Nimisha's Ship (18 page)

“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 for 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.”

“When will they wake?” Syrona asked.

“And what do we do with them when they do?” Nimisha asked.

“Feed them?” Casper’s expression was amused.

“Any ideas on what they eat, Doc?” Nimisha asked. “Meat certainly turned that one off.”

“Stomach contents have been analyzed and they have recently eaten grain products and a protein I cannot identify with what few biological entities of this planet this ship has been asked to examine. I can see no reason why what is nutritious for us may not be equally edible for them, given that we may have descended from the same type of primordial pond scum.”

“The burger was protein, not scum,” Syrona said.

“But not in a recognizable form or with a familiar smell,” Doc replied.

“You’ve been living here longer. And you made bread,” Nimisha said, turning to Jon. “That’s grain. Fish is protein—did we scan enough of the area around the wreck to know if there is a body of water in the vicinity that would supply fish?”

“I can provide fish for them, and greens,” Cater replied. “Helm sent me an update of what you have been eating, Captain.”

“Thanks, Helm. As efficient and forethoughtful as ever,” Nimisha murmured.

“Only doing my job, ma’am,” was Helm’s response. They all chuckled.

“We’ll take fish—cooked, I think,” Nimisha said, looking at the three for confirmation. “And greens, plus some sort of bread, coarse grained, but a finer quality than what Jon made.” She shot him a teasing glance. “And water in clear glass.”

The requested items were available within minutes.

“They’re waking up,” Doc advised them.

“Let’s move the table closer to the med unit so they can see the food. You don’t generally offer edibles to an enemy,” Jon said.

“We hope,” Nimisha said as she took one end of the table nearest her to help Jon move it. Casper and Syrona, with Timmy’s help, set the food on the table. “Tim, you’re small. Stand in front and offer them food. Take a piece of each and show them you’re willing to eat it.”

“Sure, only I wish it was burger instead of fish,” Timmy said, promptly taking his position.

“If we are seated,” Nimisha went on, “we may not look as threatening.”

“You took the course, too?” Jon asked her, pulling chairs to form a row well behind the set table.

“No, it just seems sensible,” she replied, and he nodded approval.

“I’m opening up,” Doc said.

“Talk to them as soon as they start moving, Timmy,” Jon said. “It doesn’t matter what you say.”

“But what
will
I say?” Timmy asked, anxiously turning to his mother.

“Tell them who you are, who we are, that we didn’t mean to scare them, and are they hungry?”

“When do I eat?”

“Drink first and offer it to them,” Doc said. “They’ll likely be thirsty after what I’ve done to them.”

Everyone watched as the alien creatures began to stir.

The more violent captive of the two roused first. They could tell by the sudden tautness in its body.

“Hi, I’m Timmy. I’ll bet you’re thirsty,” the boy said, pausing to take a drink of water before offering the glass.

The alien hissed, but its now-open black optical slits were obviously focused on the glass as it watched Timmy drink. If it drew back from his extended hand, the action was more in an automatic defense.

“Move slowly, Timmy,” Syrona said. “Maybe place the glass beside it in the unit?”

Timmy did so, taking the three steps slowly, glass still in his outstretched hand. Some of the water slopped in his hurry to put it down and the alien backed away, crowding into its fellow, who was just beginning to stir.

“Try it. Good clean water,” Timmy said, taking the second glass and again drinking from it. “And we got good food. You can have what you want to eat.” He picked up one of the bread slices and moved to place it beside the glass.

“Eat a bite, Timmy,” Jon murmured softly.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” His next words were muffled around the slice as he bit into it before placing it beside the glass. “See? I’m eating it. And drinking the water, too. Try it. Won’t hurt you. Please?”

The alien sniffed at the wet spill that had become drops on the nonabsorbent covering of the medical unit. It put one of its two fingers on a drop and watched it run away from the touch. It sniffed the glass and then, slowly rising to a seated position, lifted the glass in both hands and took a tentative sip. Its fellow had now roused and was watching, turning its head just enough to take in what was happening.

Having had a quick sip, the first one made a short soft sound to its companion, who also pulled itself up into a sitting position and reached for the offered glass. It took one sip and then another before handing the glass back.

“Would that mean Ay is dominant over Bee?” Syrona asked.

“Ay was awake before Bee,” Nimisha said, smothering a chuckle.

“Give Bee its own glass, and the greens, Timmy,” Jon said. “Eat some before you put them down where they can reach them.”

Timmy, obviously enjoying his role, did so, taking a bite of the green leaf with exaggerated eagerness before adding it to the offerings. He got a second piece of bread, breaking off a piece and eating that before giving the slice to Bee.

Ay took the bread and sniffed it, licked it, and bit into it, chewing quickly and then nibbling more enthusiastically. Bee took the leaf, sniffed, licked, and then crumbled the whole thing into its mouth, swallowing almost instantly.