Once the Kularian passengers and their belongings had been satisfactorily tucked into guest quarters aboard the Marco Polo, Commander Dedrick piloted the short-hopper to Dimmla. As directed by Ixbeth, he set the craft down in a clearing on the edge of the former Kularian community. Yorell handed out translation devices to the landing party. Then they all jogged cross-country to the site of the Thryggian crash, half a kilopace away.
Even from the ground, it was hard to miss. Ixbeth winced when she saw the damage.
The Mitradean who had escorted their shuttle had advised them of what had happened. The Thryggian vessel had plowed a wide furrow across two meadows and bowled over a stand of trees before bouncing up and diving nose first into the middle of a lalava bean field ripe for harvesting. Fortunately, the only casualty on the ground had been the crop, but to the Dimmlesi that was bad enough. An unnatural metal object had dropped from the sky, disrupting the harmony of their lives and disfiguring the beauty of their garden world. Now this obscene chunk of technology was stuck in the ground, tipped at ten degrees and with strange appendages hanging off it at odd angles, and the only way to remove it was to bring in more technology and tear up the field even further. This was unacceptable to the Dimmlesi. To prevent the Mitrades from trying it anyway, the Prefect Major had posted guards to watch over the affected area.
The Dimmlesi were tall and physically powerful, much more imposing than the holograph stored in the Central Archives’ forbidden files had seemed to suggest. Ixbeth already knew what to expect, having been born on this planet. For the rest of the landing party, however, it was going to be a first contact situation.
She had done all she could to prepare them. Nonetheless, nervous murmurs followed her as she stepped closer to address one of the guards. Already towering over her, he reacted to her approach by spreading his arms wide and puffing out his plumage in a territorial display.
Murmurs became gasps. She sensed a hand reaching toward her, ready to pull her to safety. She waved it away and stood her ground. She was not a stranger on this world. She refused to behave like one.
Ixbeth spoke to the guard in his own language, informing him, “I am Kularian, born on Dimmla, and we are here to rid this field of its abomination.”
Hearing this, the Dimmlesi relaxed his feathers and dipped his head, peering closely at each alien face in turn. There were three Humans in the group this time. Besides Commander Dedrick, Takamura had sent Deneuve along in case the Thryggians needed medical attention; and Gorse and Lieutenant Tsieng, the ship’s Chief Engineering Specialist, were there to assess the condition of the downed craft and devise a means of salvaging it. Yorell had insisted on being included as well, claiming it was to ensure that the translators and earpieces were functioning properly. Ixbeth had sampled her aura and knew better — the Prime Docent just wanted to see a Suhore in the flesh.
“And what race is this?” the guard demanded, tipping his head at the three in uniform.
“We’re Humans,” Dedrick replied. He squared his shoulders and threw out his chest. A second later Tsieng and Deneuve followed suit.
Before the guard could react to what Ixbeth hoped was an unconscious imitation of his warning stance, the Prefect Major arrived. The Dimmlesi were cross-country runners, like the Kularians. This one came galloping toward them from the direction of Turvanen, the closest thing the Dimmlesi had to a city. He was wearing a cape Ixbeth recognized. It had been fashioned from a piece of cloth woven by her brother.
The Prefect halted in front of the guard, turned to face the landing party, and announced, “Welcome, visitors! The Mitrades have told me of your purpose and I am happy to see you. When can you leave?”
Ixbeth understood what he meant. The Dimmlesi tended to omit from their conversation information that was already known by both parties. She just hoped the rest of the group were managing to keep up.
“First we must examine and assess the situation. What is the condition of the Thryggian crew? Are they still inside the ship?” she asked.
The Prefect Major deferred to a second guard, who replied, “Still inside, maybe alive, maybe not. A Mitradean tried to open the hatch but failed. No one has tried again.”
“The crew probably locked themselves in, scared for their lives,” Dedrick said, breaking into the discussion. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same under the circumstances.”
The first guard made a huffing sound, expressing approval. This admission of fear apparently canceled out the Humans’ earlier challenge.
“If the Thryggians were injured in the crash, they might be too weak by now to reopen the hatch themselves,” Deneuve pointed out. “We have to find a way to get them out of there.”
But Ixbeth had been monitoring the Prefect Major’s aura and knew what their top priority had to be. “First, we need to move the ship from the middle of this field to a different location.”
“We have anti-grav packs aboard the shuttle,” Tsieng suggested. “They’re for onloading freight. Using all of them at once, we might be able to lift that thing straight up into the air. Then we could simply push it to where it has to go.”
“More damage to the ground?” demanded the Prefect Major.
“If this works, there’ll be a few more footprints in the soil, but that’s all,” the engineer assured him.
All three Dimmlesi were huffing now.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Dedrick. “Let’s do it.”
—— «» ——
The Thryggian craft supported by eighteen anti-grav columns might once have had landing gear attached. It was difficult to discern where bracing could have been anchored on an outer hull that appeared to be little more than a patchwork of metal bits. Or maybe those strange appendages were meant to serve as legs on the ground, in which case the access hatch would be facing downward. Not what he would consider a practical arrangement for a ship this small, Dedrick mused, but it was an alien vessel, after all, and who knew how any alien’s mind operated?
What had the Dimmlesi been thinking, for example, as they stood idly by, watching three Humans and two Kularians struggle to control the path of the Thryggian ship, which had been lifted half a meter above the ground by the anti-grav packs but retained every gram of its mass? (Predictably, the Reyot had stood aside as well, “giving herself preferential treatment” as one of the brothers had put it. She reminded Dedrick of an old Earth joke: “I love work. I could watch it for hours.”)
Unassisted, the landing party had somehow managed to steer the huge metal egg back to the clearing where the short-hopper sat parked, and then bring it to a halt without so much as knocking a leaf off any of the nearby trees. Perhaps the Dimmlesi emotional repertoire didn’t include gratitude, but surely this feat deserved some recognition from the two guards who had followed them back to the landing site? Instead, the guards had just huffed a couple of times and wandered off, making this officially the strangest first contact situation Dedrick had ever been part of.
Once the Thryggian vessel was in place, Tsieng stabilized it by dialing down the anti-gravs, letting part of its weight settle onto the grass. Then he and Gorse Pirrit took turns trying to open the hatch. After struggling with it without success, they turned their attention instead to inspecting the outside of the ship. Dedrick watched them walk around it, shaking their heads, occasionally placing a hand on the hull or pointing things out to each other.
“Well, gentlemen?” he asked when it appeared they were done.
“This is one very alien ship design,” Tsieng declared. “There’s no sign of external thrusters, and the outer hull is such an asymmetrical patchwork that it’s hard to see where there might be ports concealing them. We know the Thryggians flew through space to get here, so this craft has to contain some sort of propulsion system. That’s all I can say about its workings without getting inside for a look. As for the exterior…” He blew out a breath. “This egg crashed hard, Commander, and hull integrity has been visibly compromised. Without first making extensive repairs, I wouldn’t advise even attempting to fly it.”
Deneuve came over to join the discussion. “We need to evacuate the crew immediately. I just attempted to contact them on all frequencies. If there’s anyone still alive in there, they aren’t responding to a commcall.”
“Let me try something,” said Gorse. He reached into the sack at his waist, pulled out the headnet, and put it on. Then he returned to the Thryggian craft and carefully placed his palms against the hatch door, holding them there for a moment.
“There is life inside. I’m sensing one aura, but it’s faint,” he called over his shoulder to the others.
Struck by a thought, Dedrick called back to him, “Can you use psi power to unlock the hatch?”
Gorse returned hurriedly to the group, shaking his head. He glanced around before replying in a lowered voice, “I know it can be done. It requires a level of mastery that I don’t possess but the brotherhood might. If we were able to bring one of them down here without the Reyota finding out why, then maybe—”
“Leave Yorell to me,” Ixbeth cut in. “I know how to keep her busy and happy for at least the next few hours.” With a smile, she explained, “The Prefect Major is wearing his cloak. That means it’s market day in Turvanen. The favor we just did them has barter value, and I’ve been craving some Dimmlesi food.”
—— «» ——
The Thryggian craft was too large to fit inside the short-hopper — it would have to be towed. Under the pretext of needing additional gear, Dedrick had flown back to the Marco Polo for an urgent private conversation with its captain and the senior brother. Twenty minutes later, the shuttle left the landing deck, carrying some hastily gathered hardware in the cargo compartment and a purple-robed passenger in the copilot’s seat.
The flight back to Dimmla was quiet. The brother spoke only to inform Dedrick that he should be addressed as Noris, and that he had been studying the ancient writings for a very long time, longer in fact than anyone else in the group of fifteen had even been alive.
Noris projected an intimidating presence. It drew attention and discouraged it at the same time. It halted conversations and froze people in place. From the access hatch of the short-hopper, Dedrick watched three beings drop everything and silently study Noris’s progress as he crossed the clearing in long, rapid strides.
He halted an arm’s length from the Thryggian craft. For a moment the Kularian scholar gazed at the downed ship. Then he placed one hand in the center of the hatch door and the other immediately beside it, lowered his head, and went still. Every other being in the clearing remained statue-like as well. No one moved a muscle or uttered a syllable for a good two minutes as he worked.
At last, they heard the hiss of a seal breaking. Noris removed his hands and stepped away. There was death inside that ship. Dedrick could practically see the stinking cloud that escaped from the hatch as the door sank inward and slid aside.
“We have a survivor!” bawled Deneuve. “Let’s get him out of there!” And as though a vid had been unpaused, everyone leaped into action.
Everyone except Noris. He stood back, his gaze fixed on Gorse Pirrit. Gorse stopped and stiffened, as though he’d been physically struck. He lifted his head and returned the look. Then he broke eye contact and dived into the Thryggian vessel to help the others.
—— «» ——
Laden with sacks of produce, Ixbeth and Yorell returned to the landing site in time to see the end of a gurney disappear into the cargo compartment of the short-hopper.
Deneuve had been overseeing the transfer process. She glanced up at their approach and said grimly, “Two dead, one barely alive. Their cockpit is a mess. You’d better climb into the shuttle. We’re returning to the Marco Polo right away.”
Yorell pulled up short when she caught sight of Noris, already occupying one of the front seats. Dedrick saw this but decided to disregard it. There were too many other things vying for his attention at that moment.
Once everyone was aboard and the towing matrix was solidly engaged, he wasted no time lifting off. In short order, they were back on the Earth ship.
A trauma team was waiting on the landing deck to offload the Thryggian patient, and a suited-up decon crew stood ready to process the cockpit of the Thryggian vessel after the two space-frozen corpses had been removed from it. These would be sent immediately to the safelab to be vacuum-sealed and stored in a refrigerated vault. Later, they would be left on one of the planets in the Thryggian system. At least, that was the plan.
“Commander?”
Dedrick pivoted, searching for the owner of that anxious voice, and found Able Spacer Alex Topsias standing near the landing deck door, wringing her hands. The youngest uniformed Human aboard the Marco Polo, Topsias was the closest in age to Lania. She had therefore been assigned to keep the commander’s cousin entertained and out of trouble when Lania had first arrived aboard ship. A year later, the crew member still drew that duty on occasion, albeit informally.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. I just—”
“What is it, Alex?”
“It’s Lania, sir. I think she’s gone into hiding again.”
“You think, Able Spacer?” Dedrick’s raised voice brought Ixbeth and Deneuve over to investigate.
“Well, she left her wristcomm in her quarters and— It was a mistake to leave her alone, I know that now, but Ensign Petersen was very definite and Chief Eames needed all hands and it was just for an hour—”
“Whoa!” Dedrick interrupted. “Slow down, Topsias. Once more, from the beginning.”
Alex took a tremulous breath. With tears in her voice, she explained, “We were together in your quarters when Lieutenant Hammersmith buzzed me from the bridge to tell me the chief was looking for me. When I asked if he knew why, he said that you had just lifted off from the planet with the Thryggian ship in tow and one crash survivor on board, and Ensign Petersen wanted all details to suit up and prepare the landing deck for decon.”
Dedrick’s heart began spiraling slowly downward. Unfortunately, this was starting to make sense.
“Lania went very quiet then,” Alex continued. “I asked her if she was all right. She told me she was tired. She went into her sleeping module to take a nap and I went to report for decon duty. After an hour I got permission to go check on her. But by then she was gone. All I found was her wristcomm lying on the bed. I’ve looked everywhere for her, Commander, I swear! I even got Engineering to run a life signs sweep, but it didn’t pick her up. You — you don’t think she’s—”
“She’s asleep, Alex,” Ixbeth assured her. “The healing sleep is one of her talents. It slows down every part of the body, bringing it almost to a halt. When she wakes up, she’ll be fine.”
No, Dedrick thought bleakly, she wouldn’t. It was one thing to salvage a crashed Thryggian ship to use on their mission. It was quite another to bring its Thryggian passenger home with them just one year after fighting a pitched battle to keep this traumatized girl out of Thryggian hands. He was her guardian, charged with protecting her. Instead, she had every right to feel that he’d betrayed her.
“Que je suis idiote!” Deneuve said with audible disgust. “She was finally opening up to us. Now we’ve driven her right back into her shell.”
“This is all my fault, Commander. I should have realized something was wrong,” Alex blubbered.
“Relax, Topsias,” Dedrick told her. “No one is blaming you. You were on duty. You were given orders by a superior and you followed them.”
“We have to find Lania,” Deneuve decided. “And Ixbeth must try to reach her. She needs to understand that she’s still safe, still among family.”
“First things first, Doctor,” said Dedrick. “You have a critically injured patient who can’t be entrusted to anyone else’s care. And I have a few places to check that Topsias might not have thought of.”
—— «» ——
Half an hour later, while Dedrick and Ixbeth were still searching the ship, Takamura and the rest of the mission team received an urgent summons from Deneuve in Med Services. They arrived almost as a group. Gorse was followed closely by Noris, who took up a position just inside the entrance to the Trauma room. Odysseus scuttled in as well, stopping at the foot of the bed, then rearing up on his back legs and extending his eyestalks to give himself a better view.
“The Thryggian is barely conscious,” Deneuve advised them, “and he’s fading quickly. If we’re going to get any information out of him, it will have to be now.”
This was not the first time any of them had seen a Thryggian. It would, however, be the first time they had watched one die. Healthy, a Thryggian was physically unimposing but deceptively strong. About the same height as a Mitradean, he would have had a naturally blue-gray complexion, a large hairless head with bulging eyes, a rounded belly, and stumpy arms and legs. Near death, this Thryggian made a pitiful, child-sized lump under the blanket. His head on the pillow was the color of parchment, and his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. His scalp was etched with troughs made by blood vessels collapsing beneath his skin. His beak-like mouth opened and closed as he worked to pull air into his damaged lung.
When the team had gathered to stand over him, the patient opened his eyes.
“Where am I?” he gasped.
“You’re aboard the Earth star cruiser Marco Polo,” Deneuve replied, “in orbit around Dimmla.”
“An Earth ship … in Dimmlesi space?” His gaze moved with growing alarm from face to face around his bed. “Human … Kularian … Mitradean … Reyot … working together against us? We are betrayed…” he moaned, turning his head weakly from side to side, “…betrayed…”
“Your race is the one that betrayed everyone else,” D’Ull declared.
“No,” said the Thryggian, his voice sinking to a whisper as he continued, “They promised amnesty … but there was no forgiveness. All were punished … and it never ends… Make diseases, they ordered us… Make them sick. Make them die… Keep their numbers small so they won’t attack…”
“Who gave this order?” Takamura demanded. “Who were they afraid of?”
“They are here.” And with that, the Thryggian closed his eyes and expelled a final, raspy breath.
—— «» ——
“Nothing has changed,” Yorell informed them stiffly.
The team had come together in the strategy room, without Noris and Odysseus this time, and minus Deneuve, who was dealing with a situation in Med Services; and Captain Takamura was leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind as to who was really in charge of this mission.
“You’re mistaken, Yorell. Everything has changed,” said Takamura. “Commander, since you are here, I trust that you have located your cousin?”
“Yes, sir. We found her in a corner of the arboretum, curled up unconscious behind a tree. She’s been taken to Med Services.”
“A fatally injured Thryggian comes aboard and this child is frightened enough by his mere presence to put herself into a coma. By now it should be blindingly clear what a huge mistake it would be to send Lania Dedrick into Thryggian space,” the captain continued. “The damaged craft is still undergoing decontamination, but Tsieng and Pirrit tell me that there’s a good chance it will never fly again. And we just heard a deathbed confession that casts doubt on the motives and integrity of every alien race represented on this ship. All of which leaves me extremely curious to know: Do you have a backup plan, Yorell? Or should we simply scrub the rest of this mission right now?”
Yorell and D’Ull exchanged a sour look.
“We do have alternatives, Captain,” Yorell told him. “Our preference would be to send just two beings down to retrieve the Kularian ship — Ixbeth plus one other, a strong sender amplified by the headnet. She can focus and direct the energy—”
“No, she can’t. Not by herself,” Gorse interrupted.
“What are you talking about?” D’Ull snapped. “She’s already done it once before.”
“But not by herself,” he repeated.
“Of course, we are aware that Tal helped her through their telepathic bond,” said Yorell patiently. “And he can do it again.”
“You’re wrong,” Gorse insisted. “Ixbeth and Tal didn’t focus and direct all that energy. They couldn’t. The brotherhood did.”
“And you know this how, exactly?” said D’Ull.
Gorse leaned forward and stared directly into his eyes. “Because skills weaken when they are neglected for thousands of years. That is how long it’s been since the treaty was signed, forbidding the Kularian race to use their psi powers to drive technology. And until last year, that is how long ago the last psi-driven ship was flown. No matter how strong Ixbeth’s talent might have been, even combined with her brother’s it wasn’t powerful enough to do what you needed it to do. So, the brotherhood reached through the litter-twin bond and added their strength to hers, making it possible for her to create the pocket universe around the Thryggian system.”
D’Ull’s gaze acquired a dagger-like edge. “You’re saying that without the brotherhood’s cooperation, anything we attempt involving a psi-driven ship is bound to fail.”
“Without their willing cooperation, yes.”
“Including this mission,” he persisted.
“Especially this mission,” Gorse supplied cheerfully.
Even a Human could see the storm gathering in Yorell’s eyes. “And we’re expected to believe everything they’ve told you to repeat to us?” she said.
His brightness undimmed, Gorse replied, “No, quite the opposite. They’re expecting you to go ahead and try to do this on your own. All docents being students as well, they are sure that it will be a valuable learning experience for you.”
The room went quiet. Tension hung in the air like a dense fog.
Finally, D’Ull broke the silence. “All right, then,” he said, spitting out the words and looking as though they had left a foul taste in his mouth. “No doubt the brotherhood have another condition to impose, now that we’ve conceded how indispensable they are?”
“Not a condition,” Gorse assured him. “It’s a proposed plan that is certain to succeed. Ixbeth stays aboard the Marco Polo with Lania, working the Kularian shields. The brotherhood create the space gate and then go down by themselves to retrieve the psi-driven ship.”
Takamura’s eyebrows arched momentarily. Then he let out an audible breath and said, “I don’t think we have a choice in the matter, Yorell. Not if we want to keep that device out of the hands of the Thryggians.”
“And what if we want to keep it out of the hands of the Kularians?” D’Ull returned.
“I guess that depends on which race you consider to be the greater threat,” Dedrick pointed out. “My bet would be that it’s the Thryggians.”
“I agree,” said Takamura. D’Ull opened his mouth to object, then met his mother’s stern look and apparently thought better of it. “If the crashed ship can’t be repaired, a pilot will have to transport them to the surface in one of our short-hoppers,” the captain continued, “and then, of course, follow the Kularian vessel back out of Thryggian space.”
“I can do it, Captain,” said Dedrick.
Takamura shook his head. “I want to hear whether the metal egg is spaceworthy before assigning that task, Mister Dedrick. In any case, I believe you can make a more valuable contribution to this mission by remaining aboard the Marco Polo. That is where Lania will need you to be.”
—— «» ——
Lania had found her focus and pulled herself deep inside, safe from danger. But she would never be safe from the fear. She knew that now. For her, freedom was an illusion, and normal family life was an unattainable fantasy, just as Abner had said.
He’d been cruel, but he’d been truthful. There could be no happy endings for people like them. They were the products of an alien laboratory. Their Humanity was a deception. Their lives were a desperate fabrication, to disguise the fact that they were living in cages. Lania could run, but she could never escape. She could imagine the happiness of others but never win it for herself, because happiness withered inside a cage, and a cage was her reality.
Her life aboard the Marco Polo had been a year-long dream. Now a Thryggian had invaded it, turning it into a nightmare. And if she couldn’t bear to stay asleep and she didn’t dare wake up, what was left for her?
Why so afraid, little one?
Something was touching her thoughts, like a hand gently stroking her hair.
Is it death that terrifies you? Or is it those who have died?
She didn’t recognize this voice. Where was it coming from?
I am a friend, it whispered. I am of the same race as your defender. She cannot be constantly with you, but I can. I can help you conquer your fear. I can make you strong. But you have to wish it. Will you let me in?