Trade World Saga 1: Manual Interpretation (32 page)

The “international” moon station had been placed under a relative time field also to complete the work and only with rapid transit of materials via the new ships could anything have been accomplished.

There were so many details in the donated manuals that it was doubtful until 'years' had passed that anywhere near the minimum level of compliance could be achieved. The “damn manuals” as they became known would show all these different habitats for strange aliens. They gave all the details of light intensity, wavelength, diurnal/nocturnal periods, humidity, temperature, wind, composition of atmosphere, gravity, acceptable food, sleeping accommodations, smell (yeah smell – how do you quantify smell), acceptable sounds, and amenities. The “damn” lists were near endless.

Some creatures needed a private, quiet, small enclosure to contemplate their bowels and others needed the wide-open spaces, with bushes, near which to defecate. The
Standard Artificial Habitats for Signatories
was the worst. Teams of “experts” guessed what a “vision of the far tundra” meant when used in conjunction with bathroom facilities. Other creatures needed scratching posts for their nails or oils to moisturize their fur. Let’s not even mention adjustable gravity throughout the lunar base or the extremes that needed a methane or chlorine atmosphere. They did figure a good way to adjust the gravity adapted from the ships but some things, like the weird atmosphere stuff, were just going to have to wait.

The World Government had pumped supplies into the relative time fields and spurts of innovations, psychology and controversy would fly outward. The World Government was near to the end of its patience and money and the station was near to completion when the new ship was spotted.

Captain UmBllatt ordered his navigator and communications officers to report the findings from the scan after they had stopped. He wanted to be prepared for anything. "Your report!"

"Sir," the communications officer shifted from one pad to another looking very uncomfortable. "Verbally? Sir?" He looked around.

"Of course...we are due to profit from this venture together," UmBllatt said causing the shifting around the room to spread to other members of the crew who knew the captain's greed.

The communications officer looked skyward in a very earthlike expression and said, "There seems to have been an error in the report you received."

"In what way!" bellowed the captain knowing the comm officer was referring to the report, his kin and the likelihood for profit in this venture.

"There is a major Central Worlds station here. There are sixteen field signatures visible and we are being hailed as to our intentions as per Central World's regulations. Sir...according to regulations...if I can remember them from my internship...these ships could declare us hostile unless we acknowledge their hails. They are all speaking very understandable 'High
Trade
'. It's been forever since I studied that stuff and I haven't docked at a Central World facility since I was an apprentice."

"Impossible! Sixteen!" the captain shouted and rushed over and shoved the comm officer away from his console. "We'll see about this...this..." his voice trailed off as he scanned the console image.

"Answer their hails. Answer their hails," UmBllatt said and turned back to his command prop with a perplexed expression. "How could this be? How could my cousin's son have been so mistaken? Is this a setup?" he murmured to himself but began to rally. There are profits to be made no matter the port...no matter the regulations, he thought and his eyes focused and his attention sharpened. "Look alive. Look alive. We don't want them to think we've never seen a port before."

Brad Kyger was looking over the displays at the moonbase control center. He had grabbed a cup of coffee and straightened his hair. The key thing was that they shouldn't leave Earth thinking we were pushovers. The moonbase was ready. The ships were spread out and ready. Guess it’s show time. He moved to a comm console and activated a link to Andrew at the manufacturing field.

"Glad you were in a real-time mode so I could contact you without delay," Brad said looking at Andrew's disheveled figure in the display.

"What's the deal? One ship? How big is it...where is it...how do you intend to handle it?"

"We're going to shadow it in. The beacons are on...nav con is on...just like in the manuals... We're moving ships around like crazy and varying field signatures so the older ships will look like large freighters compared to the new standard ships." Brad looked away at the scan displays. "This ship is about five times larger than any of our ships and moving as directed by beacons toward the station. They'll pick up a shadow up in…" he turned his head away from the console so another technician could tell him," …about four minutes. They're about to Jupiter's orbit. We'll hail them when they get within radio range."

"Sounds like you have it set up fine Brad. I just hate sitting here picking lint from between my toes. I know we're ready. I just want this to go well. Everything we've worked for is riding on it. We'll wait a bit to notify the media 'cause there is everything that could go wrong. Keep a line open. We're gonna stay on real-time down here so we won't miss anything."

"Captain. We have visual contact with one of their ships off to port."

UmBllatt swung his oculars to see the image on the viewer. "Pretty small," he said to the crewman but pretty slick looking all the same. "How small is it compared to us?" UmBllatt asked the crewman.

"Sir. Looks to be about one fifth our size but it puts out a field as strong as ours."

UmBllatt grunted and wished his cousin's son was here -- so he could lance his oculars. Early trading contact indeed...this didn't look like any jerkwater outpost. Deity. They had navigation beacons as good as any Core system. He didn't like being shadowed this far out but he would have done the same if it were his home system.

"Captain. You wouldn't believe the amount of electromagnetic traffic around."

UmBllatt grunted.

"Captain. Do you wish to initiate contact with the craft near us? I think we're supposed to contact any port authority craft."

UmBllatt looked around. "Someone find the damn manual. We're supposed to have one on every ship this size but damn if I EVER actually used one."

No one left their post but only swiveled oculars to look at their own area and at their neighbors. "Now!" shouted the captain. The control room became a bedlam as EVERYONE started tearing through storage lockers and looking for their procedural manual.

"Here it is! Here it is!" exclaimed a wizened crewmember who held it up like a prized vegetable in the field.

The captain brusquely plucked it from the crewmembers grasp and grunted as he opened it and started rifling through the pages. "Ah ha," he would say and then "Humm," and the other crewmembers began to drift closer and several started looking over his shoulder. "Right here," he said as he jabbed the pertinent section of the manual and handed it to his comm officer. "Transmit this basic message and code and let's see what they do. We're even supposed to send them a list of trade goods and length of stay. Do it. They will tromp in panic trying to make a decision," the captain said relishing his decision and the anticipated outcome.

The comm officer did as he was told and the scanning post reported a couple of minutes later, "Sir. The ship that was near us is pulling away rapidly and headed toward the fourth planet...very fast sir. I don't think we could hope to catch up."

UmBllatt grunted and would have smiled if that was what his race did...but his race doesn't smile, so he gave forth a very satisfied grunt and began to pontificate; "See. They are running away to have someone else make a decision for them. I knew they wouldn't have the legs to stand belly to belly with us."

The comm officer made a very small grunt for attention. That didn't work so he grunted a bit louder for attention.

The captain swiveled his command prop around to face the comm officer...he was very annoyed to be awakened from his little daytime reverie. "What is it?"

"I don't think they were going somewhere to make a decision… " his voice was very quiet.

"What do you mean by that? Are you questioning my decision?" thundered UmBllatt.

"No… No sir!" stammered the comm officer.

"Well?" UmBllatt demanded.

"It's just that the other ship responded to the message I sent."

"What?" blurted the captain, "They didn't have time."

"Sir. They did. They responded almost immediately with the proper response, a return list of items approved with an approval entry number pending inspection, a list of items that are currently sought after, items/information banned, current mediums of exchange, landing patterns, nav control frequencies and the coordinates for a trading/quarantine station on the third planet's moon."

UmBllatt was flabbergasted. "How could they do that in such a small space of time?"

"I don't know sir. I have only just now played back the cylinders that recorded the exchange. They also inquired about necessary life support for the crew. It was generally in listing the pertinent cites in the manual that says these items are banned and they listed the manual edition, page and quote."

"Surely you didn't tell them what life support we needed and the complement of the crew?"

"Yes sir. Regulations stated very clearly that I was to list every being on board and the species classification," the comm officer felt distressed after seeing the captain's expression. "We all have visa approval numbers," he said timidly.

"Was that all?"

"No sir. What does,
Take a ticket, take a seat mean
?"

The crew of the Hawk was howling.

"You wouldn't believe how slow they transmitted that information. I think they were doing it by hand!" one crewmember said.

"We got their data and then incorporated that into the canned computer response. We sent it back as slow as we could. It's hard to slow down data when you spend your entire life trying to speed it up."

"Did you get a peek at their cargo and crew manifest?" said another. "Better fire that baby off to Colonel Kyger right now or he'll skin you alive."

Brad Kyger voiced through the display as the message from the Hawk. Andrew was looking at the information at the same time and he turned toward Brad in the display.

"Look at those trade goods. I don't know what half of that stuff is but I want it. Brad. You think we can pull this off?" Andrew asked.

Brad shrugged. "Guess it's a little late to be worried about that. If what Rett told us is true, and I don't have any real reason to doubt him, they know as little about us as we know about them."

"That paper I signed is only as good as our enforcement. I want to stay as close to those manuals as we can while we build more ships. I want trade but I want to be able and police our system while we can. That
Abbreviated Atlas of Signatories and their History
was scary as hell. Reading between the lines showed disease, war, and environmental damage...you name it. I don't want to be a statistic in the next edition."

"Look. I'll let you know what's what. We're set up for this. We'll pick their brains while we entertain them. We have lots of 3D documentaries dubbed with
Trade
and music videos that they will never understand plus some neat gewgaws to trade for."

"I expect you to brief me on everything. The damn unaligned nations are rumbling again even though the portable power supplies are being distributed. I had hoped they would destabilize their governments enough that they wouldn't be an immediate problem but we'll see... and I want everything recorded Brad."

"Will do mom," Brad said. "Now go stare at the ceiling for a while and pretend you're getting some rest. I'll keep you up to date."

Andrew grinned and cut the connection.

Captain UmBllatt noted the new station and its unusual design.
I hate light gravity worlds
, he thought.
It does have an interesting symmetry though
.

The navigator noted the automated controls and relinquished control of his ship jealously until he noted how gently and smoothly the ship was being handled.
Some Central Worlds crew must have come here and set this all up. They must have put in a new, improved, experimental version because this isn't like anything I've ever heard about
...too smooth…too perfect.

The captain looked at the navigation control crewmember as the ship swiftly landed at the moonbase quarantine station. "Excellent job navigator. That should show these primitives how real beings should handle a ship."

The navigator swiveled his ears and politely grunted but decided he shouldn't tell the captain that the ship had been landed by an automated navigation system used by these 'primitives'.

The captain thought it was about time these primitives found out who they were dealing with. The last ship had had contact with Tros ships, evidently, since they had spoken the Tros language but that had not occurred this time. All the communications had been in High
Trade
. We Ullumff have always been better suited for trade and first contacts than any Tros -- they were so ugly compared to us. Their snouts bulge out so grotesquely. I understand that these 'humans' have smooth skinned hides in different shades with tufts of hair sprouting out of their heads with tiny little, fragile hands. I must remember that they consider themselves intelligent and not silly looking...deity it's hard to remember all, the 'first meet' training. Here we go, he thought as he walked out the hatch.