John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind (20 page)

"I said come look at this. I was trying to see how they have this hut attached to the ground. Look." They all bellied down. The barky wall merged with the ground without a seam. Nancy had scraped away the soil to a depth of about two inches. An inch below the ground level the wall subdivided into thousands of thin, hairy fibers which gripped the soil.

"Those are roots," Michelle said disbelievingly. "This thing
grew
here."

"Are they taking advantage of a local resource," Torwald said, "or did they bring this?"

"This thing was designed as a dwelling for creatures the size of the aliens or us," said Nancy. "It wouldn't have evolved here."

"Then this is a product of gene manipulation," Torwald said. "Do you think they grew their instruments as well? That would explain their organic look."

"If so," said Michelle, "then their level of plant manipulation is immensely greater than ours. We usually have to completely rebuild the soil of a new planet before we can get Earth-evolved plants to grow there. These people can go out in the wilds of a new world and grow their own houses."

"They have to make some use of metals," Torwald said. "They have spacecraft, and vegetable fibers make notoriously poor conductors. And the head alien back at the start of negotiations wore a dagger."

"It was sheathed, we didn't see the blade," Michelle reminded him.

"They have to use metals and glass and synthetics," Torwald insisted stubbornly. "Otherwise they never could have developed an advanced technology and gotten into space. It just doesn't make sense."

"Since when," said Michelle, "is it incumbent upon the universe to make sense to you? Don't you remember our trip to the center of this galaxy? How much of that made sense?"

"Very little. But it might've if we'd had a closer look."

They went on in this vein for some time. Kiril got tired of listening and went to the door to see if anything was going on outside. She sat cross-legged in the doorway to make it plain that she wasn't trying to make a break for it. There was only one guard there, sitting, or rather squatting, next to the door. He appeared at first glance to be unarmed, but now that she had leisure, she looked closely at the complex of little tubes and bumps strapped around his forearm. Some of them ended in open muzzlelike holes just above his wrists. They were almost certainly weapons.

She took a deep breath. "Hello," she hazarded. The guard swiveled his head to look at her. His mouth crooked up at one corner and down at the other. She hoped that was the equivalent of a friendly smile, but it was more likely to be a hostile frown. These people had no reason to like them. Quite the contrary.

The guard said something. Kiril felt, almost, that she could understand a little of what he was saying. It was like when she heard a piece of working machinery that after a while began to sound like voices saying something she couldn't quite understand. "What did you say?" she said.

He spoke again, and this time she could make some sense of it, not as words strung together in sentences, but as concepts surfacing that she could understand. If she concentrated hard enough, she could make out his meaning. It was like listening to someone speaking a language she didn't understand fully, but

of which she knew just enough words to catch the gist.

What he had said, in essence, was: "Why . . . little ship . . . attack? Dzuna . . . peace."

"Hey, did you hear that?" Kiril said to the others. "We didn't have any luck with their language, but they've been learning ours. A few words, anyway."

They stared at her in puzzlement. "All I heard was their language," said Torwald. He sounded concerned. "You'd better take it easy, Kiril. The hunger may be getting to you."

"But I understood him, plain as anything. A little, anyway."

"Maybe you thought you did," Michelle said doubtfully. "What did you hear him say?"

She told them, leaving in the pauses where she hadn't understood. When she got to the word "Dzuna," she had trouble with it. The alien's vocal equipment wasn't human and the sounds were difficult.

"What does that word mean?" Torwald asked.

"It's what they call themselves," she said. It seemed to be obvious.

"How could you know that?" Nancy asked. "Even if you heard him say human words, you've never heard that one before. Without context, it should just be a meaningless sound to you."

"But that's how he meant it!" she insisted. "I know he did! Look, I'll show you." She faced the guard once more and pointed a finger at herself. "Human," she said.

With a double-jointed contortion the guard indicated himself and said, "Gimlil."

"Didn't sound much like 'Dzuna' to me," Torwald said.

"He thinks we're trading names," she said impatiently. "I'll try again." She pointed at herself: "Human." She pointed at Nancy: "Human." At Torwald: "Human." At Michelle: "Human." She waved to include them all: "Human."

The guard indicated himself, then waved to take in the whole installation. "Dzuna," he said. At least it was close to the word Kiril had repeated. The first sound was a sort of buzz and the
n
sound had the tinge of an 1, but it was plain enough.

"Well," said Torwald, considerably subdued, "at least now

we know what to call them. That's a help."

"Try to say something to him," Michelle said. "Tell him he's wrong about us."

"Look," Kiril said to the guard, "it wasn't us that attacked you. It was somebody else." The guard's features shifted slightly, but he showed no comprehension.

"Use simple words, Kiril," Nancy advised. "Leave out tenses, use only the present. Use as few words as you can to get meaning across."

Kiril nodded. She waved at her friends and herself and spoke very slowly. "We not attack."

The guard's brow ridges went up and his cheekbones went down, widening his eyes enormously. He had a great deal more facial mobility than his bony features indicated. "We ... see . . . little ship . . . your ship ..." She could tell how astonished he was.

Kiril translated for the others. They had heard only gibberish, but there had been no mistaking the violent change of expression the second time Kiril had addressed him. "I'm not surprised he was astonished," Michelle said. "I believe he heard you speaking his language, just as you heard him speaking yours the first time."

"This is getting spooky," Torwald said. "You think she's able to communicate with them telepathically?"

"Do you have a better explanation?" Michelle asked. "She's shown plenty of indications before now, and she knew they were there long before we saw them."

"People with esper sensitivity aren't all that uncommon," Nancy said,'"but I've never heard of a case where someone could.send and receive actual words and sentences."

"Perhaps it's not actually words Kiril is receiving," Michelle said. "In fact, I think it rather unlikely, since she is communicating with an alien. She may be picking up concepts and then her mind puts them into understandable word form."

"What about their name for themselves, 'Dzuna,' " Torwald said. "She got that."

"She heard that word spoken," Michelle said. "Maybe what she picked up with that word was a concept of racial identification. Homer speculated that the odd pauses in their language might be bridged by telepathic means. It may be that Kiril is our

only hope of ever communicating with these people."

"Kiril," Torwald said, "no more talking with them until we've worked out what to say." She nodded.

"First we have to convince them that we don't want war with them, that it was the treachery of one power-crazed maniac," Michelle said.

"They may not even have such a concept," Nancy said.

"Then," said Torwald, "Kiril's going to have to educate them about just what a contrary species we are. Once we have them convinced, or at least half convinced, that we want peace, we have to get them to search for the
Angel."

"You think that's a good idea?" Kiril said doubtfully.

"It's our only chance. The
Angel's
never going into space again, with a thrusterout. They have to have help, and they sure can't go calling the navy for rescue. And hasn't it occurred to the rest of you that Izquierda's got to get rid of the evidence?"

"You're right," Michelle said. "He can't afford to have
two Space Angels
in existence. His fake ship is undoubtedly wreckage by now, so he has to eliminate the real one."

"How does he explain the fact that there's no bodies to recover from the fake ship?" Nancy asked.

"There'll be bodies," Kiril said. "Remember those mercs I ran into? There were at least a dozen, probably more. Only six went to take the
Angel."

"Even if they're in no shape to recognize," Michelle protested, "it'd never stand up to a test. Even if all you have is a few skin cells, you can tell race, sex, and age with the most basic analysis."

"Remember," Torwald said, "when you said there was at least one med officer on that navy ship who was taking bribes? Who do you think will be in charge of the navy's autopsy? I have to hand it to Izquierda, he's thorough. He covers all the possibilities and he gets rid of evidence and witnesses as soon as they've served their purpose. I'd sure" hate to have him take a personal dislike to me. Look at the position he's put me in, and he hardly even knows I'm alive."

An hour later, the two medics arrived. The guard spoke to them and their faces produced the eye-widening expression. One went away and the other came in, carrying a platter. He said something to them, and the others pointed to Kiril. He repeated the words, and she frowned in concentration. "He says they think we can eat this stuff, but he'll keep an eye on us just in case."

"I suppose that's the best we can hope for at this point," Torwald said. "I guess I'll go first. It's that or die of hunger." He picked up something that looked like a pale root that had been washed and scraped, and bit into it. He chewed awhile, then swallowed with some effort. "About as tasty as a raw potato," he reported, "but I guess it's edible."

Kiril lifted the lid from a small bowl. Inside were a number of fat, writhing grubs. She slammed the lid back down. "I've been hungry before, but I've never been
that
hungry!" The rest of it was roots or what might have been fruits or vegetables. Some was agreeable. Most was too bitter or acid to eat. The grubs were the only food of animal origin, and nothing had been cooked. It was not a satisfying meal but, if there were no long-term effects, it might keep them alive.

When they had finished eating, Michelle took a small locket from a chain around her neck and passed around tracetabs. The tiny tablets contained the trace elements required to keep a human being healthy when eating food raised on alien worlds. Even when local food supplied the carbohydrates, vitamins, and protein necessary to life and health, it rarely had sufficient trace elements. It might take a while, but a human could die from lack of zinc, phosphorus, or any of dozens of other elements required in infinitesimal amounts by the human body as it evolved on Earth. The medic showed interest, and Michelle gave him several tabs, which he carefully placed in a small canister.

The other medic returned. This time he was accompanied by another alien, who wore the coverall and harness of their captors. They could make out nothing that was an indicator of rank, but something in his bearing and the attitude of the other Dzuna suggested that he was a senior officer.

"Careful, now," Torwald cautioned. "I think we're about to be interrogated by the boss." The head alien squatted and stared at them. His lipless mouth turned sharply down at both corners. They had no way of knowing what his expression signified, but it looked forbidding. Kiril sat in front of him, with her friends close beside her.

The alien began to speak. What Kiril heard was:

"I am (incomprehensible) Kantli . . . Dzuna . . . protector

force ..."

"He's saying his name is Kantli, near as I can say it. He said something else, I think it was his rank or position, but it's a concept so alien I couldn't make anything of it. And he's part of a protection force, or maybe this is all protection force, I can't be sure."

"Why you . . . bring war?" She realized that she was able to understand it was a question by a distinct feeling rather than by word order or intonation. There was a quick conference on what her answer should be.

"We do not start war," she said slowly. "Rogue human make attack. Rogue human want war. Blame us. We victims, like you." When she used the word "rogue," she concentrated as hard as she could on the idea of aberration, of villainy, that this human was a criminal and not representative of the rest. Kantii's cheekbones worked sideways, and she knew that this was a gesture of puzzlement.

"We see. . . . little ship attack . . . same little ship . . . peace talk."

"Not same ship! Rogue bring little ship. Like ours, not same! Rogue attack our ship. Our ship crash. Must find ship. We can prove ship not same. You make ..." She sought the right word to use. ". . . image of ship attack?"

"We have (incomprehensible)."

"1 don't know what it is, but it must be some kind of picture or holo or something," Kiril said after she had translated. She turned back to Kantli. "Find ship. Image prove not same. Must find quickly! Rogue destroy! Rogue not want Dzuna or human to know."