“This was why we took the original detour,” Z-Lin reiterated, “to answer your point about taking the back-roads and missing Þursheim. Getting to the Boonie and linking up with a fully-stocked AstroCorps Rep and Rec crew would have been invaluable. We could tell them where the rest of the Boonie was, and they could fix our ship and tell us the news. All at the ‘cost’ of a – I’m just going to say it – a decent shortcut in our route.”
“Did we even get Jauren Silva on our charts in the end?” Sally enquired a little challengingly.
“Well, no,” Z-Lin admitted, “but since you blew the rest of the Boonie to kingdom come with Godfire, it doesn’t really matter.”
“We’re not going to tell the Corps guys about the Artist and the underspace drive anyway, are we?” Janus said. “We don’t want them investigating, tabling, opening a file … right?” he waved towards Thord, this time feeling a little safer involving her in the debate. “Curiosity, caution, digging in chasms, all that?”
“Fair,” Z-Lin admitted. “And all a moot point anyway, since we seem to have missed the repair crew and instead we have a dumbler-folk squatter in the derelict.”
“Which is exciting, even though a new fabrication plant would have been neat too,” Waffa said.
“No argument from me,” Z-Lin said, and stood up. “But since this is what we’ve got, what say we go and make contact?”
Z-LIN
They relocated to the bridge en masse. Everybody wanted to witness the potentially-historical communication, and even though Z-Lin knew from experience that it was usually a bit of an over-technical anticlimax she didn’t have the heart to try sending anyone to their posts.
“Take us in, Mister Pendraegg,” she said. “And Sally, let’s have battle stations, just in case.”
“Commander,” Sally responded in her best I’d-already-done-that-but-let’s-keep-it-official voice.
“Decay, once we get close enough you can hit him with a Rosetta underlay,” Clue went on. “Let’s see who’s got the best translator system.”
The Rosetta was a scientifically-arrived-at series of basic alphanumeric and electronic building blocks that any reasonably intuitive computing or communications system ought to be able to turn into a translation matrix. Actual raw computing power did the rest, at least on the AstroCorps end. It had worked so far.
“How many, ah, Sevens have you met, Commander?” Maladin asked politely in the silence while the Tramp eased closer to the still-invisible wreck of the Boonie and the Rosetta was beamed out, buffered and – it was to be hoped – absorbed by the alien spacecraft’s communications system.
“This will be my fourth,” Z-Lin said, “if you only count brand-new dumbler-folk. I’ve also had some run-ins that were classified as near-first contacts, since they were with groups of the species who had never encountered us ‘aliens’ before. I met with agents of the Boze, members of the Adderback Confederacy, and a few random They Stand Aside. But they were all already known Seveners, even if the term doesn’t really apply since they had no intention of joining the Six Species.”
“The Adderbacks were taking a good swing at destroying the Six Species until they realised there was more than just the one Chrysanthemum-full of us,” Sally said fondly. “And that we had Godfire.”
“Well you’ve got me beat,” Waffa said. “The only new sentients I’ve met-and-greeted with were the Twistlocks.”
“Oh right,” Clue muttered, “I wasn’t even counting them. This’ll be my fifth then.”
“Third for me,” Sally contributed. “The Twists, and I was on the ship that first met the Biograbe – back in my service days.”
“Nine,” Decay said modestly. “But most of them were boring.”
“Give me boring any day of the week,” Clue asserted. “The Boze were annoying, and the Adderbacks gave the Fergies a run for their money in the creepy fucker department.”
“What about the new contacts?” Maladin asked. “Anyone we would have heard of?”
“Only the Noro Metak,” Clue said, “they were the only ones who were relative-capable, but they had a pretty rich local cluster so they just took our comms-dampening technology, thanked us kindly, and closed their borders. They’ve got a little goodwill ambassador exchange thing going on, one- or two-person buccaneer crews that travel around.”
“There was a Noro Metak bucky on Seven Widdershins,” Zeegon remarked. “She was in the lockup for drunk and disorderly.”
“Completely unsurprising,” Z-Lin said. “Our first meeting with the Noro Metak convinced me that their goodwill ambassador institution was actually a state-sanctioned exile program for pathological disturbers of the peace,” she noticed the Bonshooni were still looking on in interest, so she concluded, “the other two species were planetbound. Astragoyen, named for their planet, and The One People, named for the fact that they had no idea there were any others to choose from,” she glanced at Thord. “What about you?” she asked.
“The Drednanth has made contact with many species,” Thord replied, “but I personally, in this lifetime as aki’Drednanth, have met no beings but Molren, Blaren, Bonshooni, Fergunak, humans and my fellow aki’Drednanth,” she waved a gauntlet. “Until now,” she added.
“We’re getting a pingback,” Decay said. “Analogous Rosetta-like counter-underlay. We can work with this,” he gave an appreciative little chuckle as he unpacked the data. “They still think prime numbers are a thing,” he murmured. “That’s adorable.”
The Boonie crept into view as they approached, and soon it was visible in the viewsceeens. There wasn’t much to see, just a thick horseshoe of buckled metal and crete, plates and pylons. Clearly, the departure of the Artist had bitten a massive chunk out of the manufactory and only the outlying extremities were left. And they had suffered some pretty catastrophic damage in the accompanying explosions and venting of atmosphere.
The alien ship was at first difficult to pick out from the manufactory wreckage, and not just because it was more than a little beaten up itself. It was a hodgepodge of chambers and cables and panels – some of them a kind of primitive foil-sheathed plating, others obviously scavenged from the hull of the Boonie, further blurring the distinction between the two – with three enormous booster rockets and their fuel tanks making up the bulk of the vessel.
“Are they … are those staged solid-state combustion rockets?” Z-Lin marvelled.
“Looks like it,” Decay said.
“Where’s the nearest planet?”
“Not close enough for this guy to get here on burners,” Decay said, “unless he’s immortal. And the nearest planet is Þursheim,” he tapped at his console. “There’s a huge metadata subscript here,” he went on, “it looks like languages and cultural background, coordinates and biological data … it’s still unpacking. But we’ve got some sort of audio protocol up and running. Ready when you are, Commander.”
Z-Lin cleared her throat. “This is Commander Z-Lin Clue of the starship designated AstroCorps Transpersion Modular Payload 400,” she recited dutifully, “usually shortened to Astro Tramp 400. We are a deep-space exploration and transportation vessel and we come in peace on behalf of AstroCorps and the Six Species. Greetings.”
There was a tense silence as Decay worked. Finally, a short-burst sound transmission returned from the alien craft.
“This [treasured technology] is mine.”
Ah, Z-Lin nodded to herself. “Since our people have already picked the wreck over, as you could tell from the safety tags if you knew what to look for,” she said, “you’re welcome to what’s left. That’s why it was left. I mean, if you like hull plates and junk, this wreck is just perfect…” she paused and looked across at Decay, who suspended the packaging of her communication with a tap of a finger. “Hold on,” she murmured, “does his ship even have proper armour?” The Blaran shook his head. “Oh,” she blinked, and then twirled a finger for him to resume the package. “You don’t have metaflux. How did you get so far out … ? Never mind. We
ll, I guess I can see why you’d be impressed, then. Um, okay, help yourself to hull plating. I see you already are. We’ll send you an instruction manual on its correct installation and use.”
After another extended wait, the answer came through in recognisable tones of suspicion and disbelief. “Really?”
“You want to get full use out of the stuff, yeah? We’ll also throw in a little nuclear transpersion primer, because you’re not going to get those hull plates to work properly for you unless you have the power. Unfortunately we can’t give you a reactor, but this is going to revolutionise your space program. Which, um, so. About that. Where is your space program?”
“An object fell to [our planetary gravity well],” the alien said eventually. “It was destroyed in [re-entry]. We found its origin, the [missing signifier object], and through this we [I was assigned through primacy] came here,” the transmission ended, but Decay was already decoding a second package. “The object came to us through [missing signifier object] in space, I ventured [like the glorious heroes of old] through the [missing signifier object], and this is what I found. This [treasured technology].”
“Any chance of clearing up what a ‘missing signifier object’ is?” Clue asked quietly.
“No frame of reference,” Decay replied, “although I’m afraid I might have an … oh wait, there’s one more.”
“I came to this place,” the alien went on, “but then the [missing signifier object] [evaporated / became nothing], and I was left here.”
“Oh shit,” Z-Lin muttered.
“I guess we have the same basic thought at this point,” Decay remarked.
“A stray piece of the Boonie drifted off, some scrap of underspace tech,” Z-Lin said. “It somehow fell through and ended up burning up in their atmosphere, they put this guy in the nearest rocket and fired him up after it, and he came through the same … blob … and emerged here.”
“Then the blob dissolved when we closed the door,” Decay said, “leaving him stranded.”
“That’s pretty heavy on the conjecture,” Janya remarked. “We didn’t see any ‘blobs’ that acted as wormholes.”
“The Artist had a whole mess of different experiments going on in the part of the Boonie he managed to steal,” Z-Lin said. “This sort of usage was his end-game, or at least part of it. And it’s about the only thing that explains the presence of a ship this primitive, this far from anywhere,” she waved a hand. “And you have to admit – any other explanation, this close to Boonie’s Last Stand, would be pushing the bounds of coincidence.”
“This is true,” Janya admitted.
“I’m sending some rough descriptive cues,” Decay said, “based on the information we gathered from our own experiences. We’re still not quite compatible for more complex media, but if this guy came through an underspace darkerness blob, chances are he’ll be able to confirm it based on this.”
It didn’t take long. “That is [missing signifier object],” the alien said. “That is [missing signifier object], that is [missing signifier object].”
“Okay, got it,” Z-Lin said, sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Alright. Okay. How long have you been here?”
“My people are coming,” the unhelpful and slightly disturbing answer came back a few moments later. “We have [contingency plans].”
“Right … and how far…” she turned to Decay again. “Do we know how far they have to come, assuming they have to fly the long way?”
“His stellar coordinates are logged onto every single broadcast he’s making,” Decay replied, “in that metadata subscript – you might also want to tell him that’s a terrible idea – so let’s see. His home planet seems to be about … six weeks away, at maximum relative. At subluminal, forget it. He’s done well to survive, but…”
“Has our shouter actually identified himself yet?” Clue asked. Decay shook his head, and Z-Lin gestured for him to prepare another package. “What’s your name, friend?”
Decay laughed as the response transmission came through. “I am Rakmanmorion,” the alien proclaimed, “Conqueror of Space.”
Z-Lin kept a straight face. “And we’re the first people you’ve seen?” she asked, wondering if Rakmanmorion would even understand the point of the question. “There was nobody else here when you arrived? This … how long have you been here?” she repeated the question.
“[Probably eighteen] [time units],” Rakmanmorion, Conqueror of Space replied, and Clue kicked herself mentally. Of course the translators would have enormous trouble with precisely that sort of question, at least until both systems could break each other down to their component infinitesimalities and then build back up to comparative timeframes. “I have been alone here all this time,” Rakmanmorion went on far more helpfully than Z-Lin deserved, “except the [Boonie’s Last Stand’s computer] was talking to my [computer] and so I deduced with my [area of brain] and [genital aspect] that this was abandoned [treasured technology] and therefore mine for the taking.”
“Did he say ‘genital aspect’?” Zeegon murmured.
“No, the computer did,” Z-Lin replied quietly. “Probably struggling with a colloquialism of some sort. Think ‘gut feeling’ and just follow the gut through to its inevitable outlet,” she turned to Decay. “What’s our computer getting from the Boonie’s logs? What have AstroCorps Rep and Rec left here anyway?”
“They clocked out three months back,” Decay said. “Everything useful was in the other two-thirds of the Boonie, so they stripped out all the restricted and controlled tech, tagged what was left and headed back to Þursheim.”
“And there was no sign of any more of the Artist’s handiwork,” she asked, “on board or floating through space nearby?”
“Nothing in the salvage log,” Decay said. “Not that they would have known what to look for. And from what we saw on Jauren Silva, the Artist had taken all his material with him. Maybe this piece was left when the room it was in got cut off by the edge of his transport volume, or due to the nature of the experiment it stayed behind here when he dived … impossible to say, really. It’s all gone now, obviously.”
“Just as well,” Zeegon said. “Imagine underspace technology in the hands of Rakmanmorion, Conqueror of Space.”
“And according to the log, he showed up and parked here about five weeks ago,” Decay added, “which might help our computer figure out how long ‘eighteen time units’ is.”
Z-Lin whistled. “Five weeks,” she murmured. “I don’t care what sort of physiology you’ve got, that can’t be fun in a ship that primitive.”
“When do we get see?” Dunnkirk said eagerly. “See the Rakmanmorion?”
“When we’re off the communication channel and sitting safely in a private conference room,” Z-Lin replied, “where we can all go ‘oh my God ewww’ without causing a diplomatic incident. Looking at an alien for the first time is not something you want to do where the alien can see your reactions, if you can possibly control that scenario.”
“Do people often say ‘oh my God ewww’ when they see an alien for the first time?” Maladin asked politely.
“It’s usually a more subtle case of body language or facial expression,” Z-Lin said, “although we’re trained not to underestimate the effect a frightening, repellent or simply bizarre physical appearance can have on the observer’s subconscious responses.”
“There are theories that the Six Species works because we’re all pretty similar – arms, legs, faces – and the assorted so-called Seveners all fail to make the grade on some level,” Janya said, while Decay packaged and sent the tech information to Rakmanmorion’s ship. “The noteworthy exception being the Fergunak, and this is one of the reasons relations with them are often so strained.”
“Oh,” Waffa said lightly, “so it’s not because they’re bloodthirsty murderous sharks that enjoy tearing people to pieces and eating them for fun?”
“That’s another factor,” Janya conceded glacially.
“An
d of course the physical and linguistic cues we display are always open to interpretation according to the other species’ behavioural norms,” Clue went on. “Even if we just smile and speak quietly, how that looks to a member of Rakmanmorion’s species is still anyone’s guess. There’s no real solution to that aside from extended diplomatic contact, but at least it can be minimised by holding initial exposures in private and then analysing the potential lost-in-translation effect.”
“I say ‘ewww’ when I first see human,” Dunnkirk admitted cheerfully. “You so strange, with this why you have it the clump of hair on the top and then between legs? I say ‘ewww’.”
There was a decidedly uncomfortable silence at this.
“You … first saw a human and it was a naked human?” Zeegon ventured.
“Yes,” Dunnkirk replied blandly.
“Oh,” Zeegon turned back to the helm. “Okey dokey.”
“That sounds like an interesting story,” Sally added.
“We have a long way to go,” Maladin smiled, “maybe you’ll get to hear it.”
“I live in cho’gule for First Prime and on until I four hundred years,” Dunnkirk said, his affable tone unchanged. “The cho’gule, the brothello, the market of the sex, the–”
“Yes, okay,” Z-Lin said, “noted.”
“That was basically the story,” Maladin admitted.
“The anticipation was the worst part of it,” Zeegon remarked. “Aside from, you know, the content.”
“Somebody please tell me we have more communications from Rakmanmorion, Conqueror of Space,” Z-Lin begged.
“I shall return to my quarters,” Thord said, mildly but rather abruptly. “My envirosuit is running low, I neglected to charge it on my last emergence.”
Clue gave the aki’Drednanth a nod. Thord turned smoothly, after a quiet exchange with the Bonshooni that left them on the bridge to witness the opening communications with the alien, and stepped towards the exit. She paused next to Janus, reached out and placed a massive gauntleted hand on his shoulder. She squeezed gently, and Janus looked up and gave her a hesitant smile. All was forgiven, clearly, on both sides. Z-Lin had seen the report and heard a couple of anecdotes about Janus’s drop-in at the farm ring, but there had been no repeat incidents. Frankly, Z-Lin wasn’t surprised. Getting roared at by a grumpy, territorial aki’Drednanth would probably be enough to curb the fanaticism of even the most devoted enthusiast.
Drednanth: A Tale of the Final Fall of Man Page 20
