L'Kell led them to the sub, where long doors were propped open, revealing flooded cargo compartments. Bandicut noted plenty of salvaged machinery littering the floor of the hangar, while the sub's cargo bay was filled with the outstretched forms of disabled Neri—including, he thought, some of the individuals he and Ik had attempted to heal. "Medical express to the city, on track one," he murmured.
"This is the only working sub left here, except the one you and I came in," L'Kell said. "We're going to leave the small one for those staying behind." Bandicut said nothing, but wondered why they were leaving Neri swimmers here. To maintain their claim on the ship? Or to guard and repair the damaged sub? "We can lock you through into the dry compartment," L'Kell said.
Bandicut felt a sudden jerk, as the lander started twitching in his grip. He caught a glimpse of the being's eyes, and thought he saw consciousness—and fear. Perhaps he couldn't accurately identify fear in the gaze of a lander, but he was sure of one thing: the being was in distress. "Can you lock the lander through, too?"
L'Kell hesitated. "We should secure him in back, I think."
"He won't survive there," Bandicut said sharply. "He should ride with us." The lander was struggling weakly as they spoke.
L'Kell opened his webbed hands. "I don't see how we can—"
"You can secure him up front, for God's sake! I doubt his diving gear can tolerate the depth of your city. For all we know, he could be running out of air right now!"
"But—"
"His diving gear might not pull air out of the water the way yours does! Trust me! We can guard him inside!"
"Very well," said L'Kell, looking genuinely puzzled. "He will be inside." Bandicut heard mutterings of complaint from some of the other Neri; but having decided, L'Kell held firm.
They floated into the forward cargo compartment, and Bandicut and Ik maneuvered into position beneath the airlock. They held the lander between them, and Ik gave his rope a couple of turns around the being. When the airlock membrane shimmered grey, L'Kell gestured, and they hoisted the lander up into the airlock, where Neri hands from above took hold and pulled him inside.
Bandicut went next. It was an awkward business, getting through the airlock with the breathing gear. By the time he was in the sub, he was panting from the exertion. The lander was slumped against a bulkhead. Bandicut squinted through his foggy visor, trying to see whether it was still breathing; it looked motionless. Damn, he thought. It's dying. "Get it out of its helmet!" he shouted, through his own hood. The attending Neri jumped at the shout, and began removing his helmet. "No, no!" he protested. But it was hopeless; he let them finish, and as soon as the thing came off his head, he shouted, "Get his helmet off!" and pointed urgently at the lander.
The Neri looked puzzled—and reluctant. Bandicut struggled to clamber over on his hands and knees, still wearing the awkward gear on his own back, to where he could get at the lander's helmet and mask. He fought to pull it off, but it wouldn't budge. Where was the clasp? He clawed at the thing, but was too exhausted to think straight, and with sweat and salt water in his eyes, he couldn't see very well, either.
The Neri finally moved in to help. They hissed and squawked at each other, but quickly removed the helmet. When the lander's head was exposed, they murmured excitedly. Obviously they were all seeing a lander for the first time.
Bandicut's first thought was that it looked a little like a short-nosed fox. It had the triangularity of face, and the tufted ears, and the short brown fur. Or perhaps it was not fur, after all, but a coarsely textured skin. Its two eyes were closed to thin slits, and Bandicut feared that they really had been too late.
/// May I? ///
/Uh? Of course./ Bandicut reached out a shaky hand and touched the lander on the side of the head, just a light brush of the fingertips. Its skin felt rough, and cool to the touch. Bandicut drew back slightly at the sensation.
/// It's alive, John.
Returning to consciousness. ///
Bandicut muttered in silent gratitude, and wished he could speak to the lander.
/// I'm trying to do just that. ///
The creature's eyes fluttered momentarily, then closed again. There was a noise behind Bandicut. Ik staggered from the airlock, followed a moment later by L'Kell. The Neri hastened to take Ik's helmet off, and the Hraachee'an leaned close to Bandicut. "You were in time!" he rasped.
The lander's eyes were open, staring at Bandicut. Its eyes had round pupils like a human's, surrounded by concentric rings of iris, and no white at all. The iris rings were colored in shades of brown, yellow, and orange, giving it an intense-looking gaze. It stared at Bandicut for a long time, then finally flicked its eyes around the compartment, taking in the Neri, and pausing for a moment on Ik. Then its gaze returned to Bandicut. Was it aware that Bandicut had saved it, or that he was the source of the quarx's inner touch? It had seen Neri before, no doubt, but what did it make of a human face, or the bony, sculpted features of a Hraachee'an?
Bandicut placed a finger to his lips, then his ear. "Can you hear me?" The lander's pointed ears perked slightly. "My name—" he pressed a hand to his chest "—is John. John."
Clearly the lander heard him, because its ears twitched and moved like small antennas. But it made no sound in reply. Did it have a voice? Bandicut wondered. Perhaps it was in too much shock to speak.
"We do not mean to harm you," he said, resting his hands in his lap, with palms open. He glanced up at the Neri crowded around in the cramped passenger compartment, and hoped that they would honor his statement of reassurance, even if they personally desired retribution for their ill and wounded.
/// He does not understand you. ///
/I didn't expect he would. But I want him to know that we're at least trying to communicate with him. I thought, if nothing else, he might sense the tone. It was a long shot./
/// I have inquired of the stones,
whether they would like to offer
daughters to the lander. ///
/And?/
/// It's not an option.
They need a much longer period of regeneration
before they can divide again. ///
/Too bad,/ Bandicut thought, cocking his head to study the lander.
"We should be underway shortly," L'Kell said. He urged the other Neri forward to the cockpit. "The last of the wounded are aboard, and we're draining the holds. Do you want to get your gear off?"
Bandicut had almost forgotten the encumbering Neri diving suit. With L'Kell's help, he shrugged out of it; then they helped Ik out of his. Finally, with care, they removed what they could of the lander's gear. The being made no effort to resist. "Gonna be a crowded trip back," Bandicut murmured. The compartment already stank from the closeted bodies of four different species from various worlds. But he was grateful they were all still alive to be making the trip at all.
"How are the wounded?" Ik inquired.
"Some better, some worse," L'Kell answered. He stowed the gear and called forward to see if they were ready to move. He was answered by a lurch, as the Neri pilot applied thrust.
Bandicut could just see out a small side window. He glimpsed the walls of the wreck's hangar, then felt the brightening as they passed out into the sunlight. After the tomblike darkness of the wreck's interior, even this attenuated sunlight was like having a curtain of gloom stripped away.
"Guuh."
He blinked, turning his head. The lander had just spoken. It was craning its neck to try to see outside. Bandicut sat back to give it a clearer view of the window. Probably that burst of sunlight was like a breath of fresh air to it; probably it was hoping against hope that they would, somehow, be heading surfaceward.
Bandicut closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, feeling for the captive. It was only a few seconds later that he felt the sub angle downward, beginning its descent. If there were any lander divers in pursuit, they would soon be left behind.
The lander probably thought he was deep in the ocean now. You don't ev
en know what deep is, Bandicut thought pityingly. Get your last view of sunlight while you can. It could be the last view you'll have for a long, long time.
Interlude
Julie Stone
"THERE'S SO MUCH I've been wanting to say, Dakota—to explain—as much to myself as to you. I only have enough time allowance for one full-holo transmission, but I want you to hear this, face to face—even if it's just one-way. And I want to get it right." Julie paused to adjust the holocam angle. "I know you have a lot of questions, and so do I. I'm still looking for answers. But I'll try to tell you what I can about your uncle, and what he did here."
Julie looked up at the shelf over her cubicle desk, where a grainy image of John Bandicut looked out at her. It was an image that Dakota Bandicut had emailed her—clipped from a family photo of a few years ago. He looked visibly younger than the man she remembered, his features a little softer, his brown hair free of those first strands of grey. She would have liked to see what the other Bandicuts had looked like.
"Thank you for the photo of John. It's hard to believe I didn't have any pictures of him—except one tiny image off a group photo that our friend Georgia took once. He had his eyes closed in that one. Sometime I'd love to see the rest of the picture that you took this image from; I don't know a thing about what John's family looks like. Please send me a picture of yourself?"
She drew a breath.
"This is so hard, Dakota. Before I say anything else, let me just say again—even though I've said it by email—that I am convinced that your uncle John saved the Earth from a terrible disaster, no matter what anyone else thinks. You know the evidence that's been made public. Well, I've gained some new information to support it." She swallowed. "Though I'm not sure how much of it I can share at this point."
She paused the camera to think. She paced for a few moments around her sleep compartment, then resumed. "I've had an experience that shook me, and also might lead to some of the answers we've been looking for. You know about the alien translator—know what John said about it, anyway, which was all any of us knew. Well, I know more now. I've spoken to it." She cleared her throat. "I've actually . . . met it and communicated with it. And it made one thing clear—and that was that John was telling the truth."
Was it okay to say that? The existence of the translator was public knowledge, but details were classified. Not that this was exactly a technical detail. But still, she had to assume that her transmissions were monitored, and she didn't want anyone coming down on twelve-year-old Dakota because of something she said. But she did want John's only surviving relative to know.
She backed the recorder up a couple of sentences and paused after the words, ". . . all any of us knew." She started again. "We're starting to learn more now. We've had some communication with the device, and it definitely confirms John's story . . ."
That wasn't much different from what she'd said the first time. She shrugged and let it go. But probably she shouldn't say much more about it—not until matters were clearer with the research boards. This business was far from over.
Yesterday's hearing had helped crystallize some things in her mind . . .
*
"Ms. Stone, do you have any idea why the artifact resists all of our efforts to communicate with it? Or for that matter, why it took five weeks from the time of first sensor contact for it to finally reveal itself physically to us, and—more intimately—to you?"
Julie Stone studied the government representative for a moment before answering. This wasn't like a group meeting of the exoarch department; this was a preliminary hearing for the oversight bodies, and she didn't entirely trust those who were running it. She knew they were in a power struggle among themselves, vying for control of the translator, and anything she might say could be subject to misuse—or at least, narrow interpretation. "No," she said finally.
The three members of the hearing board glanced at one another. Government rep, MINEXFO (Mining Expeditionary Force), and science board. No one from exoarchaeology was on the hearing board; they were supposed to be represented by the science member—a man who had arrived on Triton just a week ago. The government rep, Macklin, spoke again. "You seemed to have to think about that, just now. Do you need time to reflect?"
"No," Julie said, without hesitation this time. In a way, she trusted the government man more than the others; he made no bones about his goal, which was to secure government control over the translator as soon as possible. But there were issues of ownership and interplanetary law that complicated the matter. Thank God. "I don't know why it resists your efforts," she said mildly.
"But it did communicate with you," Macklin pointed out.
"Yes, but it's not as if it told me everything I wanted to know."
"Well, then—no offense meant—did it indicate why it chose you for its contact? Was it just arbitrary, because you were the first on the site?"
Julie hesitated. "It didn't say, exactly. But I suspect it might have chosen me out of deference to John Bandicut. Because we were friends. And because it and Bandicut . . . worked together." Her words produced a silence, and she cleared her throat to fill it. The name John Bandicut was not one that met with wholehearted approval around here. Nevertheless . . . "I have a feeling—and it is only a feeling—that John recommended me to the translator."
The panelists continued to gaze at her. "I see," said Macklin after a moment. "Did it give any indication about its reason for maintaining secrecy, for staying in hiding?"
Julie shook her head. "My guess is that it was observing, and waiting for confirmation—which I know it got somehow—that the comet had been destroyed by Neptune Explorer. Perhaps it wanted to defer contact until then."
That look again from the panelists. Macklin scratched his head. "Yes, well . . . you know, it might take some time yet before the science teams are able to establish whether or not there was a cometary impact—"
She stifled a sigh of exasperation.
"—since the evidence, as I understand it, is not wholly compelling, either way."
"I find the evidence quite compelling," said Julie.
"But you have, as you've indicated, a personal bias."
"I don't have a bias that would make the translator tell me that he destroyed the comet, do I?"
Macklin shrugged his shoulders. "In any case, you say that the translator told you that it wanted your assistance with some future activity. Is that correct?"
"Yes. And I can't really tell you more than that, because it didn't say more." Which, she suddenly realized, was not quite the truth. She closed her eyes for a moment. Something out there which is trying to destroy your world. Had she really heard that, or was it just a lingering impression, or a dream? She felt a powerful reluctance to share it; too much ambiguity and uncertainty. Or was that just a rationalization? No, she thought—she wanted confirmation before she said something that inflammatory.
"You understand, Ms. Stone, that the object is not your personal property, nor under your personal protection." That was John Hornsby, representing the Interplanetary Science Board.
"Of course I understand," she said, bristling.
"Yes, well," said Takashi, of MINEXFO. "Since we have not yet established who will have permanent custody of the artifact, I suggest that we not get sidetracked on that issue." He did not actually look at Hornsby as he said that, but the tension between the two was evident.
Julie drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, trying not to seem stiff or defensive. "I have a suggestion, if you're interested."
"Of course," said Macklin, while Hornsby frowned.
"Two suggestions. One is you let me go back to the translator and try again. The other is—well, that you let the translator take the lead in communicating. It's been here for a million years already, and maybe it has its own ideas about who it wants to talk to and why."
"We keep coming back to that, don't we?" Macklin said. "It talked to you—and everyone wants to know why."
Julie flushed
, wondering why she had to feel defensive about that. "I want to know, too. And if you'd let me try, maybe we'd get some answers."
Hornsby looked faintly ruffled. "That might, in time, be possible. But we have a full schedule of physical studies planned, which is not something we can lightly interrupt. Also—with respect—" an insincere smile flickered on his face "—we cannot afford to have the object treating any one person as sole designated representative. If you can understand that."
Julie said nothing, but thought, you might not have any choice in the matter.
"My own feeling," said Macklin, "is that we ought to just take the damn thing to Earth and quit screwing around with it here. Hell of a lot more resources for studying it, back home."
Julie felt a sudden flicker of panic. If the translator were shipped to Earth, and she were left here on Triton . . .
"That might not be feasible right away," said Hornsby. "There are issues of safety, of course. And we need to make detailed in situ studies. Plus—" he glanced at Julie "—I rather expect that the exoarchaeology branch would like some time to examine the site. Is that correct, Ms. Stone—if you can speak for your department?"
She nodded, her panic subsiding.
Takashi voiced his agreement, though no doubt for different reasons. Triton MINEXFO's claim could lose much of its power once the artifact left Triton.
Macklin shrugged. "I guess, then, that that's all the questions we have for you right now, Ms. Stone. Thank you for your time. You may be excused . . ."
*
Julie shook off the memory. She still felt guilty for what she hadn't said. And the questions weren't going to get any easier. A lot of people wanted access to the translator, for a variety of reasons. But the translator, she knew, would allow access to whom it wanted, when it wanted. She feared what could happen if an attempt were made to move it by force.
The Chaos Chronicles Page 88
