When he thought about it later, Henry Tall Deer realized the crash must have woken him. At the time, the only thing he knew was something had startled him awake. Sitting bolt upright in the narrow bed, his heart was racing. What the hell had just happened?
Conscious thought caught up with instinct and suggested there’d been a loud noise. Grabbing the flashlight from the bedside table, he searched the cabin with its beam. As far as he could tell, nothing had toppled from a shelf. There was no one here besides himself to knock over a chair by the scrubbed wooden table. No skittering claws betrayed some furry interloper.
Not that he expected one. The cabin looked as rustic as any other building in these remote valleys but the university ensured it was as weather and vermin proof as modern craftsmanship could make it. First and foremost, that was for the benefit of the costly instruments and computers recording and relaying vital data to the foundations and government departments whose grants paid for them, along with the pittance that just about covered Henry’s bills back home.
Hooves outside, running. Not running, stampeding. Throwing back his blankets Henry hurried to unshutter the window. He glimpsed the stragglers as a herd of big horn sheep dashed down the valley towards the first suggestion of dawn.
Running from a bear? A pack of hunting wolves? Henry looked for some predator. At this time of year the nights were short, barely darkening beyond dusk before growing luminous with moonlight.
Instead, he saw a flare soaring up from beyond the ridge. A piercing mote of blue, rising ever higher into the darkness until he lost it amid the countless stars. It wasn’t until much later that he realized he should have wondered about that. Weren’t distress flares usually red? At the time he was too busy finding a compass and taking a bearing before he lost sight of the sapphire speck.
Turning on the lamp, he dragged on clothes and boots. Checking that the satellite phone was fully charged, he found the first aid kit, substantial enough to warrant its own backpack. Henry grimaced as he slung it on his back and tightened the straps. Hopefully it held whatever he might need to deal with whatever he might find. Calling the emergency services out here still meant waiting for hours. The retired Mountie who’d run Henry’s wilderness survival course must have said so twenty times. As if a Nakota who’d grown up on a Montana reservation needed telling. But the university insisted everyone got certified before coming all this way.
One last check. Backpack, flashlight, handheld flares of his own in case he needed to scare off a bear or a bobcat. Water bottle, energy bars, all-purpose knife. Henry unlocked the door and headed out.
He went carefully. He might be familiar with the valley’s trails after ten weeks but he’d be no use to anyone if he missed his footing and broke an ankle. There was also no knowing what local wildlife had been disturbed by whoever sent up that flare.
Henry allowed himself a moment of irritation. Who was stupid enough to get themselves into trouble before the sun had even risen? Some small aircraft’s pilot? An idiot in a microlight? Hikers seduced by the notion of a night time walk, only to fall down a ravine?
His annoyance rapidly turned to apprehension. Was he going to find himself out of his depth? He was a field biologist, not a medic. His doctorate was on small rodents retreating up mountains to escape climate change.
He kept walking regardless, mentally running through everything he remembered the grizzled Mountie saying about emergency first aid. Really wishing he hadn’t seen that movie about the hiker forced to cut off his own arm.
All such concerns evaporated when he finally reached the ridge line. Henry checked his watch and his heart sank. For all his urgency, it had still taken him nearly an hour to get here. The “Golden Hour” when it came to saving a life, he remembered that Mountie saying.
On the other hand, the sky was light enough by now to give him a clear view of a broad, black scar seared through brush and saplings. He could taste char on the breeze and he spared the local spirits a moment of fervent thanks that the whole valley hadn’t gone up in flames.
Something large and metallic lay at the end of the burned gash; angular and artificial and wholly out of place in this landscape. A passenger plane had crashed? He couldn’t see anything immediately identifiable as cockpit windows or tail fins though. Was it some piece of a fuselage? He really had no idea. Henry had never paid much attention to planes beyond checking how much leg room he’d get.
As he scanned the rest of the valley, nothing else caught his eye. None of the things he half-remembered from news reports about airline disasters. No pitiful scatter of luggage. No rows of seats ripped free. No yellow emergency slides deployed in vain.
Did that mean the aircraft had broken up in mid air? If it had, then surely everyone would be dead. There was certainly no sign of movement anywhere near the wreckage. He swallowed hard and wondered what he might find if he went down for a closer look. Sights too gruesome for even the greediest network chasing ratings to show on the nightly news?
He began picking a reluctant path down the slope regardless. If there was someone lying there injured, someone who could still be saved, he didn’t have a choice, did he? Though he was guiltily relieved to hear a total absence of anyone crying out in pain as he got nearer.
By the time he was half way there, he was twice as puzzled. This really didn’t look anything like an aircraft, large or small, or even a section of one. Though not all airplanes looked like something from Boeing, he reminded himself. Hadn’t early stealth bomber test flights prompted a rash of UFO sightings? Was this something from an experimental, secret research project?
He paused for a moment to study the whole thing. Because it was still pretty much whole. Henry was sure of that now. It was crushed and crumpled around the edges and the impact must have torn off whatever had been attached to those stubby brackets along one side, but overall, this wasn’t a piece broken off anything else.
There was also no sign that flames had engulfed it, from burning fuel or anything else. Henry looked again at the path of destruction scorching the valley. Whatever this was, it must have been white hot when it landed, to cause that much damage. Even though its own silvery metallic skin was barely discolored.
Was this a satellite come crashing to earth? Some of them were huge nowadays, weren’t they? Well, if that’s what this was, there couldn’t be anyone inside it to be injured. His moment of relief was short-lived. He was still going to have to call it in. Satellite technology cost millions of dollars. Even a field biologist knew that. So the peace and natural rhythm of these woods would soon be shattered by trucks or helicopters or whatever whoever owned sent to recover the wreckage.
He frowned. Hadn’t some Russian satellite scattered radioactive debris all over Saskatchewan in the 70s? Better not get too close. Better alert the authorities as soon as possible. He reached for the satellite phone and hit the emergency speed dial button.
“Hi there, yes—” He quickly identified himself and explained.
The emergency operator didn’t sound convinced. “There’s been nothing on the news.”
“Maybe NORAD is still writing their press release?” Henry suggested.
“Maybe a meteor strike—”
“I’d know one of those if I saw it,” Henry interrupted. “This is definitely man-made. It’s the size of a shipping container!”
“You’re sure?” the voice persisted.
“Do you think I’m an idiot? Or making this up?” He hadn’t expected this response.
“We get a lot of hoaxes,” the voice said repressively. “Hold please.”
Henry stared at the sat phone with disbelief as tinny music seeped out of it. Could this be a set-up? He looked back down the valley. All the way out here? Who would possibly go to so much trouble? Why would they? To create some internet sensation?
He studied the silvery object. Then he looked for some sign of whatever had been ripped loose in its tumbling crash. Coppery gleams in the undergrowth rewarded him, now fingered by the inquisitive sun. Maybe one of those carried some identification which he could relay to the authorities. Who might this thing belong to? NASA? The Chinese? Didn’t India have a space program now?
Or if he found something to prove this was a hoax, he could rip apart the rest of it until he found the webcam or whatever. Then he could tell whoever was responsible exactly what he thought of their stunt damaging this pristine wilderness. Let them put that up on YouTube.
Either way, he wasn’t going to stand here on hold. They had his information. He cancelled the call and began to search for some answers.
To his intense disappointment there was no writing on the closest panel, or the next one, or the one after that. Which wasn’t to say there were no marks. All the metal was scuffed and gouged and not just from this impact.
As his search took him nearer to the wreck, he felt lingering heat warm his face in the morning chill. Henry looked up to assess how close he’d come to any potential radiation. An instant later, he registered that the darkness in the corner of his eye was a black pelt. Cautiously he turned to get a better look, slowly reaching for the pocket that held his flares. The creature didn’t move.
Henry blinked. Then common sense told him that the downed satellite must have hit some unfortunate animal. Except this wasn’t some mangled carcass. Whatever it might be, it was strapped into a sizeable chunk of technology. He realized that looking for panels in the undergrowth had taken him around the end of the angular craft. Now he could see where the impact had ripped it open to reveal a hollow interior.
And this had fallen out? What on earth was it? Henry took a step closer. A chimp? A dog? What country was sending animals into space? Maybe that’s why there’d been nothing on the news about this thing crashing. Whoever was responsible knew the public outcry would be horrendous.
He reached into a pocket for his own smart phone. A few photos would offer proof, in case anyone in authority tried to cover it up. He focused on the creature and then slowly lowered the phone.
Not a monkey. Not a mammal of any kind. Not any sort of creature that Henry recognised. It had a roughly rectangular body and what looked like four limbs but he couldn’t see how they articulated under its fur and there was nothing he could readily identify as a head or a tail. The pelt seemed to have a thick fringe of long black locks with a golden metallic sphere caught up in a tangle on one side.
Was it dead? It wasn’t moving but could it just be stunned? Unlikely. If this was some sort of ejector seat, whatever should have slowed its descent didn’t seem to have worked. The cradle-thing had hit hard enough to dig deep into the mossy ground and Henry could see several big cracks. It had to be dead. Iridescent in the sunlight, blow flies were now arriving to explore the alien carcass.
There, he’d said it, even if only inside his own head. This was an alien. Which meant this was an alien spaceship. Henry sank to the ground, abruptly breathless. It wasn’t only these remote valleys which would never be the same again. He sat still for a long moment, unable to move past that thought.
Gradually he became aware of the familiar sounds and scents of the woodland. He drank some water and ate an energy bar. What now? Well, he was a scientist. That meant gathering data. Then there’d be independent proof this had really happened, whatever the military or whoever else turned up might do when they heard about his phone call.
As he began taking photos, Henry felt profoundly sad. Humanity’s first contact with extra-terrestrials had been thwarted by a fatal impact. However far this creature had travelled, it had come so close only for disaster to strike. He really wished things could have been different.
Prestige internship, my ass. David Mendlesohn had been thinking that for days now, though he was sufficiently prudent not to say so out loud. He still held out hope of a transfer to a project more worthy of an MIT student.
It’s why he’d crossed the country, goddammit! Why wasn’t he working on the intricacies of the alien lander’s propulsion system? How about letting him see if he could crack the principles underpinning its communications protocols? After a decade and a half, so much still remained to be done, for all the progress made so far. Fresh eyes might make all the difference. He could be the one to see some vital connection.
He consciously set his irritation aside. He wouldn’t get any meaningful opportunity if he shot his mouth off, so he’d bide his time and do what he was told. Even if that meant another tedious afternoon in this empty lab checking that these dusty boxes still held all the scraps from the crashed craft which no one knew what to do with.
He put the lid back on the one he was done with and slid it along the work bench. Flipping over the page on his clipboard, he checked that the number at the top of the typed list matched the label stuck on the next carton.
Okay, that was the first tick. Then he frowned at the entry on the next line. “Gold sphere – query personal adornment.” What the hell kind of description was that?
He lifted the lid off the box. Okay, there it was, among the scraps of alien alloy and molded polymer that had never been successfully pieced back together in a way that fit in with the rest of the buckled craft’s instrumentation.
David lifted the gold sphere out. It fit comfortably into the palm of his gloved hand. Personal adornment? Whose dumb idea was that? Necklaces, earrings, brooches, buckles; they all had to be attached to whoever was showing them off. There was no sign of any such thing. No loop for a chain, no setting for a hook or a pin.
He weighed it in his hand. There was no way this was solid gold. On the other hand, it didn’t feel light enough to be hollow. David turned it this way and that, to take a closer look. No, there was no hint of a seam, still less any hint of how to open it.
He stiffened as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Putting the golden sphere down on the lab bench, he fished it out. A swipe of his finger across the screen was no use. Goddam latex gloves. He hastily stripped them off and managed to answer before the last ring.
“Hey, Rebecca.”
“How’s California?”
He could hear the smile in his sister’s voice and grinned back as he gazed out of the window at the verdant landscaped grounds, the ochre hills in the far distance, and the cloudless blue sky above. “Pretty cool.”
“Listen, are you bringing a plus one to Leah’s bat mitzvah? I need to let the caterers know final numbers by the end of the week.”
David’s phone interrupted with a beep. He looked at the screen to see the low battery warning.
“Yes, yes, I’ll bring someone.”
“Someone or just anyone to stop Mom asking about your love life?” Rebecca countered. “That’s a lousy thing to do to a date, Davy.”
“So’s shoving someone special in front of Mom and all the aunts,” he retorted.
“So come alone.” Her voice softened. “We just want to see you.”
The phone beeped again.
“I’ll be there,” he assured her. “And I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”
“Okay, talk soon.” Rebecca rang off.
David found his backpack and dug out his charger. Thankfully there were unused electrical outlets all along the wall at the back of the bench.
He’d ring Sarah when he was finished here and ask her out for a drink. After he’d worked out how to invite her to a family event in a way that would show he wanted to spend more time with her – while making it clear it really wasn’t any kind of big deal whether she said yes or no to this particular trip.
The gold sphere rolled across the bench. David snatched it up before it could fall to the floor. An instant of stomach churning panic subsided into relief. Catastrophe averted. He wouldn’t be forever labelled as the klutz who’d broken some invaluable alien salvage. Because everything from the Kiruk Valley Lander was priceless even if no one knew what it was.
The golden sphere buzzed and pulsed in his hand. In his ungloved hand. Sweat beaded his forehead in spite of the air conditioning. What the hell . . . ?
David set the sphere back down with exquisite care. As it moved of its own accord, he stepped back, startled. The sphere wasn’t following the lure of gravity towards the edge of the bench. It rolled over to the outlet and snuggled up to his phone charger.
What the hell . . . ? He flexed his empty hand and looked at it closely, both sides. No weird sensations, no marks on his skin. He drew a slow measured breath.
Okay, so that happened. Now he had to work out who to tell and exactly what to say, to make absolutely goddam certain that he was one of the team set up to work out what it meant.
The computer completed its calculations and shared its conclusions with impersonal detachment. The numbers didn’t match. So Namrita Kaur was the first to know that another exoplanet was conclusively ruled out as the origin of the universe’s only other incontrovertibly-proven-to-exist intelligent life form.
Or rather, as the source of alien life bright enough to achieve near-lightspeed space travel, she corrected herself. Any number of these planets still might be home to less exalted creatures. And this was all progress, wasn’t it? Another step along the way towards the ultimate goal. Sooner or later there had to be good news.
Of course, sooner would be better than later. What now? Namrita contemplated the data so painstakingly gleaned from over a quarter of a century’s analysis of every scrap of information from the Kiruk Valley Lander’s crash site. She didn’t need to pull up the source file. She knew every line.
Leaning back in her chair, she stretched out her arms, grimacing as she felt the tension knotting her shoulders. Time to get up and walk around. Get the blood circulating. Maybe shake loose some new ideas.
Though a change was as good as a rest, wasn’t it? That’s what everyone’s supervisors said, explaining why side projects were permitted, even encouraged. She accessed her personal drive and checked on the analysis she’d set running this morning before starting her official work.
Another dead end. Despite her determination to stay positive, Namrita felt a pang of disappointment. That meant the very end of that particular road. Whichever way you sliced, diced, or analyzed those numbers, whether you converted the digital pulses into any and all numeral systems from binary on upwards, she reckoned she had now proven that the Mendlesohn Sphere’s output bore no relation to any of the mathematical principles underpinning gravitational physics.
Or astrophysics or nuclear physics or quantum theory or anything else, according to the records left by those before her who’d been intrigued by this puzzle. Or chemistry: organic or inorganic. Or biology, for all Namrita knew. In the years since the mysterious artifact had so accidentally come to life, someone must have looked at its output in relation to whatever numbers were generated by the study of plants and animals.
Time for a cup of tea. She got up and walked to the far end of the long, hushed room. A few faces glanced up before concentrating once more on their own computer screens. The only sounds were the muted rattle of keyboards, the occasional creak of a chair, and here and there the soft scritch of paper on pencil. She’d never met a mathematician who could do without what her father always referred to as a “thinking stick”.
She pushed open the kitchen door to be greeted by the cheery chirp of the drinks dispenser. Edmund looked around, stirring some frothy concoction.
“Tea?” He put down his mug and reached for another one. “How’s life in number crunching? Anything exciting to report?”
Namrita opened the cupboard, took out the canister and measured leaves into the small teapot she’d brought in from home. “More planets ruled out. Of course, it would help if you telescope jockeys didn’t keep finding new ones to add to the list.”
Ed grinned. “You can’t hold back science. How are you getting on with the Mendlesohn Sphere?”
Seeing the mischief in his eyes, Namrita narrowed her own gaze. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that I heard a rumor . . .” Ed held out a hand.
Namrita gave him the teapot. “Go on.”
He pressed the lever and hot water hissed onto the tea leaves. “Kate, over in Material Sciences, she was saying they reckon it’s just a test.”
“The Sphere?” Namrita frowned, bemused.
He nodded. “Ask around and you’ll soon find out how many supervisors suggest it as a side project, whatever your particular discipline is. Kate and her team think they just want to see how long people will stick with it, before they realize there’s nothing to be learned. Someone’s probably running a pool.”
“It must have some purpose,” Namrita objected. “Why else would it be on the Lander?”
Ed shrugged. “Who knows? ‘Intelligences greater than man’s’ and all that.”
She challenged him with raised eyebrows. “You’re still expecting tripods and heat rays?”
He shrugged again. “I’m just amazed someone hasn’t taken a can opener to it by now.”
“What would that achieve?” she protested. “We’ve got the output to analyze. Taking the Sphere itself to pieces would be as pointless as cutting into a tennis ball to try to find the bounce.”
Ed grinned. “I’ll see if I can get a bet on you sticking with it for a while longer then. See you in the pub later? A bunch of us are going to The Bird and Baby. Kate’s got a cousin visiting.”
She nodded. “I’ll stop by.”
“Great. Well, better get back to it.” Finishing his drink with a few rapid swallows, Ed sketched a wave and left through the kitchen’s other door, heading down the corridor.
Namrita poured her tea and stared through the kitchen window, past the twenty-first century’s chrome and glass towards Oxford’s ageless towers and spires. Mankind’s finest minds had spent centuries in this city of golden stone solving the mysteries of the universe. The Lander and everything in it was just one more conundrum.
Though of course, Oxford’s scholars weren’t only scientists. She frowned, sipping tea, as she tried to pin down an elusive memory, stirred by her conversation with Edmund.
“He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”
That was it. That’s what JRR Tolkien had Gandalf say to Saruman in The Lord of the Rings. She’d have to remember that for the next time someone suggested cutting into the Mendlesohn Sphere.
Namrita headed back to her desk, thinking about journeys. Why did people take things with them? Sitting down, she opened the top drawer to her right and contemplated the contents. Pencils. A sharpener. Spare data chips and power cells for her handheld. Hair clips. A comb. Her expired digibadge for the Lucasian Professor’s seminar when she’d visited Cambridge last month. No use any more but she wasn’t about to throw it away.
Not everything was purely utilitarian. The picube her sister-in-law had sent from Sri Harmandir Sahib. Namrita shook it and the digital image of Variam with her nephews and niece in front of the golden temple floated to the top. Smiling, she put it down beside the earbuds for the musicube she’d got free with that gym membership she almost never used.
She carefully closed the drawer and woke up her computer with a tap on the fingerprint reader. A quick search of the Mendlesohn Sphere archive confirmed her first thoughts. Every possible way of turning the output into a visible image had long since been tried.
What about audio? It seemed various people had tried a few different approaches over the years. She called up their notes and began reading. After a little while, she reached for a pad and a pencil and jotted down some random thoughts. Soon after, she began working through a series of far from random equations.
“Time to call it a day?”
She looked up, startled, to see Padraig standing by his desk, easing his stiff neck this way and that. Glancing round, Namrita realized they were the last two left in the room. She hadn’t even noticed the others leaving.
As Padraig had evidently observed. “What’s got you so ent’ralled?”
“Just an idea.” She contemplated her screen where she’d called up an array of sound processing software. Did she have everything she needed? Pretty much.
“Anything you’re ready to share?” Padraig shrugged on his jacket and tucked his handheld into an inner pocket.
He’d be on his way any minute now. Should she try to explain or keep quiet until he’d gone, or maybe, just –
“Let’s see.” Namrita caught her lower lip between her teeth as she hit a rapid sequence of keystrokes.
An instant later, melody floated through the empty room. It was definitely a tune, though subtly unfamiliar to her ears, and Padraig’s, too, judging from his expression.
“What’s that?” He looked at her, intrigued.
Namrita couldn’t help laughing. “The music of the spheres. Of the Mendlesohn Sphere, to be exact.”
“Oh look, it’s ET’s iPod!” a bearded man observed archly.
“How long have you been waiting to share that retro gem?” his companion mocked.
Namrita did her best not to scowl at the couple who barely spared a glance for the display case holding the golden sphere before wandering away.
Wasn’t it worth noting the hard work and particularly the lateral thinking that had gone into discovering its purpose? Wasn’t the alien music worthy of respect on its own merits? But every second person who’d commented on this particular exhibit had seemed to dismiss it as trivial.
Unwelcome suspicion soured the lingering taste of the reception’s champagne. Was there something like that inanity written on the card inside the case? It wasn’t as if any scientist had been included in the team putting this exhibition together. Diplomats, media experts, and public relations specialists had taken charge of making all the arrangements months before.
They’d probably been planning it for years. Starting within minutes of the first signals from the Travellers’ ship reaching the Hawking Probe, most likely. The success of tonight’s gathering was doubtless going to make or break careers.
But before Namrita could get close enough to see what some communications genius might have written about the Sphere, another woman came up to peer into the glassy box. The stranger’s face lit up with sudden delight, framed by long hair as glossily black as Namrita’s grey locks had once been.
Despite her lingering irritation, Namrita was intrigued. Then she saw the name on the woman’s digibadge. Approaching, she offered her hand.
“Laura Tall Deer? Any relation to—?”
“—Henry? My grandfather.” The American shook Namrita’s hand and checked her digibadge. “And you’re the genius who unlocked the music! He was so thrilled. He always wondered what the sphere could be.”
Laura broke off as someone else approached. Another courtesy guest, according to the hologram on his badge.
He held up apologetic hands. “Please, take your time. Don’t let me disturb you.”
“Join us, please.” Namrita invited him closer with a gesture when she saw his name. “Mr Mendlesohn.”
“Please, call me Simon, and yes, I’m his son.” He smiled ruefully. “But no, I’m not a scientist. I’m a dentist.”
“Do they have teeth, do you suppose?” Laura Tall Deer wondered mischievously.
All three of them turned to look at the two closest aliens, of the eight that were currently wandering round the exhibits, all discreetly shadowed by heavy-set, square-shouldered men with very short hair and expensively tailored suits.
“Are you a zoologist?” Namrita recalled reading somewhere that Henry Tall Deer had been something of that sort.
Laura shook her head. “Astronomer. Grandad took me out to show me the stars from Kiruk Valley when I was six years old and told me all about the night when the Lander crashed. I’ve been trying to find out where it came from ever since.”
She studied the aliens as they flanked a case containing a replica of the Hawking Probe. “He’d have been fascinated to see them walking around.”
“Aren’t we all?” Simon Mendlesohn laughed a little nervously.
Every biologist certainly was, if Namrita’s professional-cloud tag-stream was any indicator. The questions were endless and the misconceptions extrapolated from the First Scout’s corpse had turned out to be legion.
That black pelt? Not fur. A living Traveller was enveloped by a sensory organ composed of hundreds of thousands of filaments. However they perceived the world around them – and Namrita really didn’t envy whoever had to find a way to ask politely for details about that – they responded with swirls and ripples of every possible color and shade coruscating from head to toe.
So to speak, given they didn’t have either heads or toes. It turned out the Travellers used all four limbs for walking on or manipulating things with each one’s four digits with equal ease. They would also head straight in whatever direction they wanted to without feeling any need to turn around. Depending on what they were doing, their overall body shape could be rectangular, square or trapezoid.
“Er, I think they’re coming this way.” Simon unconsciously retreated a pace.
Laura stiffened. “I hope I didn’t offend them. Was I staring?”
She had been, but there was no point in saying so. Namrita reminded herself that she was the oldest of the trio and the only one who’d actually met one of the Travellers before, when the ship’s navigator had visited Oxford ten days ago. Though that had been to discuss mathematics, not a trip for socializing or sightseeing.
She took a step forward and summoned up a welcoming smile. She only hoped the Travellers stayed on all fours, or on two feet at least. Last week, when the navigator had stood up on a single limb in order to use all three others at once, it had towered over the tallest man in the gathering in a distinctly unnerving fashion.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening.” The first Traveller’s polite response came from the silvery translation box it carried in its – well, the biologists as well as the journalists were still arguing about what to call the fringe of what were now self-evidently not just passive locks of hair or fur. Each tendril was mobile, flexible, tactile, and Namrita had seen for herself how swiftly the navigator had worked out how to type with them on a human keyboard.
She took refuge in conventional courtesy. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“It is very pleasing to meet so many of the humans who have devoted their time, effort, and skills to making contact with our people.” The first Traveller’s words were smooth, accentless and effortlessly fluent.
Namrita could only imagine the chagrin among the linguists who’d painstakingly developed the protocols for learning an alien language, when it turned out the aliens themselves had perfected a translation device capable of handling every widely broadcast language.
She didn’t imagine the diplomats were any too pleased either. All the ones she’d encountered had naturally assumed they would control access to and communication with the Travellers. It turned out these aliens had other ideas.
The second one moved forward, waves of purple rippling towards Namrita. “We are most honoured to meet you, Professor Kaur. May I take your hand?”
“I—” Namrita steeled herself. “The honour is all mine.”
They’re not tentacles. Not tentacles. Really not tentacles.
As she extended her hand, the second Traveller’s tendrils enveloped it, colors shifting through the rainbow from scarlet at the tip to violet at the root. The firm caress wasn’t in the least unpleasant, silky and comfortably warm.
“May I ask,” the alien enquired politely, “what inspired you to study the sphere in your youth?”
“It was a puzzle.” What else could she say? “I’ve always liked a challenge.”
Her reply prompted nearly identical flashes of silver across each Traveller’s pelt. She wondered what that meant.
The first one had turned its attention to Simon Mendlesohn. “And you are the son of the man who made such a fortunate discovery when the sphere lacked energy. There is great honour among our kind for those who are lucky.”
Perhaps it sensed his nervousness. It made no request to touch his hand before spiky waves of green indicated its focus shifting to Laura. “While your ancestor was the first human to see the First Scout after death?”
“He was, yes.” Laura’s answer prompted those same flashes of silver from each Traveller.
“Please—”
Was it Namrita’s imagination or was there a note of urgency in the second alien’s modulated, artificial voice?
“—did your ancestor ever say exactly where the sphere was found?”
Laura nodded. “The First Scout had it – that’s to say, he was holding it. Or she, excuse me,” she added hastily.
Questions of alien gender could wait as far as Namrita was concerned. She wanted to know why that answer prompted both Travellers to entwine a handful of tendrils and link with each other. Sparkling white surged from one to the other and back again.
She wondered how unnerving the diplomats found the realization that these aliens could communicate in ways they had no hope of understanding.
“That’s good news?” Simon Mendlesohn edged forward. “Why? What’s the thing for, anyway?”
The Travellers loosed their hold on each other and the first one addressed him. “It is—”
His translation box emitted an incomprehensible garble.
Yellow swirled around the device each Traveller held.
The second alien tried. “That is to say, it serves as—”
Once again, the translator burbled nonsense. Yellow swirls darkened to orange.
“Is there a problem, sir?” The Travellers’ dark suited escort stepped forward with a warning look at the three humans.
Namrita wasn’t bothered. She guessed that glare was the security detail’s automatic reaction to anything unexpected. She was more curious about the translation device’s failure. When the navigator had visited Oxford, his box had been perfectly able to handle every variation on academic titles and all possible distinctions between various specialities in math and physics.
“Forgive us,” the first Traveller said, and this time, Namrita was convinced she could hear irritation underpinning its words. “We seem to have discovered a lack in our translators’ priorities.”
The second alien chose its words carefully. “The purpose of the music is to focus the mind on—”
Gibberish defeated it again but now the first Traveller found a solution.
“— to focus the mind upon the divine.”
“The divine?” Namrita hadn’t expected that.
“The divine.” The second alien’s closest tendrils twitched in her direction. “Is that the correct word? You understand what we mean by that?”
“Yes, at least, I think so.” She hastily qualified her answer.
Each alien’s shifting pattern of colours instantly stilled.
“Please,” the first Traveller invited, “tell us what humanity knows of the divine?”
“Please,” the second echoed.
Namrita looked at Simon Mendlesohn and Laura Tall Deer and saw the same question that now paralyzed her tongue was reflected in their eyes.
Where on earth could they possibly start?