Nimisha's Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Why didn’t you send them first, to scout the place?”

  “Because I like to do my own reconnoitering. Get a feeling for the craft and who or what might have been on it.”

  “Whoever, they’re a long time—”

  “There is a party of unknown bipeds approaching from the hills, ma’am,” Helm announced suddenly. “They appear to be armed with a variety of primitive weapons.”

  Nimisha unclipped her beltcom. “Can you patch through this hull?”

  He could and she held up the unit so they all could see the furtive approach of the small bipeds.

  “Further orders, ma’am?”

  “We don’t know that they are aggressive,” Nimisha said.

  “Aggression can come in many sizes,” Jonagren remarked succinctly, and he crouched to return through the low passage to their point of entry.

  “The foremost question in my mind,” she said, following him, with Casper behind her, “is are they descendants of the original owners?”

  “Great minds,” Jon said.

  “I do have a translator on board the Fiver,” Nimisha added. “Helm, can you pick up any sounds?”

  “They are not making sounds,” was Helm’s reply.

  “They are then attempting to creep up on us undetected,” Nimisha said, amused. “What do we do?”

  “Go out and act friendly, of course,” Jon said.

  “So they tell me,” Nimisha said, regarding the weapons that were being brought toward them in the possession of small people who might dislike visitors on board their ship. If this was their ship. But who else’s would it be? Unless, for some unknown reason, sentient—possibly even sapient—bipeds were limited to this continent of the nine land masses on Erehwon.

  “I wonder how long they have survived here,” Casper said as they reached the fracture through which they had entered.

  “They are on the hill above you and the ship hides you from their view,” Helm said.

  “Thanks,” Nimisha murmured, turning to the captain. “What do we do?”

  “Walk out where they can see us, hands open, palms up.”

  “Let’s hope that’s their indication of peaceful intent, too,” Nimisha replied. “Helm, on guard!” She switched on her suit’s repeller, knowing that it had been designed to protect her against a variety of more sophisticated weapons than those being carried toward them. Jon and Casper did so, too.

  “Forward and to your left,” Helm said. “You’re not yet visible, but they’ve sent two on ahead. You may meet them. You will. Now.”

  And they did. Nimisha was never sure exactly what happened, the encounter was over so quickly. Projectiles of some sort came flying at them from the two midget bipeds that reacted faster than any of the humans did. But Helm was faster and his stun beam caught them. The weapons were deflected by the individual repeller shields and fell uselessly to the ground.

  “The others are retreating,” Helm said.

  Nimisha leaned down to pick up the impotent darts.

  “Be careful!” Jon said, holding out his arm to prevent her. “The tip could be poisoned.”

  Casper had sprinted to the two supine figures. “Hope Helm didn’t give them too much stun.”

  “We’re lucky he could,” Jon said. “At least we know they have some sort of nervous system that can be affected by stunners.”

  “I adjusted the beam to a strength sufficient to stop creatures of that size and weight,” Helm said, and Nimisha thought the AI did not appreciate this aspersion to his common sense. “I had projectiles on targets, as well.”

  “Well, the translation device is on the Fiver. Let’s take them to it,” Nimisha said as she and Jon joined Casper by the limp bodies.

  Jon knelt down and touched the fur-covered throat of the one nearest him.

  “A pulse of some sort. Maybe Doc can figure out what they’re composed of besides fur.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Nice feel to it. Wonder how warm it is.”

  The two bipeds wore not much more than their weapon belts. Their sex—if they were of different sexes—was not obvious.

  Casper bent and picked one up. “Heavier than you’d think,” he remarked.

  Jon took the second. Nimisha, craning to regard the head drooping over his arm, wondered at the blank oval face devoid of recognizable orifices.

  Aliens! A spurt of triumph raced through her. Nimisha Boynton-Rondymense had met aliens! Sapient aliens, able to make and use tools, and who had once been space-farers. All kinds of questions tumbled about in her head: How long had they been marooned? Had they seen other humans to know that they should be wary of them? Had they regressed to a primitive existence? What stories would they tell about their landing here? Did they know where their home system was?

  Then she realized that Jon and Casper were carrying on a conversation dealing with such queries and grinned.

  “Helm, let’s get back to the Fiver as quickly as possible.”

  “Advisable, ma’am, as there are now a multitude of these creatures advancing in a menacing fashion toward the gig.”

  “Lifting,” Nimisha said, having seen the van of a small army appearing on the hilltop. She slipped into the pilot’s seat as the two men were gently depositing the aliens on the deck.

  They were up and out of range just as the army charged down the nearside of the hill, making loud hooting noises.

  “So they do have voices,” Nimisha said, turning the gig. “The Fiver’s not that far away and they can really move,” she added, making rapid forward progress.

  “Let us then remove ourselves from danger while we treat these two,” Jon said. “We could meet the Fiver back at the ocean. I doubt they can follow us that far.”

  “Do you doubt my ability to park the gig in Fiver?” Nimisha asked, amused.

  “Never,” Jon replied, and Casper gave a snort of laughter. “But why waste time landing?”

  “Point.” And so Nimisha suggested a rendezvous to Helm. She had a chance to see how gracefully Fiver lifted from the surface and sighed happily . . . even if no one in her quadrant might ever see it again. Idly she wondered if Caleb Rustin might not have gone on to finish the Mark 5 that had been skeletal when she left on the shakedown cruise. Would Cuiva realize that Caleb should be given the disks she had entrusted to her for safekeeping?

  She landed the gig on the beach close to the Fiver. The aliens had not roused from their stun during the short run. Jon and Casper reassured her that they were still breathing and seemed to have a pulse in their short necks. As no facial orifices were visible, they weren’t able to judge what optical or aural arrangements existed in the oval “head.” Each hand had three digits, one opposing.

  “If they can launch darts, they’ve tool capacities,” Casper said, subtly pleased. “Sapient. How marvelous!”

  “The feet are more flippers than feet, with vestigial toes . . . of a sort,” Jon said, having gently felt down the four limbs of the one he was examining. “They don’t smell bad, either.”

  “No, they don’t, but with all that fur, how do they perspire?”

  Jon picked up one limb, inspecting the sole. “Callused and bare of fur. Well, fur would’ve rubbed off on rough surfaces if there had been any, wouldn’t it?”

  “Let’s see what Doc’s diagnostics can tell us about them,” Nimisha said.

  “That’s sensible,” Jon said, kneeling to pick up the alien he had been examining. He stepped out of the gig and the alien bounced out of his arms, sprawling on all fours before it started across the beach in a dash. “Hold yours down, Cas,” Jon cried.

  Nimisha, who had been following Jon, started off after the fugitive. She had always been fast on her feet, and with legs twice the length of the alien’s, she was able to catch up with it. Tackling seemed the logical way to halt its progress. It squealed at the sudden impact in the sand and tried to wriggle away.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she cried, trying in this awkward position to radiate goodwill and positive feelings. It took Jon
’s assistance to subdue the creature. It might be small, but it was strong and writhed so violently that the two humans were afraid of hurting it. A dark band of what seemed to be one long eye centered in the upper third of its face sparkled with angry determination to free itself.

  Casper had wisely put a wrap about the feet of the other alien. He was halfway to the Fiver with his still limp captive in his arms. As Nimisha and Jon carried theirs, it hooted in a desperate tone to the other and writhed in their arms, an action that required them to hold it more tightly than they wanted to.

  “Really, we are not going to hurt you,” Nimisha repeated in as reassuring tone as she could manage. “I hope its flesh doesn’t bruise, or Doc will have my guts for garters.”

  “Your what for what?” Jon asked, startled.

  “I’ve a friend . . . oh, do stay still, dear . . . who collects archaic words and phrases. That’s one of them. He’s also got some marvelous . . . ‘Ods blood!” she exclaimed, as their burden writhed violently. “Like that—expressions from bygone days.”

  “’Od’s blood?” Jon repeated.

  “He didn’t know what it means. Ah, here we are and not above time . . . another phrase Pheltim collected.”

  The two now had their captive inside the Fiver and Nimisha palmed the hatch shut.

  “Bring the other one in here, too,” Doc called. “They’ll both fit in the unit. Once I’ve figured out what I can use to sedate them.”

  Casper’s alien, lying in the medic unit, was still unconscious. Seeing the disposition of its colleague, the one Nimisha and Jon were holding made frantic efforts to escape.

  “Oh, it’s my size!” Timmy cried. He had been eating—a burger, to judge by the bun still clutched in his hand as he moved to get a closer look at the creature. “Are you hungry?” he asked solicitously, his face on a level with the alien’s as he graciously broke off a bit and held it out.

  The creature, whose optics seemed to be placed in a narrow band across the front of its “face,” ceased struggling for a long minute. What Nimisha now took to be some sort of air intake had slitted open and was fluttering rapidly.

  Encouraged, Timmy held the piece closer. A wild sniff, and the alien redoubled its effort to free itself.

  “I’ve got enough from this one to be able to choose sedation. Put yours in before it damages itself struggling like that,” Doc said. “Oxygen breathers.”

  “It might be vegetarian, Tim,” Nimisha said, “but that was thoughtful of you.”

  Nimisha and Jon deposited the creature beside its fellow and Doc closed the canopy, which then misted with gas. The little alien used its small fists on the plastic, but its efforts diminished as the sedative took effect and it collapsed in a heap.

  “Not the best way to make friends, I might add,” Doc remarked.

  “They weren’t of a mind to be friendly,” Nimisha said.

  “You can look at the darts,” Jon said, putting the two in a specimen drawer in the medical unit.

  “There was an army of them about to overwhelm us.”

  “Yes, we saw,” Syrona said. “Tim was a bit concerned for you. Even if they are closer to his size than yours.”

  “There were a lot of them,” the boy said, eyes wide, and looked at the bite he had offered the alien. Then he popped it in his mouth. “I’m glad I’m not veggit.”

  “Let us know when you’ve found anything interesting, Doc,” Nimisha said. Then, ruffling Tim’s hair, she added, “That burger smells good. Think I’ll have one. All that exercise gave me quite an appetite.”

  Jon and Casper followed her to Cater’s dispenser and gave their orders, as well.

  “Red blood,” Doc said just as Jon was about to bite into his rare burger.

  Nimisha smothered a laugh at Jon’s expression. Almost defiantly, he closed his teeth on the bun. She leaned closer to him. “It isn’t real meat anyway, even if that’s the way it masquerades and tastes. It’s got much more protein than mere flesh would have.”

  “We should have reassured the alien on that score,” Jon said, flicking one eyebrow up rakishly.

  “If these are the descendants of those in that bird ship,” Syrona began, “they’ve done very well to survive on this hostile planet, the size they are.” With that the others heartily concurred. “I heard their hoots and asked Helm to see if the translator could make something of them.”

  “Purely noise, to frighten an enemy and express aggression,” Helm said. “Their vocal equipment goes off the scale into higher frequencies, so you didn’t get the full effect.”

  “We tried shouting at the slugs and the bison-types. Had absolutely no effect on them,” Casper said, sounding droll.

  “Neither did our weapons,” Jon added, equally droll.

  “My, my,” Doc said in surprise. “Well, the PanSpermia clique will be glad to know that they may have had it right all along.”

  “What are you talking about, Doc?” Nimisha asked.

  “Surely you remember the two camps of thought about what aliens will look like when, and or if, we ever meet any?” Doc asked.

  “I do,” Jon said, looking at Casper, who nodded.

  Doc went on, obviously enjoying a lecturing mode. “Biologists have always been divided on the subject of whether or not we will ever find humanoid bipedal life-forms such as ourselves. As we know, it took astrographers long enough to admit that there just could be far more M-type planets with a proper atmospheric mix and carbon-based than earlier stargazers suspected. However, on the subject of what life-forms could emerge from the same sort of primordial stew, biologists remain in violent disagreement. One group insists that the percentage against encountering humanoids like yourselves is too high. The sentient, or perhaps I should say, sapient life-forms on other planets will be very alien. The aerial monsters that attacked your settlement, Captain Svangel, might be considered sentient, since they purposefully kept attacking you. But sapience indicates wisdom. And the avians showed little of that. However, back to the point, one group of biologists insisted that humanoid life-forms couldn’t happen.

  “The other, equally vocal and determined group, the PanSpermians, who postulated that once Life originates anywhere, that accident or design could cause that basic pattern to spread out through a galaxy. An excellent example of this is the evidence of life found in a meteorite that originated on Mars. And later confirmed in the initial Mars probes and landings.”

  Jon grinned at Nimisha, who smiled, remembering history lessons of humankind’s earliest explorations of its own solar system before the First Diaspora.

  “Am I boring you?” Doc asked.

  “No, no, please continue, Doc,” Nimisha said courteously.

  The Doc cleared its throat in a very human fashion. “Many eminent biologists were willing to recognize that a hardy life-form, like some bacteria, might be able to survive such a journey through space—”

  “Arrhenius’s theory,” Nimisha interrupted, cocking her finger at Jon, who grinned.

  Doc went on as if there had been no interruption. “. . . Lasting decades, hundreds or thousands of years, and thus plant the seeds for biologically compatible life on another similarly hospitable world. If they check out, that theory is validated.”

  “Oh.” Nimisha smirked with anticipation.

  “The very fact that the stunner disabled them,” Doc continued, “indicates that they have a central nervous system that can be stunned. They also have a hemoglobin blood similar to ours.” Then he chuckled. “I have been busy during my peroration,” he added. “Let’s add to a nervous system an amazing circulatory arrangement and a heart-type pump and the bellows they use for lungs. Neatly packaged between their shoulder blades. Which adds more proof of being a humanoid type. Ah, one difference! They can withdraw their genitals into their bodies for safekeeping. A wise precaution, but there may be more than two sexes. I’d need to check other specimens. One does have a prod withdrawn in its body, but it also has an egg sac. A blood filter, a waste compartment fo
r liquid and solids. There are some odd fissures in the hind end that probably open for evacuation. Muscle tissue, strong skeletal frame, articulated joints, but we saw them at work, didn’t we? Definitely humanoid. I’m just getting to the brain but . . . hmmm.” Doc broke off. “That’s odd . . .”

  “What?”

  “Different structure, though I can discern divisions that might be comparable to human lobes. Very dense brain matter. Just how high on the scale their intelligence is will have to be estimated by their reaction to other stimuli. I’m willing to call them not only sentient but sapient.”

  “Aggressive, too,” Casper remarked, “so they have a territorial imperative. However, except for their size, we haven’t established if these little folk are the descendants of those on that ship.”

  “Why else were they determined to protect it and drive us away?” Nimisha asked.

  “I’ll tell you one thing—I don’t think they are indigenous to this planet,” Doc said. “They have residual accretions of minerals in their muscles and systems that they haven’t been able to either use or evacuate. Once the organ is full up, I suspect it causes them a lot of problems, up to and including early demise.”

  “Are they capable of speech?”

  “They’ve demonstrated that they can make sounds. Whether these sounds form a consistent language we have yet to see. Certainly they have tongues, so they can vary the sounds they make. They also have teeth . . . omnivorous variety. Not as many as humans, but the type of dental equipment suggests they can be omnivorous.”

  “We didn’t do them any harm restraining them, did we?” Nimisha asked.

  “Flesh is dense, dark in color. I cannot detect any contusions on their extremities. Remarkably tough creatures. It would take a lot to pierce their hides or break their bones. Possibly why they survived the crash of their space vehicle so well.”

  “Good point,” Nimisha said with a laugh. “I don’t think many humans would have survived that crash.”

  “Or that these did,” Jon added, gesturing to the limp bodies in the medical unit.

  “I’ve done what I can. They no longer have intestinal parasites, and I was able to laser the accretions out of their organs. Could be some sort of gall bladder. But they didn’t need that foreign matter filling it up.”