Delphi Promised (Targon Tales Book 4)

by Chris Reher

  “They shot at us!”

  “She’s right,” Anders said. “Help me up, Cy.”

  Jovan and Cyann scooped Anders carefully off the floor and propped him up near the main console. He studied the shapes carefully. “Definitely the same species as our alien visitor.”

  “Taller though,” she said. “And the colors move differently.”

  “Related to emotion, I think,” he said. “Make sure to capture that.”

  Jovan regarded them in utter bafflement. “I think we’ve left the expedition, folks. Let’s figure out a way to not get killed before we ask them for DNA samples.”

  “Does everyone have the translator loaded?” Cyann pointed to the data sleeve on her forearm. “We couldn’t be in a worse contact situation, so let’s try to mind our manners.” She looked meaningfully at Nigel. The others responded by tucking the translator’s receiver behind their ears.

  “Look.” Anders peered more closely at the monitor. “They’re wearing some sort of breathing mask or filter.”

  “Yes,” Jovan said. “This atmosphere isn’t healthy for them, either.”

  “That would mean they didn’t evolve on this rock,” Cyann said. “I suppose they’re not the ancient ancestors we’re looking for.”

  “No, but the asteroid still might be,” Ander said. “We’ll need soil and air samples.”

  “Mostly, we need to find out if our Sola virus is here.”

  “Beaker-heads, both of you.” Jovan shook his head, half amused and half exasperated. “Zoom in a bit.”

  Nigel adjusted their view. The taller strangers moved with a peculiar head-nodding that none of them had seen before on a Prime species. Their legs and arms were thin and long, hinting at protracted exposure to this gravity. Like their alien guest on Sola, their circular, flat heads were hairless and, like the rest of their visible bodies, pale and waxy. Eerily, their translucent skin clearly showed the darker areas of brain and trachea. Most of their bodies were covered in loose layers of coarse cloth without pattern or fit.

  “See any weapons?” Nigel said.

  “Nothing I can identify.” Jovan pointed at the screen. “The shorter ones in the back look more like the one that came to Delphi.”

  Cyann focused the ship’s camera on the individual at the front and brought the image as close as possible. “Kinda look like Nebdanese, if you squint.”

  The delegation from the dome came to a halt at some distance from the ship. They stood in a loose semi-circle and now several of them raised their hands away from their body.

  “Is that a greeting?” Nigel said.

  “Empty hands. Showing us that they’re not armed, maybe.”

  “That’s nice of them, seeing how they just shot us out of the sky.”

  Cyann opened her kit. “This is your field, uncle. Let me give you something to help you breathe.”

  He nodded and grimaced when she administered a drug.

  “How’s the pain?”

  “I won’t be going dancing for a while.” Anders leaned forward with a groan and activated their external speakers. “Hello,” he said and added various versions of the greeting.

  The beings outside reacted by turning and bending toward each other. The ship’s sensors were not able to pick up more than a low murmuring muffled by the masks they wore. The strange bioluminescence flickering beneath their skin intensified.

  “We are not an enemy,” he continued. Cyann winced when his measured, calm voice relayed in a tinny drone lacking any sort of expression. Then again, she thought, who knew what expression these people responded to. “We are injured. Please. Do not use weapons.”

  They waited silently while more conversation took place outside. At last one of the aliens took a few steps forward. “Hello also,” the overhead speaker conveyed. “We have no weapon.”

  “Like hell you don’t,” Nigel murmured which earned him a sharp cuff from Cyann.

  “You have no enemies here,” the alien continued. “You can visit.”

  “Someone shot at us,” Anders said into the microphone. “Two ships were lost. Broken. Five... people are dead.”

  “Regrettable. Sad. We have no weapon. Energy flux there. Dangerous.” The alien pointed a long arm toward and to the left of the domes, the leading end of the asteroid field. “But safe there.” It now pointed past them, into the opposite direction. “Better to stay far and scan for danger before landing.”

  “He’s got a point,” Jovan said.

  “How do you know it’s a he?” Nigel asked. “Are we going to believe that?”

  “I’m not sure that we have a choice. And we haven’t detected any sort of weapon.”

  “Come visit,” the voice from outside said again. “No harm. We want to meet, to see.”

  “Do you think they even realize that we crashed?” Cyann said. “He seems to think we’re here for first contact or something.”

  “Possible,” Anders said. “Or the translator could be confusing some of the vocabulary. It’ll improve itself as we continue talking.”

  “I’d love to take a look,” Cyann said. “They don’t seem to mean harm. Neither did the alien back on Sola.”

  “Or maybe they’ll cook us for dinner,” Nigel said. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

  “This isn’t the first contact you’ve been through, Nigel.” Anders said. “We’ve never been threatened by sentients.”

  “We’ve never been shot at before, either,” he said. “Unless you count rebels.”

  “We have little choice but to make friends with these folks. If this asteroid takes a jump through sub-space I would not want to ride along on its back in the Scout. Those domes look a whole lot safer.”

  “We gain nothing by sitting around out here,” Cyann said.

  “We’re safe in here. Maybe Anders is wrong. Maybe Nova will come looking for us sooner.”

  “In that case, update that signal to let them know to approach from the back end,” Jovan said. “If there are natural discharges of radiation, they may be attracted by the ships’ energy field, even the shields.”

  “We should find out more about that.” Cyann gestured at some of their other monitors. “Right now, it’s showing absolutely no reason for those at all. Things are as calm as when we got here.”

  “Are you getting anything from Kiran, Cy?” Jovan asked.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t even seem like he’s here. I thought I’d maybe feel some sort of presence. Or that you could.”

  “I’m not even getting anything from these individuals,” he said. “Something’s blocking me. What’s the weather out there?”

  “Chilly,” Nigel said. “Tolerable. Pressure is a bit light but also tolerable. Radiation tolerable. A lot of UV from that star. The energy source at the front of the cloud is moving outward in flares. Still, keep your monitors ticking. But this is definitely Prime species accommodations, if not the best I’ve seen. Ever.”

  “Well, let’s take a look,” Anders said. “Nigel, you’ll stay on the Scout. Try to get the shields reset. I like the idea of having this place as a bit of a fortress if need be.” He winked at Cyann. “Remember that swarm on Torren, Cy?”

  “I’ve never seen you run so fast.”

  “Make sure to lock up as soon as we’re out, Nigel, and monitor all media,” Anders continued his instructions. “We’ll need sealed suits out there. Keep the guns handy but not in hand. Touch nothing and no one. We need to find out how many of them there are. Maybe they can be removed, like Cyann suggested earlier. Let’s not forget why we’re here. Samples, DNA if we can get some.” Anders rose from his chair only to immediately collapse back into it.

  “Uncle?”

  “Big headache,” he said.

  “Maybe you should stay here, too,” Cyann said. “I’m worried about that concussion.”

  “Just a bump on the head,” Anders said. “The Shantir would have noticed if I’d done any damage.”

  “Hmm, yes, but I think Cyann’s right,” Jovan said. “Y
ou hit that wall pretty hard. We’ll go and have a look around. Maybe convince one of them to visit us here to negotiate a ride in their habitat if things don’t improve for us here.”

  Anders started to object but after a few moments just nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.” He returned his attention to the microphone and those waiting outside. “We will visit. We will come to you for a short while to meet with you.”

  Cyann and Jovan went to the airlock followed by a steady stream of instructions from Anders in the cockpit. “We’ll send out some crawlers to get samples. You two be sure to remember protocol. Listen and learn and don’t volunteer anything until we know more about them. They may not even be aware that they are bringing pathogens to Trans-Targon. Don’t alarm them with tales of Air Command guns pointed at them.”

  Before she lowered her visor, Jovan reached out to touch Cyann’s cheek. “Let’s be careful out there,” he said as they linked their minds in a telepathic khamal. It was not an easy connection and it would require concentration to maintain, but she felt grateful for his assuring presence. He looked up at the unseen speakers in the airlock’s ceiling. “Got it, Anders. Protocol. Right. We’ll be polite.”

  “I’ll try to poke a hole in whatever’s messing with the sensors,” Nigel said while running the decontamination sequence. “If you get a chance, see if they can spare a couple of recoiler gaskets, will you?”

  “They don’t even have shoes,” Cyann reminded him.

  “Think they’ll want to trade for my spare boots? Just come back in one piece. Please.”

  Chapter Eight

  By the time they were cautiously walking down the Scout’s exit ramp, the beings had come around to this side of the ship. Cyann lagged behind Jovan to record the meeting via the camera attached to her hood. She shivered but their suits reacted quickly to the frigid temperature and their visors adjusted to the lower light levels out here.

  Jovan raised his arms much like their hosts had done earlier. “Thank you for the... visit,” he said. “What will we call you?”

  “We are Jur,” an individual wearing a broad band around his neck stepped forward. “You came from far. No one lives here.”

  “Yes, through a gate. We believe that is how you came to this empty sector, too.”

  “Gate. The dead place. You fell through the dead.”

  “Sub-space. Yes.”

  “We go there.”

  “We know. Why do you go there?”

  The Jur stood aside and, with an eloquent gesture, directed them to join his people on a walk to the nearest of the domes. “Bad air outside here. Inside safest.”

  Cyann turned her head to scan the others in the group. The rough fabric that covered their gangly bodies in broad wraps seemed to be made of some sort of natural fiber. It looked uncomfortable against their smooth skin, like something braided with rough rope. Their long-toed feet were bare despite the cold and it seemed only the air out here bothered them. What do you make of their coloring? she sent to Jovan.

  I don’t think we can assume things but, by our standards, some of the others seemed a little excited when I mentioned sub-space. The colors changed more quickly.

  She bent to adjust her boot while taking a clearer video shot at one of the Jur’s bare legs. They, like, the rest of their bodies seemed strangely flattened, formed around jointless bands of cartilage that supported them in place of bone. And yet, these people moved stiffly as if walking or gesturing took some effort.

  They began the short trek toward the dome. The Delphians bounced unsteadily in the light gravity but soon moved with more confidence. The Jur walked with a rolling gait that would have been graceful except for the head bobbing that accompanied their movement. There were smaller ones, walking apart and behind the others, who seemed to require less nodding. Unlike the taller Jur leading the way, they were dressed in little more than rags. Nothing more was said, by any of them, until they reached the habitat.

  Cyann glanced down at a display panel near her chin when she surreptitiously touched the wall of the dome. Silica, she sent. Mixed with the same organic compounds as the pod on Sola.

  Any idea how they shield it? Jovan replied as he stooped through a narrow door that had opened for them.

  Nothing that the sensors aren’t picking up.

  When the gate closed behind them Cyann felt uncomfortably like remaining outside would have been a better choice. Something hissed as gases were exchanged and then the Jur removed their somewhat primitive-looking respirators.

  “We won’t need the hoods,” Cyann checked the conditions outside their sealed suits. “There is more oxygen here than outside but still a bit thin. I’m not seeing anything unrecognizable in the filters. Anders?”

  Aboard the Scout, Anders and Nigel scrutinized the information that her system had sifted from the environment. “Yes, you should keep the air but I’m not too worried about anything flying around in there. To be on the safe side, don’t eat anything and keep your gloves on. Better yet, don’t touch anything.”

  “Yes, Uncle Anders.” She removed her hood and shook out her hair before fitting the thin tube of the oxygen booster under her nose. While generally annoying after a while, she was glad for the device today. The air inside the dome carried a peculiar chemical odor. She was reminded of a mildewed refrigeration unit.

  The Jur with the neckband leaned toward her, bending from the waist. His eyes moved over her face and she fought an impulse to pull back. Instead, she busied herself with attaching her protective hood to her belt, as Jovan was doing.

  “You are much like us,” the Jur said. “And like the other.”

  “You’ve met people like us before?”

  “One.” He raised a long-fingered hand as if he wanted to touch her hair but then dropped it again. “Blue strings on its head.”

  Kiran! she sent to Jovan. “You’ve met someone with blue hair... head strings before?”

  “Yes,” the Jur said. He ran a hand over the metal wall of the airlock. “It helped build much of this.”

  Jovan followed a seam in the construction upward. “This lock is from a plane, I think. Salvage?”

  “Salvage,” the Jur repeated. His unmovable face did not convey the question but a brief flash of orange across his cheek seemed to indicate confusion.

  “Made of pieces of old or broken ships.”

  “Yes.”

  The interior door to the airlock opened now and they were ushered inside. The other Jur wandered away as if the strangers were no longer of interest to them. A narrow passage extended left and right and, although the door they had passed was made of metal, these walls were of a murky, translucent material that resembled glass still embedded with unfused grains of silica. A vague light source came from the other side of these partitions and they could see figures move behind them like shadows. Like the dome itself, the walls and door openings were rounded. In the distance, more of the slender, translucent people peered around corners or flitted across open spaces.

  “Is he still here?” Cyann said. “The man with the blue strings.”

  “No. Dead. So sad. Come this way.”

  Cyann threw a puzzled glance to Jovan. He shrugged and nodded for her to follow their host. Not what I expected to hear. We know he’s either lying or unaware. Did his color pattern change?

  Not even a bit. Nor his expression. Not that they have any.

  Jovan ran his gloved hand along the wall. “How do you produce your oxygen?”

  The Jur turned briefly. “Repeat.”

  “Air. How do you make air. For breathing.”

  “Ice. Below.”

  “We didn’t detect a power source,” Jovan pressed. “How do you remove the hydrogen?”

  “Your words don’t fit. Air is air and we breathe it.” He tapped his chest. “In here.” He pointed at Cyann’s nose. “Through there.”

  Humor? Jovan asked.

  Not sure but I the translator is picking things up a little better now.
>
  They stepped through a low, arched doorway into a round room connected to another and another after that, like so many bubbles randomly attached to each other. A geometric pattern in the glass-like walls hinted at the manufacture of these enclosures.

  “Like someone blew air through a straw into soapy water,” Cyann said. “Probably injected something to fuse and melt these spaces. The rock must be very porous. Look how shiny those walls are.”

  “That would take a lot of power,” Jovan said. “Why are you here?” he asked the Jur. “On this asteroid?”

  “Asteroid.” More orange flashes across the pale cheek.

  “This rock. The place that floats through space.”

  The Jur observed Jovan for a moment and then turned his flat countenance to Cyann. “Your home is like this?”

  “I think he likes you better,” Jovan muttered, using a Delphian dialect that was not programmed into their translator.

  Cyann stifled a grin, unsure of how facial movements would be perceived. “Not like this, Jur, but similar. We would like to know more about you. How you came here.”

  The Jur waved them through another doorway. Now they stood on a wide terrace of sorts. The roof of the dome arched high above them and, as they stepped out onto the platform, a vast central pit gaped below. Cyann and Jovan moved closer to the unguarded edge to peer into the depths. More terraces overlooked this well, perhaps carved out of a crater, and they saw movement on the open lower levels as the Jur people bustled about whatever activity kept them busy. A low, thrumming sound rose up from the depths.

  “There must be hundreds of Jur,” Cyann said. “Thousands.” So much for offloading them.

  “Yes, many,” the Jur said and she could swear that the translator picked up a hint of pride. “We have many breeders. Too many.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Soon there will not be enough food. We will pass the dead space and find a new home.”

  “Home? Your plan is to colonize... to live there?”

  “Yes. Blue visitor told of many many planets there. And one will be new home.”

  “Why did you leave your home?” Cyann asked. She sent a mental nudge to Jovan when she noticed a new band of brilliant color flicker along the sides of the Jur’s face. He nodded, having seen that, too.