Slow Train to Arcturus Page 2

  The truth dawned on Kretz then. "It's not a probe. Or a spaceship. It's a habitat. A space habitat. They've got away from the space-constraint issue with layering."

  His engineering side was doing some hasty recalculation as to the surface area in the habitat. This would increase area by several thousand percent. True, it would be more than a little claustrophobic in the passages-walking closer they could see the walls were covered in growing things.

  "I think it is both a habitat and a spaceship. Those inside have a small world to live in," said Zawn, slowly. "They must be a species far more adapted to life in space than us. Better able to tolerate enclosed spaces, for starters."

  "But why?" asked Abret, peering around. "I mean, why build a ship that appears to do nothing but transport their habitat across maybe a hundred light-years? The ship isn't slowing. It hasn't slowed-according to examination of back data-for at least a hundred years. And yet… a species content to dwell in space habitats could make their home around any star. And there is more room around any one star than they could ever use."

  It was quite a question, thought Kretz. "Maybe they like to travel or to explore, and this is just to provide them with a home while they do?"

  "Could be, I suppose," said Zawn, staring around. "We make the arctic observatories as homelike as possible. Or maybe this is a failed colony ship. Do you think anything is still alive in here? Besides the plant-life that you're peering at, Kretz?"

  "Could be too," said Kretz, peering at the divided leaves. The convergence was amazing! He clipped a tiny piece off with a monomolecular-edged sampling blade and dropped it into a sample holder on his belt. Of course it would have to be examined under the strictest quarantine conditions, even if the risks of biocontamination were minuscule. But he could hardly wait to get a microscope to it, and to begin investigating its chemical makeup.

  "Then why aren't they here?" asked Abret, moving back nervously from the leafy passage-mouth.

  "Maybe they're not expecting visitors in deep space," said Zawn, flippantly. "I don't think you should be damaging the flora, Kretz. It's their property. They might take offense-"

  And then something moved, darting forward towards them.

  Abret must have been nearer to the thin edge of panic than he'd let on, because he fired.

  A piece of alien greenery was cut and fell, and something exploded and burst into flames briefly.

  A stripe-faced creature, clad in green and brown mottling that had made it difficult to see, dropped something and raised its hands. So did two others that had been so perfectly hidden that none of the Miranese explorers had seen them.

  Three Miran had faced three aliens for a long moment before Zawn said "Raise your hands too. It must be a greeting. See, empty palms, a gesture of friendship and peace."

  The aliens stood like statues as Zawn and Kretz echoed the two-handed greeting, while Abret, obviously almost paralyzed with fear, stood with his laser pistol at the ready.

  "Abret. Greet them," said Zawn, firmly. The frightened deep-space physicist responded slowly, raising just the one hand above his head, keeping his laser pointed at the aliens. They all stood like that for a very long time, looking at each other. They were disturbingly Miran-shaped, and yet alien. Wrong. Yes, they were bipeds, and had the normal arrangement of arms and a head. Two eyes, a mouth and a nose. But the hands were wrong. Five digits instead of the normal three and opposable. It looked as if one of their digits-the inner one-might be opposable. And the head and face were even more wrong. The heads had filaments on them, as if the aliens were suffering from extreme cold. And the face pigment-stripes were all different. The position of the eyes, the shape of the nares, the angle of the mouth were all slightly different, and the external part of what was probably an ear was too low. At least they were not showing their teeth. Eventually, Kretz said in whisper-ridiculous, because the aliens couldn't hear their radio transmissions and certainly couldn't understand them: "Can we stop greeting now? My arms are getting very tired."

  Zawn slowly lowered his arms. The aliens looked at each other and slowly did the same. And the external mikes picked up the sound of alien speech.

  Transcomp cut in. "Unknown but sequential pattern," the computer supplied. "Analyzing."

  "So what do we do now?" asked Abret.

  "Hope like hell that they're not too mad at the damage you did shooting at them. Apologize," said Zawn.

  "How do we do that?" asked Kretz.

  "We repeat their words back them from Transcomp. And then we do some miming," said Zawn. "It appears as if we have similar meanings in our hand-gestures, anyway."

  What the expedition leader lacked in animal-behavior knowledge he made up for in decisiveness. Personally, Kretz thought that the miming could have meant nearly anything from "sorry" to "if you move we'll shoot at you." But the repeat-back of the Transcomp recorded words had produced a flurry of more alienese. When this was repeated back to them, one of the aliens had grasped the situation and began pointing to objects and naming them. They plainly were quick on the uptake. But that was what you'd expect from the builders of such a magnificent artifact.

  What followed was the most exhausting and thrilling time period of Kretz's life. Transcomp got the names of objects quickly enough. Once they got the idea the aliens had even contrived to show actions and provide words. Kretz wasn't sure how much of the translation was getting through the other way. The aliens called all of them "Zawn." And they appeared willing to help, even if Abret had kept his distance, nervously, most of the time. Another thing had been noting the appearance of small 'bots of alien design which had eventually appeared and begun repairing the damage from Abret's shot. Obviously the alien ship's internal machinery still functioned well, if slowly.

  It had been a triumphant and excited group that had returned to the ship.

  The aliens were… alien.

  And yet, less so than some of the scientists and the general public had expected. If they'd been blobs of slime they might have been more wary. If Transcomp, designed to provide interface between nests from any island or culture on Miran had proved less adaptable and successful, things might have been different too, admitted Kretz.

  Everyone had wanted to be part of the next group, but Leader Zawn had taken that cautiously too. "We'll take four people next time. They seem friendly. I'm afraid, Kretz and Abret, I won't be able to take you two, this time."

  Abret, in the nervous-moody stage before change, certainly didn't mind. Kretz too hadn't regretted it in the slightest. The systematic examination of the plant sample he'd taken took up most of that time. The others would merely have been part of the second contact. He'd been part of the first, and his monograph on the alien plants would ensure that his fame continued long after he'd mothered his sons and become a vast matriarch, too big to move without help. The structure of the plant had been like looking at a young student's first badly understood research of Miran vegetation. It was… similar in function, but obviously had arrived there from a different direction. The chemists would have fun with some of the long-chain organic molecules too, but they were carbon compounds. Evolution had a myriad possible paths to follow in theory, but perhaps in practice there were certain constraints. Kretz found himself intensely curious as to how these alien plants would taste. He resisted the crazy urge. Miran digestion was robust, but who knew what alien toxins would do to one's livers?

  The second expedition came back bubbling with excitement at the friendliness of the aliens. "They want to meet all of us. It… seems they are rather vague on 'outside,' " said Zawn. "We're making huge strides with the language. I've decided: Except for Abret and Derfel, who will be taking the lander to the source of the laser pulses, and Leter and Guun, who will remain onboard the ship, we're all going in after next rest period. It's a veritable treasure house of alien life-forms and equipment, Kretz. And… you know what? We think it was supposed to be a colony ship. A whole series of them, rather. They say their bead was supposed to take them to a n
ew sun. Obviously their astronomy must be far ahead of ours, to predict what suns would have habitable planets."

  Kretz had been just as excited about the idea of more material to add to his biological firsts and keen on engineering discovery. He'd quietly taken along the better part of an engineering repairman toolkit.

  He was expecting great things.

  2

  Internal confidential e-vox. Inward laser transmission.

  From: Field Agent P. Firston, deep-space sector 3.

  To: Agent Supervisor FJ Lu-Hellens re: Weapons seizure.

  Habitat unit 36 (Free Federation of Aryan Survivalists).

  Illegal weapons detected with remote sensors in the personal effects of the attached list of embarkees. Will require at least four full enforcement units, and heavy ordnance and armor for confiscation before departure. Permission to schedule raid for 3.30 CMT, 11/1/2153

  Internal confidential e-vox. Outward laser transmission.

  From: Agent Supervisor FJ Lu-Hellens

  To: Field Agent P. Firston, deep-space sector 3. re: Weapons seizure.

  Permission denied.

  Attached vox: private

  From: Fenella Lu-Hellens

  To: Paul Firston.

  Word from on high, Paul. Ignore it. Ignore anything smaller than tactical nukes. We've been tracking most of the stuff for months. Most of it is twentieth century, obsolete, but better out of the solar system than in it. The boss says: So long as they're taking it outsystem on a one-way trip, who cares? Maybe the stupid bastards will find something to shoot at out there. If not, they can always shoot each other.

  Fen

  The platter-table was stacked with… things. The scientist part of Kretz wanted to categorize them more precisely but… he really wasn't sure what they were. They steamed. The blackened bits looked… almost animallike. As if someone had dismembered and charred some creature. A large creature, about the size of a small alien. They oozed red liquid. The aliens waved them forward.

  "Zawn. What is going on here?" asked Borch.

  The archeologist smiled. "I think that we are being invited to a feast. A gesture of hospitality."

  "It looks like a burned alien hatchling," said Selna.

  "Hush," said Zawn sternly. "They're bound to be offended by that, if their Transcomp picks it up."

  "So what do we do?" asked someone. Most of the ship's crew was here now, and several of them were still very wary of the aliens.

  Kretz didn't care what Zawn did. He wasn't getting too close to the things first. He noticed that Selna too had thought this out and was at the very back of the Miran crew. The aliens had stepped back to give them a wide berth, a clear passage to the feast.

  Zawn turned and smiled. "We go through the motions. Pretend. We can't really eat of course. But it is a primitive gesture of welcome common to most soc-"

  Whatever Zawn had been about to say was cut off by the roar of flame, leaping from the nozzle of a device held by two of the aliens. The fiery blast engulfed the Miran party.

  The fire died back and Kretz, still stunned with shock, saw how the bare handful of stripe-faced aliens that had welcomed them forward to the feast had somehow multiplied. Now they were a mob, swarming forwards, screaming, teeth exposed, knives and other strange objects brandished. Kretz had little time to think about it, though. The aliens were onto them, attacking, attempting to pull them down.

  The suits had withstood the fire easily enough. They were made to survive vacuum and the temperature variations of deep space. The fabric was tough, self-healing. It would take more than some primitive knife to cut it, with one slash. But the aliens were gleeful about giving the Miran a death of a thousand cuts. And there were just so many of them. Even setting fire to their own environment with the flamethrower had not stopped them.

  As he struggled with the aliens in this mad place of fire and smoke, Kretz heard Zawn desperately yelling over the radio for help from those still on the ship.

  Knocked off his feet, pinned down with an alien stabbing repeatedly at his chest, Kretz hoped they'd come fast.

  And then from somewhere closer at hand came other intervention. Selna had not obeyed Zawn's instructions about the laser pistols being left behind. And somehow he'd managed to get it out and pull the trigger.

  Selna hadn't been aiming. His laser-bolt burned through several of their attackers-and navigator Borch.

  The aliens should have fled. But instead the mob turned on Selna like a pack of blood-crazed feral animals.

  Kretz staggered to his feet as the aliens charged at Selna. Selna was still firing as they struck him. The laser pistol discharged most of its charge into the now exposed stanchions as Selna and an alien fought for it, while others pulled him to the ground. Kretz, struggling with the shock, reacted like any Miran male in danger. He tried to run. The best he managed was to retreat into a fallen fold of vegetation-clad wall. He saw that Zawn too was miraculously still on his feet, trying to flee with Pelta clinging to him.

  And then came the sound of Guul-one of the drive technicians who had been left on the ship-yelling down the radio.

  "Some kind of projectile weapon…" And then the sound of a mighty explosion echoed down the earphones.

  Nutrient splashed out of tubes severed by Selna's laser-pistol and hissed on the fires, as the alien mob pulled Selna down.

  For a few seconds Kretz watched in horror.

  The air was hazy with smoke. The little 'bots were trying to quench the flames. The crazy aliens didn't seem to care that they were destroying their own home. Warily, Kretz moved from behind the cover of the vegetation, heading across the gap. If he was to get back to his ship he'd have to get past them. They were dancing around Selna's body, kicking him and spitting on him. Making strange wild caterwauling noises. The sight was enough to make him want to rush in, to try to protect his companion.

  But he knew that it was too late for that now. Instead he had to try to survive.

  With relief he reached the next segment of luxuriant greenery. Nutrient fluid still dribbled from the pipes high up the flexible plastic wall, where Selna's last desperate laser-bolt had cut into it. The plants farther across were burned by the aliens' crude flamethrower, but in this area they still provided him with cover.

  The piece of passage tore free of its stanchion under his weight. As he fell with it Kretz realized that cover did not equate with safety. That last bolt from Selna's weapon had not just cut nutrient tubes. And, worse still, the fall had drawn the aliens' attention.

  Even through the helmet, Kretz could hear the yammering and baying of the stripe-faced aliens. Transcomp was beginning to cope with some of the words, adding to the vocabulary that they'd already established, and applying inductive logic to try to deduce meanings and words. It coped with this particular input. It appeared that they were all screaming "Kill it!"

  The entire pack of aliens surged after him as he staggered and clambered into the next passageway full of greenery. All he could do was run. So he did. His legs were longer than theirs, but they knew their way around in these labyrinthine passages and he had barely an idea of which direction he was going in. There was no thought now about making his way back towards the ship. The only direction open to him was farther in, towards the core of the space habitat. He ran on down the endless coiled passages.

  The baying hunters seemed almost frantic now.

  Then an explosion knocked him flying.

  Only his headlong sprint had saved his life, as there was now a smoking hole where the passage floor had been. This area was relatively unravaged otherwise. The walls of the passage were dense with hanging plant growth. Kretz crashed in among the fragile branches. Red fruits cascaded down onto him. An oddly lucid part of his stunned mind registered that these were the first fruiting bodies he'd seen. But this was hardly the time for exercising one of the specialties that had got him onto the intercept ship, xenobotany. He cowered back into the bush.

  They were firing some kind of projectile weapo
n at him. The suit absorbed some of the impact, but some of the objects had cut it. He was bleeding. And his body took longer to mend than the self-repairing fabric of the suit.

  A yell came from the direction where Kretz had hoped to find safety. Transcomp struggled. "Insufficient for present extrapolation," it said calmly. A computer could be calm. Kretz could not. He'd seen four of his companions killed before he and Selna had managed to flee. Zawn and Pelta had also fled in the opposite direction. Like Selna, they could also be dead by now. Or perhaps they'd gotten back to the ship. Desperately, Kretz wished he could be there too.

  "He's ours," Transcomp supplied the Miranese words in a cool level computer voice. Transcomp would eventually learn to translate nuances, but it was struggling with a too small established vocabulary and an alien species.

  There was a barricade across the passage, in the direction he'd planned to go. It seemed a sin to destroy alien technology and habitat, but, by the looks of it, they were busy destroying it themselves. Kretz used the monomolecular-edged sampling-knife to cut through the tough passage wall he was cowering into, making a narrow slit. He squeezed through, as quietly as possible.

  "He's getting away!" Transcomp supplied, dashing the hope that he could escape unnoticed.

  The passageway he'd forced his way into was severely damaged. Unlike the spiral passage he'd come from, this one was just dead. Lightless and lifeless. Using his headlight, he could see that the skeletal remains of the aliens' plants still hung from the walls. Either a systems failure or warfare had destroyed this part of the space habitat. Kretz picked a direction to run at random. The direction he wanted to go-back towards the end pole where the Miran intercept ship stood-was not an option. He didn't wait to find out if he was still being chased. Instead he raced down the dark passage as fast as his feet would carry him. He nearly fell to an unpleasant death as a result. Once again the passage showed signs that it had been damaged by some form of explosion. The incredibly tough wall fabric hung in tatters and even the girders that supported the spiral passages were twisted. Two hung broken.