Retread Shop 1: First Contact Read online

  “Torik, what makes you believe they are artificial?” queried Sargon.

  His primary mouth palps moved swiftly. “The waveforms appear to be both amplified and frequency modulated radio, along with audiovisual broadcasts at the very high and ultra high frequencies of the low microwave range.”

  “Good work,” Sargon said, his growling voice rendered into pleasing palp vibrations by the pod’s devices. “Please return to Hekar by cable-pull.”

  “Complying, Commander.”

  He touched a pod input key to start the winding-up of the tether cable, wondering at the Watch Commander’s brief reaction. And the tone of his growling speech.

  Sargon had sounded . . . worried. Or perhaps the All-Hailer translation of Horem to Zik left out the necessary nuances to fully reflect his superior’s speech context. Translation machines—or comdisks—aided communication with aliens, but they didn’t read their minds. Or multi-minds, he reminded himself, thinking of the Thoranian crystal beings, one of the stranger Compact species. At least the short-furred Horem bipeds were oxygen breathers, like himself. And they did have a peculiar sense of clan loyalty that was a pale imitation of his allegiance to the Dynasty. They even swam in water. They just couldn’t breathe it.

  Clicking several pincer-feet against a lower carapace edge, Torik sped up the retrieval of his sensor pod. He looked forward to his eventual meeting with the Maker-of-Eggs and receiving the honor due his important discovery. He hoped the next birth-cohort resulting from the joining of his genes with her eggs would further explore the peculiar flavor of the waveforms he’d detected. There had been an urgency, a rapidity to them quite different from the tidal currents of his species’ ocean home.

  But Torik had mixed feelings, since the honor of creating the next birth-cohort brought with it his own death.

  Atavistically he wished he could see the hatchlings that would result from his mating with the Maker-of-Eggs. Briefly, ever so briefly, he intellectually considered the knowledge that his obedience was genetically inbred. Then tidal surges of hormones overwhelmed him. Loyalty blossomed. He felt pride—and uniqueness in being a Zik.

  Would a Horem give up its life upon demand? Would a Sliss?

  What did his alien Compact Crew mates really feel?

  One thing was certain. None of them would ever know the glory of the Maker-of-Eggs.

  Only the Zik possessed her.

  Only the Zik knew the true primary codes of genetic recombination.

  And only the Zik were prepared to make any sacrifice to spread the species throughout the stars.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Sargon looked up at the squealing announcement tone.

  Within the high dome and comfortable gravity of the Command Deck, the tall column of the All-Hailer emitted Torik’s message to the eight different lifeforms on Crew duty.

  Whether the message took the form of the pulsating ultraviolet light of the Gosay carnivores, the ultrasonic whistles of the Arrik flyers, the emotion-songs of the Strelka centipedes, the artificial RNA packets of the Sliss swimmers, the joke puzzles of the frigidly cold Thix-Thet silicon balls, the logical mathspeech of the Thoranian crystals, the infrared pulses of the Ziks, or the green, right-to-left reading ideograms of Sargon’s native Horem, it said the same thing: a new species had been found!

  Sargon’s feathery headcrest flared with excitement.

  A stir beside him drew his attention back to his Executive Aide.

  Life-Who-Is-Song was coiled up in a nearby basin. Sargon saw a cone of scaly flesh that rose to a pearly white brain case. His friend’s flexarms were at rest and Life’s twelve pair of pincer-feet were folded under his body. One might think the Strelka was sleeping. But below his friend’s brain case lay a sensorium strip. A circle of flickering vidscreens spoke to the strip in curving bands of multicolored light. Brushing one hand through his headcrest, Sargon watched for his friend’s reaction. The segmented but sightless body of a Strelka always made him speculate on how such an unusual morphoform could evolve to sapience in the jungles and sandy deserts of Lifenest, the Strelka homeworld. Certainly, the empathic ability of the Strelka species had aided their rise to dominance at the top of Lifenest’s evolutionary ladder as its most successful omnivore.

  But, he wondered—how could the Strelka abide the psychic impact of their prey’s deathscreams?

  Life-Who-Is-Song angled his braincase toward Sargon. “You have a question, Watch Commander?”

  Sargon flicked his headcrest in mock-negation. “Not really. Nothing I haven’t thought about before. How does this new signal speak to you?”

  Life’s segmented coils tightened up slightly in his floor basin. “It speaks to me in many ways. With curiosity. With anticipation. With worry.” The Strelka partly uncoiled his long body, leaning his braincase closer to the monitor screens. “This one will press forward the Hunt to determine the nature of the Scent-Trail of these Brothers-In-Thought, Watch Commander.”

  A Strelka always pledged total dedication before a Hunt. Sargon calmed his headcrest and placed his palms flat against the seat’s armrests.

  “I’m sure you will do so, my friend. Is the incoming signal ready for the front screen yet?”

  “Momentarily.”

  Sargon looked forward.

  Just before green photons began to dance on the main viewscreen he saw his own image reflected back.

  A tall, short-furred biped with two arms, four-fingered hands, a triangular torso, and two legs sat mirrored in the screen. His flat-nosed face, two yellow eyes dominant, was topped by a feathery, red-streaked headcrest, while his toga uniform failed to cover his upper body musculature. He wondered—how repulsive did he look to Life-Who-Is- Song?

  The screen’s star-filled image vanished. Life stirred.

  “Incoming data feed now, Watch Commander.”

  Crew moved before the instrument blocks between Sargon and the screen. He ignored them, all concentration on the main screen.

  Sinusoidal waveforms of varying frequency and amplitude replaced his image, telling tales to the initiated about the newly detected signals. The waveforms were bordered on the right by green ideograms identifying the carrier waves present in the impulses, any overlaid signals impressed onto the carrier wave, signal compression ratios, and the background hiss of the stars located within 30 light years of Hekar’s course. Also identified were the several G, K and M series stars located in the direction of the signal, their photospheric temperatures, the various lines of absorption peculiar to each star’s fusion reaction, stellar rotation rates, and the 2l centimeter waveband of free-floating molecular hydrogen. In sum, too much data. Sargon waved to Life.

  “Friend, your analysis, please?”

  Life-Who-Is-Song lifted his braincase, one flexarm pointing at his own instrument block, which lay below the circle of small vidscreens.

  “Watch Commander, the signals are amplified and frequency-modulated electromagnetic emissions in the ranges common to technological civilizations,” Life said. “They are overlaid with cyclical and non-random variations. As noted by Torik, these signals are indicative of multiple radio transmissions and also audiovisual broadcasts in the low microwave range. No moving neutrino emissions have been detected outside of the flare envelope of the yellow, main sequence star at the heart of the signal source. So it does not seem this species now operates fusion pulse spaceships. However, weak neutrino emissions are present underneath the EMF transmissions. Those emissions likely indicate the presence of fission or fusion nuclear power reactors on the life source planet.” Life paused, his lower flexarm pair taping in new codings on basin controls. “There are no regular or cyclical emissions on the 21 centimeter waveband within a one light year radius of the source star.”

  “Distance?”

  Life swayed. “Twenty-six light years, by ship standard year.”

  “The star,” said Sargon, impatient. “What is it like?”

  “Patience, Watch Commander,” hissed Life, his amusement plain. “
The star’s temperature is pleasantly warm for carbon-based life. Its spectrum is dominated by lines of ionized Calcium II, iron is abundant, hydrogen I is weak and other ionized metals are apparent. The star, like most other stars of its size or smaller, uses a proton-proton transformation to sustain its fusion reaction. The angular momentum of the star is low.” That datum brought Sargon to stiff-furred alertness. “Which suggests much of its momentum was transferred to a planetary accretion disk sometime during its 4.6 billion years of existence.” Life swayed forward, his growing Hunt excitement plain to Sargon, who’d spent enough boring watches with his friend. “Commander! There is a liquid water ecosphere in the system! One or more rocky planets with liquid water are possible.”

  “Any confirmed planets?” prompted Sargon, leaning toward the screen, his emotions roiling with hope and curiosity.

  “Undetected at present,” said Life. “Highly probable, though. And Commander, there is also a high probability of one or more gas giants in the system. We have found large gas worlds in every main sequence system we have visited.”

  “Where are the signals coming from?”

  Life chittered his slight irritation. “Not enough resolution yet, Commander. It takes time for a transiting planet to move about its home star. But it is highly probable the signals come from a planet. Prolonged observation of the signals, along with pattern analysis by Hekar’s primary Core computer, will be necessary to deduce the orbital period, spin rate, size, atmospheric composition and temperature of the planet or planets emitting these signals. Satisfactory?” Life leaned his braincase Sargon’s way.

  Sargon drummed his clawed toes on the seat’s footrest, not minding if the fabric was decimated. Time! Data! He had too little. But did he have enough?

  “A good report, my friend.” Sargon looked forward at the line of instrument blocks before which his crew held station, seeking the clear quartz crystal globe of his Science Contemplator as it floated above the Command Deck’s metal floor on maglev support. In it rested the green crystals of Eeess the Thoranian.

  “Contemplator—what are your findings? Do they agree with the analysis of Life-Who-Is-Song?”

  The clear globe wobbled. From Sargon’s right armrest came an incoherent sputter of squealing radio signals as Eeess sought to answer him. Damn! He slapped the armrest, then coded in the stepdown algorithm he’d found most useful in matching Eeess’ thought processes to his own hearing frequency. Sargon looked up.

  The green crystals of Eeess seemed partly obscured by its mid-shift meal of energetic particles emitted by the yellow-colored radon gas inside its shell. Could a crystal being have indigestion? Communicating solely through radio emissions, the Thoranian’s signals were usually picked up by the Core, translated into all Compact communication modes, and resent to Sargon and the All-Hailer. This time, the Core had needed his help—but not asked for it. Typical arrogant machine!

  Eeess made its report.

  “The electromagnetic pulses, not from pulsar, not from neutron star, not from black hole companion, derive.” The yellow radon gas cleared as his Science Contemplator flushed out the remnants of his meal.

  “Understood,” Sargon said impatiently. “Torik would have told us if the signals came from a natural source. What do the signals tell you about the originating species?”

  “Pulses weak are,” Eeess said. “Pulses not us contact. Pulses, rudimentary are. Power generation capability indicates a planetary level energy source, such as fission, fusion or water-driven generators.” Another pause happened as across the Command Deck other crew instrument blocks came on line with additional analysis and splitting of the signals. Varied crew moved to their own duties, including the nervous wing-fluttering of an Arrik flyer.

  “Moving neutrino signals absent are, observed-confirmed. Stationary neutrino emissions observed-confirmed. Radio emissions strong and diverse, as reported. Microwave pulses some image wavelength compressions, contain. Signal compression, expansion indicate presence of orbital satellites, early planetary data sharing network present is.” The green crystals paused in its speech pattern that always placed the verb last. “Conclusion: early technological culture with space access ability, signals indicate. Restricted one planet is.”

  Remarkable.

  What would his father think? What would he expect Sargon to do—or not do? What would the other species think of his upcoming decision? More importantly, would the Clan support him? Someone who was different, who romanticized about the dangers involved in First Contact? How would the Arrik in their home habitat react to a new player among them and would their endemic paranoia reach peak virulence?

  His double hearts beat fast. His mind whirled with factors. Smiling inwardly, he remembered Bethrin’s deep caring and love. It was enough.

  This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  And the faint of heart did not go voyaging among the stars.

  He looked up front to the dual-tracked pressure globe of the silicon-based, methane-breathing Thix-Thet who guided their journey as primary Navigator. The tracked globe of Belisarus rested just below the primary viewscreen and in front of a block of instruments. One of the globe’s remote manipulator arms hung just above an input panel. Sargon used Trade Skeesh as he gave orders to his waiting Command Deck crew.

  “Belisarus, begin the axial inclination necessary to align us upon the G2 star under analysis.” He leaned leftward, catching the fluttering wings of the Arrik female newly arrived as his Power chief. “T’Set T’Say, initiate main engine plasma thrust along this new vector for l.36 ship years.”

  “Ahhh,” muttered Belisarus. “A new lifejoke we pursue! Eager for amusement we are. Yes?”

  “Fusion pulse thrust initiated,” ultrasonically whistled T’Say as she flapped her leathery brown wings in a manner he’d learned indicated both anxiety and readiness to fight among the Arrik flyers. “Diving to the sky home of this new species!”

  “Jokes I like,” Sargon replied to Belisarus. No response was need for his Arrik crewmember. The fight-or-flight genetic impulse always chose fight for that species. He turned back to Eeess’ floating globe.

  “Science Contemplator, set an organic watch on these new impulses,” he said calmly, knowing how much attention his crew paid to his moods and emotions. “We must learn if and when other emissions indicative of moving neutrino sources and complex sensor development are created by these sapients. Attempt to decipher the meaning and message content of these radio and audiovisual pulses.”

  His armrest speaker barely squealed. “Orders complied with,” Eeess said as its green crystals flexed in piezoelectric thought. “Watch will be set. Analysis begun. Food gas expelled.”

  Well, the depleted radon would be sucked out quickly by the ceiling ventilators. Turning to his far left and looking past Life-Who-Is-Song’s coiled up body, Sargon handed out other duties.

  “Life Patterns,” he called to the six-legged Gosay sausage creature who saw by pulsating ultraviolet light. “Adjust the hibernation fields for all those in Suspense so as to prevent any cell damage from sustained thrust.” Lord Tarq of the Gosay rippled his armored hide, focused all four eyes on his instrument block and lifted a belly fringe manipulator tentacle to make the adjustment.

  “Making field adjustments,” the rock-running carnivore hissed from his belly mouth.

  Sargon barely paused. “Environment,” he called out to the Sliss octopoid resting inside her water tank. “Mother Begay, monitor the gravnet artificial gravity fields to prevent low-gee surges.”

  “Gravnet monitoring initiated.” The octopoid’s skin went from black to a ripple of green, red and yellow as the ocean dweller’s RNA speech packets were ejected. Her chromatophore skin showed her emotions as the female dominant moved to work her instrument block using a remote manipulator. “Interior habitats of Hekar that involve free-moving water are being warned of ship thrust,” she said by way of the ejected RNA packets.

  “Good decision.” Sargon once more marveled at th
e way metachrosis gave the Sliss the ability to change skin color rapidly, an ability usually associated with the need to camouflage oneself from a predator. But the Sliss were the dominant omnivores on their world, so the ability had become one more indicative of emotional states. He looked to the other side of the Command Deck, fixing on the green-dappled carapace of Nomik the Zik.

  “Supplies, estimate our current powered range at ninety percent lightspeed based on present fuel levels.” He gave thanks that the Nik crustaceans could also breath air and work in dry environments, when they chose to. Now where was Life’s new girlfriend who worked in the Communications alcove? A rainbow-colored pile of scaly coils glimmered toward the back of the deck.

  “Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts, signal all Compact species habitats with the data derived so far and the decision to turn toward these sapients.” Her white brain case leaned his way as her upper flexarm pair tapped in commands on the instrument block within her alcove. “Be certain the Military Compound is advised. Commence compliance!”

  “Complying,” came the Trade Skeesh words of Sparkling-Yellow-Thoughts.

  All about him, his Crew did their duty well. With loyalty. With dedication. Without questioning.

  That would be left for his father, his Clan and the Compact Council. A sour taste filled his mouth.

  He was committed now. There was no turning away from his decision. Come what may, destiny had touched him.

  Sargon felt alive, more alive than he’d felt in a long time. Would he live to see these new sapients? To Trade with them? He fervently hoped so. But first, politics called.

  It was ship year 358 and Hekar was l52 light years outbound from Home. The adventure of several lifetimes had just become personal for thousands of living beings.