3

Books are friends. They are good company, they provide warmth and pleasure, they introduce new ideas, they argue with us, and they never get angry, no matter who’s wrong.

—Tulisofala, Mountain Passes, translated by Leisha Tanner

The Harbinger was into its third week when my birthday arrived. Alex took me to Claymont’s Pork & Beef, across from Gardner University, to celebrate. We were in the middle of lunch when we got one of the biggest surprises of our lives. They were running soft music on the HVs when the newshawks broke in. “Report from Skydeck,” said Julie Sylvester, an anchor on the Golden Network. She looked worried. My first thought was that something had happened to the Harbinger. “We’ve received a transmission from an incoming ship, saying that they are aliens. Not the Mutes. Somebody else. They are unknowns. So far there’s no reason to think there’s any connection with the Korella mission. Maybe it’s some sort of wild prank. Whoever they are, they’ve been speaking to the station in Standard. There’s been no visual exchange yet, so we have no idea what they look like or how they would have command of our language. In fact, the only reason we have to believe they’re actually aliens is that they say they are. They’ve requested permission to dock. They are expected to arrive in about forty hours. Purpose of the visit is unknown. We will continue coverage as it becomes available.”

The restaurant had gotten noisy. “They going to attack?”

“What the hell’s this all about?”

“Maybe we better get home.”

“How’d they get so close without our seeing them?”

The only other alien vehicles that have ever arrived in the Confederacy, as far as we know, belonged to the Ashiyyur, the Mutes. It became a problem when we got into a war with them. “What do you think, Alex?” I asked.

He picked up a piece of pork, or maybe beef. On his fork it was difficult to know. “If it’s an alien invasion, it’s probably best to finish eating.” He smiled, studied the meat, and bit into it. I’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor. And his ability to stay calm when other people are throwing up their hands.

We heard nothing more for about ten minutes. Then Julie was back: “They’ve been talking to us for about an hour. We still don’t know what they look like. Our security people are saying there’s only one vehicle. The visitors still haven’t identified themselves. But they’re asking if they can acquire some books. Hardcover books.” Julie looked good and had a close resemblance to Maria Gordon, the actress who’d broken hearts across the Confederacy when she’d died during an avalanche. I’d often wondered why Julie hadn’t picked up a movie career.

“That’s odd,” said a heavyset guy at the next table.

A woman seated across from us told her female companion that unless it was a joke, the person speaking for the aliens was an AI. She was almost certainly right. We heard more coverage but nothing new in the restaurant. I realized belatedly that Alex had picked Claymont’s because there was a jewelry store next to it. He insisted we go inside, where there was a necklace he’d already selected. It had pearls and was lovely. Despite the day, I thought it was for his occasional girlfriend Veronica. That I was there simply to offer an opinion. But he surprised me when he turned and handed it to me. “Happy birthday, beautiful.” He helped me put it on. I walked over to one of the mirrors and admired its appearance.

I thanked him and said he shouldn’t have spent so much money. “Well,” he replied, “if the world’s about to end, we should go out with a bang.” We embraced, left the shop, and strolled back to the skimmer, which was parked about a block away. A light rain was beginning to fall as we climbed inside.

He started the drive unit and glanced at the necklace. “Looks perfect,” he said.

“It is nice.”

“I meant you.” We hugged and then he took us up. We ascended over Andiquar and turned in the direction of the country house. The rain grew intense. My link told me another report was coming in, so we switched on.

It was Julie again. “If it really is visitors, they say they’re bringing some books, which they hope to exchange for some of ours. Skydeck has been in contact with people on the ground to try to set something up. The aliens are saying they would especially like to get some history and literature books.” A few minutes later the Arcadia Network reported that we’d gotten a look at the vehicle that was the source of the transmissions and it was not one of any kind known to us.

Alex grinned. “I imagine Chad is happy today. You think he might be able to get involved in this?” Chad is the owner of the Collectors’ Library, a bookstore in Salazar. Strictly speaking, it isn’t a library. He specializes in making difficult-to-obtain hardcover classics available to collectors. In a way, he does with books what Alex does with artifacts.

“I’m sure he’d like to, but I doubt it. I wonder if they’ll actually be able to read our books?”

“Sure. They apparently already have command of the language. In any case, I doubt they’d be talking about a trade if they couldn’t.”

“He’d enjoy becoming part of that,” I said. “But his operation is too small to have much of a chance, even if they landed downtown.”

“We’re also hearing,” said the Arcadia anchor, “that the aliens are bringing two kinds of books, some in their language, and others that are translations into Standard.”

Alex’s brow crinkled. “Sounds as if they’ve been prepping for this a long time.”

We were inside the country house when further details emerged: “We still haven’t gotten any visuals of the aliens. We’ve sent them vids of ourselves, but they haven’t responded. Skydeck is saying that the aliens were excited to hear that we have live theater. There’s been no comment on this, and apparently nobody knows how they found out. They may have picked up on some of the advertising for Lost in the Fog, which has transmitted regularly to incoming vessels. Makes us wonder if these guys might eventually show up to buy tickets.” Lost in the Fog was currently playing in nearby Golem City.

“There’s something I’d enjoy seeing,” said Alex. “Can you imagine what would happen if word got out that some of the aliens would be in attendance at one of the theaters this weekend?” He was pouring coffee for us. “I’d love to see that happen.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about the difference between this first contact and the one we were trying to bring off on Korella. Lesson learned: Before you show up for a first contact, do some preparation. Learn the language. Bring books. And maybe prep for a party.

Arcadia went to commercial and we switched over to Julie on Golden. “Got more coming in,” she said. Her eyes widened as we watched. “We’ve got visuals!” She blinked off and was replaced by something that looked like a spider. Its skin was covered with a short layer of fur. The eyes were located on appendages as long as its head was wide. The thing had four arms, all accommodated by sleeves. It wore a dark brown jacket almost the same color as the fur. No ears were visible, and we couldn’t see its mouth until it spoke. “H’lo, homins,” it said, raising one of its arms in a gesture that was probably intended to be friendly but looked threatening.

I couldn’t recall ever having seen Alex go speechless before. And I couldn’t stop staring.

The upper part of the jacket was open, revealing a white shirt with probably a zipper. We heard a woman say hello. “We are happy to meet you,” she continued. She didn’t sound happy.

The thing tried again to say something, but this time it was completely unintelligible. “What happened to their speaking perfect Standard?” asked Alex. The creature stopped and put a hand on the side of its head. It wasn’t actually a hand. More like a set of clippers.

“Welcome to the Confederacy,” said the female. “My name’s Kayla. Where are you from?”

“I’m surprised they’re carrying this live,” I said.

Alex shook his head. “No way they’re doing it live. This is a delayed transmission. Which is good news. The meeting must have gone well.” His mood had shifted. He was trying hard not to laugh.

“Hello.” A different voice. Something else was speaking for the aliens. The spider simply watched. “My name is not easily pronounced. It might be best if you simply address me as ‘Ollie.’ ”

I looked over at Alex. “It’s an AI.” He nodded.

A second spider showed up on the monitor. “This is Neo,” Ollie said.

“Greetings, Kayla,” said Neo.

Ollie continued, “We are looking forward to meeting you, Kayla. You are the first species we have encountered with whom we can speak.”

“Ollie, where are you from?”

The creature’s dark eyes brightened. “I do not know what name you have given the area in which we live. We are not close. Your world would complete several hundred orbits before a light beam could reach us.”

“You indicated an interest in live theater. Does that include you, too, Neo?”

There was a pause while they talked it over, apparently in their own language. Then the AI responded for Neo. “Yes. I have a serious passion for stage work.”

“So you have live theater at home?”

“Yes, we do. We are pleased to find others who share our interest. We wish to establish relations with you. Our explorations of the galaxy have been continuing for many generations, and we are relieved finally to discover that someone else is here. We are on schedule to reach you in somewhat longer than one of your days. I hope that is convenient for you.”

“Yes. That is good, Neo.” Kayla had been replaced by another woman. “Is there anything we can do for you when you and your associates arrive?”

“Not at all. We hope only that you will be glad to see us.”

“It’s an interesting coincidence that you would arrive at the same time we’ve discovered aliens elsewhere.”

“You mean Korella?”

“Yes. You know about that?”

“Oh, yes. We’ve known for a long time that you shared our interest in finding others. Over the last few years, your efforts have become more intense. It seemed like an appropriate time for us to make contact.”

Chad had invited me to a quiet celebratory dinner at Barringer’s Bar and Grill, which looks out across the Melony River. But it turned out that the day’s events had left both of us with much more to think about. The band was playing when we walked in. They seated us in the middle of the place, which should have warned me something was going on. Chad always preferred either being near a window or, if the weather was decent, seats outside on the veranda. The evening was warm and pleasant, with a slight breeze coming in across the Melony. We ordered our meals with a couple of glasses of wine. Moments after our drinks arrived, the band finished its number. The bar’s manager stepped up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Barringer’s would like to welcome the well-known author Chase Kolpath, on the occasion of her birthday. We have a piece of music titled ‘Chasing Chase,’ written by Chad Barker, who is seated with her this evening.” He looked across the room at us and waved. Then he disappeared behind a curtain. A good-looking guy who’d been playing a viola with the small band that was present that night put the instrument down and took the microphone. He signaled his colleagues to start playing. They did and he sang:

“Love is the reason for all I do, All I feel and all that matters and dream of and pursue.

In the end it is always and only about you,

Chase with the golden eyes, it is you.”

Okay. I’ll confess I was near tears right from the start. The rhythm was soft and passionate, and I loved the lyrics. And the guy had a warm, alluring voice. It was an overwhelming experience. When he’d finished the performance, the audience provided an enthusiastic round of applause.

“Beautiful, Chad,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t know you could write music. Not at that level.”

“I wish I could take credit for it,” he said. “The music is from a song that was popular in the eighth millennium.”

“That’s a long time ago.”

“It might even be older. We don’t have the lyrics anymore, but the title was ‘Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing.’ ”

“Well, whatever, it’s beautiful. Thank you.” He reached across the table and took my arm. “But you wrote the lyrics?” I asked.

He needed a minute to think about it. “William did it,” he said finally. William was his bookstore’s AI.

“Okay,” I said. “In any case, I appreciate it. Nicest birthday present I’ve ever received.” If we hadn’t been in a public venue, I’d have moved on him. I got up and we exchanged smiles and embraced and kissed. The audience applauded again.

Finally it ended and we sat back down. “You know, by the way, my eyes are gray.”

“Sure. But they have a way of lighting up. Turning to gold. I love you, Chase. But you’ve known that for a while.”

They brought out a stand-up comic, who did jokes about how I look so young because I hang out a lot in the Belle-Marie, which moves faster than time. And he said that Chad was hoping to talk the aliens into giving him a few of the books they were bringing. “But if he gets to Skydeck,” the comic added, “Chase won’t be with him. He made it clear that he wouldn’t let her anywhere near Ollie and the spiders.”

I don’t usually drink too much, but it seemed like the right night to let it go. At one point, Chad told me he’d taken a call from someone, but I didn’t get the details until the evening had ended and Chad was in the process of delivering me to my cabin. The caller had been Sally McAndrew. She was a literature professor at Andiquar University and had been invited to join the group who would be selecting the books to be made available to the aliens.

She’d shown up at the country house a couple of years ago when she learned that we had found a copy of Their Finest Hour, the second of six volumes of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War. It had been reprinted on Earth in the ninth millennium. As far as we know, it’s the only one of the six that has survived. She’d hoped that Alex would eventually come up with some of the others, but his efforts had led nowhere. She’d participated in the process where she could, during which she and Alex became friends. Eventually I introduced her to Chad, and she’d become interested in his library.

“So what did Sally want?” I asked him.

“She was calling from the spaceport. To ask me if I had any books that I thought would be good to make available to the aliens.”

“Good for you. What did you suggest?”

“I was kind of busy. I needed time to think about it.” We’d left the receiver on so we could watch what was happening. Julie was gone, replaced by Morris Cassidy. The aliens were due tomorrow afternoon. “Sally was waiting to board a shuttle, headed for Skydeck. She’s probably there by now.” We were descending into my front yard. “I told her I’d get back to her.” A full moon floated in the middle of the sky. The lights came on as we touched down. “They’re scary,” he said. “The aliens.”

“Well, what do you expect? They’re spiders.”

“But they like books.”

“Right.” I couldn’t resist laughing. “I never realized you were so open-minded, Chad.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen that level of disapproval in his eyes before. But I let it go. We went inside and watched Morris Cassidy interviewing a physicist and Kayla, who’d done the first conversation with the aliens. The physicist thought it was a dangerous time and we should be careful. He asked whether Cassidy would get close to the visitors. When he said yes, that he hoped to do so, the physicist inquired whether he would be carrying a weapon. Cassidy tried to laugh it off, but the physicist shook his head and wished him luck.

I agreed with the physicist, but I said nothing to Chad. I didn’t want to get into an argument with him. Not on that night.

I switched on the HV. I’d expected to see a large crowd gathering at the space station for a chance to get a look at the aliens tomorrow, but the coverage revealed an empty concourse. “They’re probably not allowing anyone into the place without travel documents,” I said.

After we got settled, I got us some coffee. Cassidy was talking with the Skydeck comm op officer, asking whether security was on alert.

She smiled. “They’re always on alert, Morris.”

“The aliens look like something out of a horror film.”

“I hope,” Chad said, “the aliens aren’t picking this up.”

We were sitting on the sofa. Chad asked me to stop the broadcast for a minute. I did and he bit his lower lip. “My customers have mixed views. They’re interested in getting access to the books. The alien books. But they’ve all admitted to being uncomfortable with the way they look. That’s easy enough to understand. Especially since they’ve been listening to us for a while. A lot of them seem to think they’re planning an attack. They don’t approve of our letting them come into Skydeck.”

“Chad, they only have one ship.”

“Who knows what they have? Some of them think there might be an invisible fleet out there.”

“If they have an invisible fleet and they want us for dinner, why bother with the books?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. But why have they been listening to us?”

“Isn’t that exactly what we would do in the same circumstances?” We were sitting staring at each other and then at the screen with its empty concourse. “So, Sally’s in charge of the book exchange?”

“They have several people working on it. She’s already begun contacting some of her associates about suggestions. She invited me to recommend two titles and deliver copies of them that can be turned over to the visitors. She doesn’t necessarily want classics, but primarily books that show us in a favorable light.”

“As in friendly?”

“More like as in not to be messed with. Like Belstein’s History of the Mute Wars.”

“Do you have a replicator?”

“No. It wouldn’t be legal for me to print books. But I can get access to one for this project.”

“Sounds good. What are you going to recommend?”

“I’m not sure yet. Probably Arlin Kramer’s Greek Drama. It’s a collection of a dozen of the greatest plays. And The Old Curiosity Shop. The Dickens novel.” He’d recommended that to me a few months earlier. I’d read it and was impressed by it, but I couldn’t see how it might suggest that aliens keep a respectful distance. “I was also,” he continued, “thinking about Horace Carpenter’s Meltdown. That would be a good pick.”

“Carpenter’s fairly recent, isn’t he?”

“Last century. He’s from Dellaconda.” He downed some of the coffee. “It’s a description of the kind of events that foreshadow governmental collapses. I wish we could find some of the other Dickens books. Only three have survived. Out of over twenty. The guy was incredible. Pretty much the only person I can think of who wrote a novel that’s still being read after nine thousand years.”

“How long does it take to make a copy of a hardcover?”

“About an hour.”

We turned the HV back on. “—to be later getting here than we expected,” comm ops was saying. “They’ll have to find their own way in.”

Chad frowned. “What’s he talking about, Chase? You have any idea?”

“My guess is that we haven’t been able to get control of their ship. When someone’s coming into the station, they turn everything over to comm ops. The station takes control and brings them into the bubble and stays with them until they’re docked. They probably discovered the links aren’t there to allow it to happen.”

“How much longer you think that’ll take?”

“It depends on a lot of things. For example, the ship might be too big to get through the bubble entry.” I shrugged. “That’s unlikely, but it’s possible.”

It was approaching midnight. “We both have to be up early tomorrow.” He looked at me and smiled. “I better head home.”

“I’m a bit in the wind. You really not going to hang around?”

“That’s the reason, Chase. You wouldn’t be on full burners tonight.”

I was in the country house the next day, tracking some of our artifacts, when news arrived that the aliens were docking at Skydeck. I switched on the HV and got my first look at their vehicle. It was longer, wider, and flatter than any of ours. And spidery symbols decorated the hull. In addition, two spiders were looking out from the bridge. Skydeck must have established some communications between AIs, because they were able to shut down the ship’s power and bring them gently into the commercial dock, which was probably the only one large enough to accommodate them.

I joined Alex and Gabe in the conference room. They were both fairly excited, a reaction I’d seldom seen from Alex. We watched four armed security guards and a Skydeck official enter the connecting tube. Lights came on and they followed it to the hull. The hatch was open when they got there. Two of the visitors stood waiting. Each held a box. Two more boxes had been placed on the deck. The official made no gesture but simply approached. “Hello,” he said. “Welcome to Rimway. My name is Harrison.”

A voice translated it into the alien language.

One of the aliens responded, and the AI voice interpreted: “Hello, Harrison. I am Ollie and this is Neo, the same two that your representative, Kayla, spoke with earlier.” A third alien retreated out of sight.

That was the way the conversation continued, with the AI managing translations for both sides. The aliens were slightly taller than the humans. They didn’t seem to be wearing uniforms. It was hard to make out any difference between their faces, if that’s even the right term. Ollie was the bigger of the two, which was probably the only way anybody could have told them apart. Their eyes resembled dark bulbs. Each had its arms wrapped around one of the boxes.

The extra pair of arms was unsettling. But despite all that, the aliens managed to look almost amiable. Maybe it was the leisurely way they carried themselves. Or the way they talked. I just don’t know.

“We’re glad you got here okay,” said Harrison. “Can we help with the books?”

“Yes,” said Ollie. “Thank you.”

The guards took them, including the ones on the deck. The aliens approached Harrison and each extended an arm, touching their fingertips with his. Neo said, “Hello to all. We’re happy to be here.”

Behind them the hatch closed. Harrison and the guards turned and escorted the aliens back through the tube. They emerged onto the concourse, stopped, and looked around at the walkways, the shops and restaurants. Everything looked closed. “Beautiful,” said Ollie.

They handed off the boxes to other Skydeck officials, who led the way to a conference room. The guards were still present, along with three more officials, one of whom was Sally McAndrew. The boxes were set down on a long table in the center of the room. One of the officials said how pleased he was to welcome our honored visitors. He identified himself as Calvin Polgar, director of the Contact Relations Bureau, a subsidiary of DPSAR. The aliens were, by our standards, casually dressed, with frumpy leggings and pullover shirts.

The officials and the visitors took seats around the table; the guards backed off but remained in the room. Translations were managed easily by the alien AI. Ollie, in near-perfect tone, said, “We’ve been traveling through the galaxy for a thousand generations, but we’ve only twice before encountered living civilizations. I can inform you that the news of our discovery, of your existence, has caused major celebrations at home.”

“Can you tell us about these other civilizations?” asked Polgar.

“We would prefer not to without their permission. If you wish, we will pass your query on to them.”

“Maybe it would be best to let it go,” Polgar said. “We can discuss it later.” He glanced at his associates. They all seemed in agreement. Then he turned back to Ollie. “How long have you known about us?”

“I was relatively young when we were informed that your worlds had been discovered. It is probably not obvious to you, but none of my people would mistake me for being now in my early time.”

One of the officials smiled. “You can travel faster than light?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why it has taken so long for you to make contact?”

“We have always been intrigued by the possibility of an encounter with intelligent beings.” Neo was speaking now. “Caution, however, seemed like an appropriate response. We wanted, first, to learn whether establishing a relationship with you was a good idea. To be honest, whether it was safe. For both of us. As that was an obvious objective, we wanted to be sure we did not do anything that would alienate you. We wanted to show, from the beginning, friendly intent.”

“That’s why the books.”

“It’s part of the reason. But yes. Ollie and I hope we got it right.” Ollie and Neo got to their feet and opened two of the boxes, brought out sixteen books, and stacked them on the table. They were all hardcovers, and over the next few minutes we got close-ups of them. Impossible to read the titles, of course. “These are all duplicates of the original editions,” Ollie said, “obviously not convenient for your reading, but we thought you would appreciate having them. We also have copies in your language.” They opened the other two boxes and began lifting more books out and placing them on the table. They were identical in design except that the cover print was in Standard. Polgar and his associates were staring at them. The director and one of the others helped empty the boxes. Then they passed copies from both sets around, and they all sat paging through them.

Neo held one up for the HV camera. Its title was Living the Good Life by Parqua Des. And a second one: All the Time in the World. The author’s name looked unpronounceable. “These are historical, literary, and scientific,” he said. “You would describe some as philosophical. All that are in your language may be reproduced at your pleasure and made available to any who wish them. We ask only that they be made widely available to keep the prices at a reasonable level.”

Polgar held a finger to his lips. “And what is your share of the profits?”

“We want nothing.” “To be honest, there’d be no easy way to collect a payment.” He showed another title: Why We Laugh.

They never really stopped paging through the books. The ones in Standard drew all the attention. Polgar and his associates spent several minutes sorting through the volumes, obviously overwhelmed. They thanked the aliens, and this time showed no reluctance about clasping their hands. Sally approached Neo, and when he opened his arms, she embraced him. In that moment, we knew Sally had become immortal.

Eventually we got to see the other titles as well:

Apparently they’d been reading Shakespeare.

“You agreed,” Ollie said, “to provide us with some volumes to take home.”

Everyone looked toward Sally. “That’s correct, Ollie,” she said. “We’re working on it now. We should have them up here in a couple of days.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure.”

“May we leave our ship docked where it is?”

Harrison responded, “Of course. Are there others on board?”

“Yes. There are several of us.”

“We can provide quarters for everyone if you wish.”

“No. Thank you. Your accommodations would likely not be adequate. We have different requirements. But we appreciate the offer. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Polgar was still paging through the books, in both languages. “Perhaps,” he said, “you can tell us the name of your home world?”

Ollie leaned forward, and for the first time I saw something that looked like a smile: “We come from Ulaka.”

Sally seemed caught up in simply touching the covers. She glanced over at Ollie. “Was this your idea? The books?”

“No.” He looked at his partner. “It was a committee decision. But it was originally Neo’s suggestion.”

Harrison aimed a wide smile at Neo. “I think we are all fortunate that he was part of the committee.”

“We’ll get the books to you as quickly as we can,” said Sally. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have them.”

“Thank you,” said Ollie. “There is something else of which you should be aware.”

The humans were getting to their feet. “Of course,” said Polgar. “And what is that?”

“Neo is not a male.”

Harrison frowned. “He isn’t? I mean, she isn’t?”

“Neither of us is.” They headed for the door.

The network switched back to Morgan Cassidy and a guest I did not recognize. “That’s a surprise,” said Cassidy.

“What is?” asked the guest, a young woman identified on the bar as a physicist named Charlotte Smith.

“This is probably one of the most important missions in their history. And they put two females in charge of it.”

Charlotte grinned. “Morgan, you’re forgetting something.”

“And what’s that?”

“They’re spiders.”