been. Normally, such suits would be put on in one of the much larger main locks on board the starship. When they had dropped away, no one had anticipated any reason why they might have to make use of pressure suits. It took some scrambling, but after dancing awkwardly around each other for a while, both pilots were suitably outfitted.

  They exchanged a brief but intense clinch before turning and opening the door to the outside. Gravity barely strong enough to keep the alien vessel from drifting off into space allowed them to float gently down to its curved metal skin. Ahead, the open alien lock loomed. Above and behind them, they could see the concerned faces of FortyDaughter and her companion anxiously following their progress through the viewport of their hovering repair craft.

  The sooner they completed their examination, the faster they could return to the warm embrace of the starship. TwelveSon led the way forward. Memories of the empty, shattered world below rose unbidden into his consciousness. Something had utterly annihilated the population of a seemingly benign world. Admittedly, the six hundred thousand who had perished had been aliens, but they had been intelligent and warm-blooded like the Unop-Patha. Whatever had ruthlessly slaughtered them might not be discriminatory in its taste for extermination. True, the ship they were about to board was unpretentious, far too small to harbor weapons of mass destruction or very many warlike individuals even if they were smaller in stature than the Unop-Patha. But it was more than a matter of numbers. TwelveSon did not want to encounter even one rampaging, murderous alien.

  As they entered the lock both he and ThirtyOneSon agreed that the placement of controls and
instruments suggested that the lock, and by inference the rest of the derelict vessel, had been designed with beings bigger than the Unop-Patha in mind. TwelveSon was not sure whether to be relieved or further intimidated by this conclusion. Trying to determine its composition, he studied a blank screen of alien manufacture while his companion scanned the inner door and its seals. The screen and its design were far more sophisticated than anything comparable aboard the starship.

  ThirtyOneSon turned to him, staring out of his suit’s head bubble. “There’s no atmosphere on this craft. If there ever was one it has all away leaked.”

  “It could be there was aboard never anyone.” Moving to the inner door, TwelveSon began running his four stubby fingers around the edge. It was darker here, away from the outer portal. “It might have been accidentally from the surface of the fifth planet launched, or from a human starship, or from a vessel of the attacking species. Or it might a true derelict be that has here for generations lain.”

  “Not many generations,” ThirtyOneSon reminded him. “The colonizing humans had not this world for very long occupied before they wiped out were.”

  “I realize that, but there is still—”

  He let out an involuntary yelp and leaped backward as the inner door began to open. The paltry gravity would have sent him crashing headfirst into the ceiling had not an alert ThirtyOneSon reacted in time to grab his companion’s lower leg as he began to soar past. Even as ThirtyOneSon pulled his friend back down toward the floor, he was already stumbling toward the outer portal.

  “What is it, what happening is?” FortyDaughter’s alarmed voice crackled over their simple bubbleset speakers.

  “The inner lock door cycling is,” TwelveSon reported as he regained both his emotional and physical equilibrium. Together, he and ThirtyOneSon halted themselves in the frame of the outer doorway, watching and waiting.

  The inner barrier continued to withdraw until the way was clear. Beyond, they could make out a corridor and more alien instrumentation. A few lights shone dimly. In the stillness of the airless moon, nothing moved.

  “In the course of your inspection one of your hands must a still active control have brushed,” ThirtyOneSon remarked to his companion. When the pilot, still breathing hard, did not reply, the slightly larger of the pair added, “We should a survey of the interior make.”

  TwelveSon looked over at him. “I would rather not.”

  ThirtyOneSon did not possess an especially imaginative personality, a quality that was a definite asset in their present circumstance. His tone was maternal-stern. “We should a survey make,” he insisted firmly. “Having been the opportunity granted, we will chastised be if we without doing so return.”

  “No one will know if…oh, wait,” an unhappy TwelveSon muttered. They had already reported to the other repair ship that the inner lock was open. Even if ThirtyOneSon had concurred, it was too late to back out now. With great reluctance, the pilot started back into the lock and toward the ominously gaping inner gateway.

  The absence of breathable atmosphere was encouraging. Surely there was nothing left alive aboard the solitary little vessel. As they penetrated deeper within, keeping close to one another, growing confidence began to override his unease. As an exemplar of alien engineering the ship struck him as more primitive than what he had seen of the best of contemporary human and thranx and AAnn technology, but it was still more advanced than anything aboard his own vessel. A sudden thought struck him: If by chance the humans did not know this was here, perhaps he and his people could claim right of salvage. There might be much to learn from the empty, abandoned craft. It depended how advanced it actually was. Arrogated technology was of little use to those who appropriated it if its design and details were beyond comprehension.

  ThirtyOneSon bumped into him, knocking him slightly forward and in the light gravity, nearly off his feet. TwelveSon whirled irritably on his companion. “Watch where you stepping are! And don’t so close follow. There plenty of room in here for the two of us is.”

  That was when he noticed that the hair on his friend’s head, face, and neck was standing straight out. ThirtyOneSon was looking to their left, and pointing. “You mean, there plenty of room for the three of us is.”

  A shape was rising from the shadows. It continued to rise until it towered over the two terrified Unop-Patha. TwelveSon was too frightened to move forward, back, or scramble for a hiding place. More than four times their mass, the ghostly apparition had a similar bipolar body but with much longer limbs. What they could see of its face and head inside a helmet were almost as shaggy as those of an Unop-Patha, but the eyes were far too small and the mouth too large. As details continued to resolve themselves in the feeble light, he and his companion began to relax.

  It was a human. Then this was a human vessel, or so they now supposed. But where had the human come from, and why was there only one of them? If this was a scientific vessel engaged in an exploratory jaunt from one of the two huge warships orbiting the planet, TwelveSon would have expected it to house several scientists. And if that was the case, why was this individual wearing an environment suit and not working in a pressurized compartment?

  An accident! They had stumbled across a human survey or scientific craft engaged in exploration of this moon. It had run into difficulty and become stranded here. It might be from one of the warships or—he hardly dared countenance the possibility—it might have been caught and trapped here when Treetrunk had been set upon by its unknown homicidal invaders. Overlooked by the otherwise maniacally thorough attackers, its crew had survived.

  Except there did not seem to be any crew. Looking past the single tottering figure TwelveSon was unable to discern any others, either erect or lying down. The little vessel was large enough to accommodate a number of individuals the size of the average human. Possibly they were active in another compartment. If this craft was not a component of the present orbiting human detachment and if it had been here since the attack on the fifth planet, then supplies of every kind would be running very low. Retiring to the confines of sealed suits would have allowed the marooned crew to conserve their remaining air by in effect pressurizing only their bodies in lieu of their surroundings. He marveled at the environmental technology that would let so small a craft keep its occupants alive for such an extended period.

  Of course, how far and how long any onboard supplies lasted was in direct proportion to the number of crew. The fewer the occupants, the longer the reserves would last. Once again he peered past the awkward bulk of the human. There was still no sign of the rest of the crew.

  “Why is it not to communicate trying?” ThirtyOneSon was eying the human intently. This was the first one either of them had ever encountered in person instead of via a communications transmission or study manual.

  “Perhaps it see us does not.” TwelveSon weighed how best to proceed. “Or perhaps it is not to open communications authorized and is for one of its superiors waiting.”

  “That may be,” ThirtyOneSon conceded, “but I sure it sees us am. How could it not? We right here in front of it are.”

  “Protocol it from acknowledging us may prevent. The AAnn like that are, and the thranx somewhat less so. We far less about this species know than we do many others.”

  “So what do we do? Just here for the rest of them to show up wait?” ThirtyOneSon looked around uneasily. “I this place do not like. I want to back on the ship be.”

  “No less than I.” Protocol be damned, TwelveSon decided. He was not going to stand here waiting on the aliens forever. If his actions resulted in a reprimand, he would accept it with good grace. Anything to accelerate matters so he and his friend could return to their vessel. ThirtyOneSon would support his actions.

  Moving forward, he reached out and touched the leg of the human. When it failed to react, he grabbed the flexible material of its suit and tugged on it. This finally produced a response. Turning toward the two Unop-Patha the human glanced down. His eyes widened, the framing fle
sh pulling back to expose more of the whitish orb, and his mouth opened and began to move.

  Wrenching himself away from the Unop-Patha’s grasp, the human stumbled backward until it was pressed up against the wall. It stood there staring at them, its mouth still working, arms splayed wide and flattened tightly against the composite material of the bulwark.

  TwelveSon took a step forward, then hesitated. Hardly a specialist in interspecies contact, he was once again unsure how to proceed. “Is it to communicate trying or not? It looking right at us is.”

  “No.” In his stolid, unimaginative way ThirtyOneSon was firm. “It not looking at us is. It looking behind us is.” Turning as one, the two Unop-Patha examined the space behind them. They saw nothing exceptional, nothing to differentiate it from the rest of the vessel’s interior.

  “Whatever it is seeing not here is, but in its mind is.” ThirtyOneSon’s tone was somber. “I don’t think I to see it want.”

  “But at it look! Surely it trying to communicate is.” Baffled by the human’s reactions, TwelveSon was at a loss as to what to do next. “See how open and active its mouth is? Humans communicate that way, as we do know; by means of modulated sound waves.”

  “Different frequencies,” ThirtyOneSon commented thoughtfully. “We would not its words anyway understand, but specialists on the ship have to the principal human tongue access. Our people may not fluent be, but the necessary data in the library should be.” He contemplated the task at hand. “We must back to the ship get this one.”

  TwelveSon reluctantly agreed. Since he and his companion could not talk to the human, they would have to somehow induce it to follow them into the presence of those who could. Stepping forward, he executed several simple gestures, hoping the human would get the idea. Then he and ThirtyOneSon turned to start back the way they had come.

 

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