John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind (13 page)

She took a last look at the incredibly luxurious suite before she left. A few months ago she had thought that only gods or holo stars could live like this. It was gorgeous and seductive, like the rest of the ship, and she wanted to be away from it more than she'd wanted anything else in her life.

Huerta met her at the shuttle dock. "Did you sleep well?"

For the first time in hours she felt a little safe. Surely they wouldn't try anything in this mass of people. "Never better. The setup here is a lot more posh than I'm used to."

"That could be changed," he said enigmatically. Uh-oh, she thought, here comes the pitch. Bewilderingly, though, he let it drop. Izquierda arrived and he signaled to Huerta. The young man went to join him, and he remained with the circle around the director for the duration of the trip back down to the planet.

The
Angel's
crew had not yet arrived when Kiril got off the shuttle. She began walking toward the ship, then stopped. She didn't want to look conspicuous. Best to wait for them to show. There was no sign of the aliens yet. A few minutes later they arrived, and she went to join them.

"Any problems?" the skipper asked Kiril.

"We have to talk," she said in a low voice.

"Later," the skipper said, smiling for the benefit of anyone who might be looking. "Don't say anything until we're back aboard ship."

Nagamitsu saw them and signaled for them to join him where he stood with a knot of scientists. "Any luck with the language?" the skipper asked.

"We've made very little headway," Nagamitsu said. "The computers have analyzed every sound they made and come up with nothing. We were hoping Homer might have had more success. How about it?"

"I lack sufficient data," Homer said. "But I suspect that the vocal sounds are only a part of their system of communication. There are odd breaks and pauses in what seems to be an otherwise conventional speech mode."

"We caught the pauses," said one of the scientists, "but we couldn't make anything of them. Our holos didn't show any concurrent body language to fill them in. Of course, we have no way yet to interpret their facial expressions. Some kind of chemical signaling has been suggested."

"My own belief," Homer said, "is that they employ a mixture of speech and telepathic communication."

"Telepathy!" said the head of the scientific mission. "It's so rare that we have little understanding of it. If they really do communicate that way, we could have great difficulty in establishing a dialogue. Are you certain, Homer?"

"Not perfectly, but I have experience of other telepathic or part-telepathic species. The speech mannerisms of these people bear some resemblance to theirs. Perhaps today I can gain enough data for a key to their speech. I have only a very slight telepathic sensitivity myself, and in my experience it is rare that even two fully telepathic species can communicate efficiently. However, I think a mutual language can be established. If they did not depend upon it strongly, they would have no spoken language at all. It is not impossible that the telepathic signals carry only small but crucial inflections of meaning."

"Let's hope so," Nagamitsu said. "Here they come."

There were only three of the aliens this time. Two of them carried instruments of some kind; a flat, black box and a slender rod covered with odd markings.

"It looks as if they've come prepared to do some analyzing of their own," Nagamitsu said. "Homer, gentlemen, go to it."

Homer and three of the scientific party walked over to the aliens. They had recording devices and one carried a flat computer display screen. If the two species could not communicate directly, it was hoped that some kind of computer dialogue could be established. Assuming that the aliens had computers, of course. It was difficult for the humans to imagine how a species could accomplish interstellar travel without computers, but Homer insisted that he knew of several species that did exactly that.

They watched the scientists at their tedious task for several minutes. "Admiral," the skipper said, "this is a momentous event of great historical significance, but it's about as exciting as watching grass grow. If you don't mind, we'll return to our ship and paint the bulkheads or something. Let us know if something interesting happens."

"1 envy your relative independence," Nagamitsu said. "Duty keeps the rest of us here. Go ahead, but keep your ship-to-ship hailer open."

They returned to the
Angel.
Torwald started to talk as soon as they were inside, but the skipper hand-signaled him to be quiet. When they were in the mess room, she turned to the rest. "They might have some kind of listening device aimed at us, and it'd look suspicious if we buttoned up the hatch, so no talking near the lock. Finn, check her for snoop devices."

Kiril stood motionless while Finn, checked her out with an instrument that looked like a pistol to her. She hadn't considered the possibility that they might have planted a bug on her. "She's clean," Finn announced.

"All right, Kiril, let's hear it." The skipper sat, and so did the rest.

Kiril began her story, from the time she boarded the shuttle to the dinner in the officer's wardroom. When she got to the part about her late-night escapade, she said: "Sorry, Skipper. I know you said for me not to snoop on my own, but it just seemed too important, and the opportunity was there."

The skipper snorted disgustedly. "I have a hard enough time getting people to follow orders in this ship. It'd be too much to hope that somebody'd be obedient on another ship. Go ahead, tell us all about your spook mission."

Kiril told them the rest. She could tell from their expressionless stares that they weren't buying it. "I hope you realize," the skipper said when she had finished, "that that's just about the craziest story I ever heard. A duplicate
Angel
in the hold? Hired troops hiding in the supply rooms? Are you sure you didn't sample the goods in that bar in your luxury suite?"

Kiril took the knife from her boot and tossed it in the middle of the table. "The shops aren't open yet," she said, "so you know I didn't pick it up from a souvenir vendor."

The skipper frowned and picked the knife up. She unwrapped the blade and handed it to Finn. "Anybody seen one like this before?" Finn shook his head and passed it to Torwald.

The quartermaster examined the curved blade and deeply checked, black composition handle. "This was made on Beli-sarius. I saw lots of troops from there carrying these during the War. Those rats changed sides so many times their boots were made with toes at both ends."

"So the part about the mercenaries is true," Finn said. "Kiril, I've known a lot of meres. Mostly, they're just soldiers adrift after the War who don't know any other trade. Do you think the one you encountered was a rogue?"

She shook her head. "That whole lot's the kind that'll cut your throat for pocket change. Back in Civis Astra I've seen them knife each other in alleys for the price of a drink."

"He has them there for some kind of dirty work, then," Bert said. "But that part about the ship is still a little hard to accept."

The skipper was sunk in her chair, pondering deeply, her head almost buried in her collar. "I'm not so sure about that now," she said around her cigar. "Ham, what shape's our
Registry of Spacecraft
in?"

"I had it updated last year," the mate reported.

"Maybe that'll do us," she said. "I want to know what's happened to all the ships of the old Angel Line. I thought we had the only one still spacing, but maybe I'm wrong. Let's go see."

They trooped up to the bridge and crowded inside. Ham keyed the computer for the relevant information and watched it arrive on the screen. "Here we go: The Angel Line was founded in 2085, and the ships were built on Luna over the next ten years. First one was delivered in '86."

"We're not interested in how they started," the skipper said, "just in how they ended up."

"Let's see," Ham said.
"Angel of the Nebulae
collided with a Black Star Line ship in Mars orbit in 2127 and was scrapped as beyond salvage.
Star Angel
was destroyed during the Six Power War of 2110.
Venusian Angel
just plain disappeared during Whooppee transition." They all shuddered. Every year one or two ships went into Whooppee drive and were never heard from again. Spacer superstition held that the crews of

such ships endured Whooppee horrors for eternity.

"Angel of Sirius
was scrapped as obsolete ten years ago. Here's
Space Angel,
we know all about her.
Guardian Angel
was an armed ship, used for convoying the others in the early days. Lots of ship-to-ship piracy back in those days. She was sold off when the Angel Line was absorbed by Four Planet Line in '47. Bought by a state-owned service during the Sirius system settlement. Used for inner-system convoying at that time. Pressed into naval service during several emergencies, the last time being during the War. She was used as an orbital picket and saw no action. She was mothballed after the War. That's where her record ends."

"I'd forgotten about that one," the skipper said. "Let's have a look at her."

Ham punched the display control and an image formed in the holo tank. It had been made by some early holographic process and the image was inferior, flickering every few seconds. It was good enough to show all relevant details, though. It showed a ship of the same class as the
Space Angel,
and for the first time Kiril saw what the
Angel
must have looked like when she was new.
Guardian Angel
had the same bluntly sleek lines, but she was resplendent with blue and gold enameling.
Space Angel's
enameling had been scoured off by more than a century of space dust.

Michelle pointed at the ship's midsection. "There are the slots around the hold area that Kiril saw."

"This is the one," the skipper said. "Kiril, I owe you an apology. You told it to us straight."

Kiril didn't know what to say to that. It had never occurred to her that people should believe something she said just because she said it.

"She was an armed ship," Torwald said, "so I'd imagine the slots are some kind of weapon ports."

"Now comes the big question," Bert said. "Just what does this all lead up to?"

"That has me stumped," said the skipper, "but I'll confess that I'm beginning to wish I'd let K'Stin take Izquierda out when I had the chance."

"Told you," K'Stin said.

* * *

There was no progress in establishing contact-with the aliens that day. Once again they upped ship for the night. Kiril was relieved that she would be sleeping in her tiny cabin rather than m the palatial suite aboard the Supernova. She closed and, from habit, locked the hatch to her cabin. She was about to drop onto her bunk when she saw that it was already occupied by something green and furry. She squawked and flattened back against the hatch as it sat up and looked at her. A pair of bright, button eyes blinked at her solemnly from either side of a big, blobby nose. It was about two feet high as it sat with its stumpy legs curled under its nearly sphejical body. It scratched in its belly fur with a forepaw that looked like a primitive hand. Enormous ears formed a bonnet around its placid face. It looked harmless, but Kiril wasn't taking any chances. She reached behind herself and got the hatch open. She heard footsteps in the corridor and knew by their sound that it was Lafayette heading back to the engine room.

"Hey," she called, "come here, there's something in my bunk and I think it must've got in from outside."

Lafayette barreled into the cabin, knocking her aside, yanking a heavy wrench from his belt. He stopped and stared at the thing on the bed, then put the wrench away, laughing uproariously.

"What's so funny?" she demanded. "What is that thing?"

Lafayette picked it up, and the little beast tried to wrap its stubby arms around his neck. "What scared you is probably the most harmless life form since the sponge. This is Teddy. He's a Narcissan Teddybear. It's the only lite form known to have evolved lovability as a defense mechanism." He tickled it under the chin.

"You mean it's a pet? How come I ain't—" she corrected herself hastily,"—
haven't
seen it before?"

"He's been hibernating. Every couple of years he'll go off into a ventilation duct and sleep for a few months. That's why he's so skinny now. He must have awakened today and crawled out here through your vent. He can take off the grates and replace them."

"Skinny, is he?" she said doubtfully. Teddy was shaped like a ball, and she wondered what he must look like when he was fat.

"I'll take him up to the galley. He's probably hungry." He turned to go, and Kiril realized that she didn't want him to go just yet.

"Lafayette," she said impulsively, "what's the story on Nancy?"

"Nancy?" he said, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she began lamely, "I mean, why's she so quiet? And why does she go off by herself to play that instrument?"

"You heard her play her violin? You were lucky. She doesn't do it often. There's not much I can tell you about her, except she was born on Li Po. I know you've heard of that place. She was one of the few who got out before the battle."