“I am a voice-responsive component of the Ship,” the ellipse deposed. “I respond, I activate, I comply and maintain, but I am not one of the crew.”
“Then where is it?” Follingston-Heath asked again.
“Doesn’t seem to be any, does there?” The Autothor rotated neatly on its vertical axis. “There really is no precedence for this. But in the absence of any other self-evident crew I suppose you’re it.”
“No thanks,” Hawkins replied hastily. “We’re just visiting.”
“Our home is in Lake Woneapenigong Village,” Iranaputra added, though he suspected they would have to change the name now. Too bad. “Mudhole Village” didn’t have quite the same cachet.
“According to pre-hiatal information, in the absence of definitive Drex,” the ellipse explained, “any command-capable organics present qualify as crew.”
“Screw command-capable organics.” The serving robot startled them all. “What about me? How come I can’t be part of the crew?”
“You are a mechanical, a machine.”
“And what the Forge are you? An angelic ansaphone?”
“Not … a machine,” the ellipse retorted. “Nor a Drex. Suggest concentrated Gestalt by way of definition. Anyway,” it concluded somewhat huffily, “it’s none of your business.”
“Oh, so it’s none of my business? Let me tell you something …”
Follingston-Heath clapped a hand firmly on the robot’s spherical head. “See here, old thing. Although I’ve no actual experience in this area, it strikes me that it might not be wise to provoke an already confused alien whatsis imbued with unknown powers, what? So be a good gadget and cease and desist.”
Given its present state of mechanical mind, the serving robot might have been capable of ignoring the command, but it chose not to.
“I wonder what a Drex was?” Gelmann mused aloud.
“Never mind that, Mina.” Shimoda scrutinized the ellipse. “We need to concentrate on our present situation so that we can resolve it to our advantage.” His stomach rumbled audibly. “Viz the fact that we have already missed dinner.”
“From your comment I infer that you are concerned about organic sustenance.” The Autothor bounced in slow motion off the deck. “There is food on board, though after a million years I imagine it may no longer be to your taste.”
“It may no longer be food,” Hawkins commented.
“Not to worry,” the ellipse assured them. “I can see to the synthesis of a great variety of organic compounds. Grant me, please, a moment for contemplation.”
The room filled with an explosive turquoise glare so intense that Gelmann cried out and everyone else covered their eyes. It dissipated fast, leaving them blinking but otherwise none the visible worse for the experience.
“Structural analysis is complete. I infer that to ensure adequate continued operation, your physiologies require the regular ingestion of certain carbon-based compounds, in addition to modest quantities of water. This is not unexpected. A portion of the Ship designed to supply such compounds is presently undergoing necessary reprogramming in order to serve these needs. To put it more succinctly, dinner will be along shortly.”
“Why are you being so nice to us, you shouldn’t think I’m suspicious?” Gelmann asked.
“I have already explained. I am designed to carry out minimal necessary post-hiatal operations, but in order to proceed further it is necessary for supplementary command to be provided by crew. In the absence of definitive Drex, you is it.”
Follingston-Heath broke the silence which ensued. “I am as anxious as any of you to return home, but since that is presently beyond our capabilities, I think it would behoove us to consider the possibilities inherent in our present situation.”
“How do you mean, Colonel?” Though they were close friends, Iranaputra did not call him Wesley. Only Mina Gelmann felt comfortable doing that.
The ramrod-straight old soldier was thinking hard. “Aside from the fact that we have discovered irrefutable proof of an ancient alien civilization of a high order …”
“Higher than yours,” Ksarusix muttered.
“… consider the ramifications when word of this gets out. We’re going to be treated as heroes, I think. The media will want to lionize us.”
“That’s obvious,” Hawkins said sharply.
“Agreed. What is not so obvious is the potential of this remarkable vessel.” He turned to the blue ellipse. “Is this immense creation capable of travel through tachyspace?”
“You mean other-than-light passage? Of course.”
Follingston-Heath nodded to himself. “I think that by tomorrow morning we’re going to find ourselves the center of local attention.”
“Nooooo,” said Hawkins drily. “Hundred-kilometer-long alien starships materialize over upper Newyork Province at least once a year.”
“When the federation and the Keiretsu and the good ol’ LFN get wind of this, they’re all going to try and claim it for themselves, don’t you know?”
“If it’s been buried here for a million years,” Gelmann opined, “then it’s the rightful property of Earth.”
“Fine and good in theory,” Follingston-Heath agreed. “Except that Earth is a combination retirement home historical-natural park, not even a true independent. It has no military force of its own, only domestic police.” He regarded his companions pensively. “The scientific and commercial benefits that will accrue to whoever controls this craft are incalculable. The Feds and the Eeckars and the rest aren’t going to sit around while the Planetary Council portions out benefits as it sees fit.”
“Much as I hate to find myself agreeing with you on anything, Colonel, you’re right,” said Hawkins. “There’s gonna be a helluva fight for control of this artifact.”
“But I am already under control.” The ellipse was polite but firm. “By my crew.”
“You shouldn’t take any offense,” Gelmann informed it, “but the representatives of the various leagues and alliances, they aren’t going to see it that way.”
“No one can take control of me.” The Autothor was insistent. “I grant control: I do not surrender it.”
“This ship is awfully big,” said Iranaputra, “but size alone will not deter the greedy. The Feds and the rest will back their demands with heavy weapons.”
