“Take it easy! That was almost an overload.”

“Sorry,” said the Autothor. “I tried to be gentle. It’s hard to estimate capacity.”

“Ask next time.” The serving robot managed a good approximation of cybernetic outrage.

Gelmann was smiling at the persistent sunset. “I don’t mind saying so, this is even better than the garden club’s model greenhouse.”

“Most appealing,” agreed Follingston-Heath. “We will have marvelous stories to tell when we get back.”

“What makes you think we’re gonna get back?” Hawkins sat with his knees drawn up against his narrow chest, his chin resting on his crossed arms.

Iranaputra looked at him. “The Autothor does what we say, and the ship responds to it.”

“It does now,” Hawkins snapped. “What do you think’s gonna happen when it’s achieved full reactivation, when all its systems have come back on-line? When it finally brings up that part of its memory that contains its designers’ purpose? You think it’s still gonna dance to our tune?”

They were quiet for some time. “At this point there is no reason to assume it will not,” Follingston-Heath finally said.

Hawkins spat onto the green sand. “Yeah, sure. Don’t listen to me. I’m just the resident pessimist.”

Follingston-Heath made a face. “I’ve known soldiers half eaten up with incurable alien diseases who were more optimistic than you in your best moments, old chap.”

Hawkins regarded the Colonel fondly. “Why don’t you take one of your nice, shiny medals, Wesley, and shove it up …”

“Now, boys,” began Gelmann in her irresistible maternal tone, “this is no time to be scrapping over possibilities that may never arise.” She eyed the attentive Blueness. “Isn’t that right?”

“I suppose so.” The Autothor was uncertain. “I am equipped to deal with a certain amount of speculation, though it is a strain on inductive capacity.”

“Never mind,” said Gelmann comfortingly. “We can speculate for you.”

XIII

The Chaka ships emerged from tachyspace in tight formation, a considerable feat of navigation considering the distance they had traveled. Their drives were smoking (in the subatomic metaphorical sense) and their crews tense and alert. The Chakas had strained the limits of the technologically possible in order to arrive before the anticipated and much more powerful forces of such alliances as the Keiretsu, Victoria League, and the First Federal Federation.

A member of the good ol’ LFN, the Chaka could muster only four vessels. Conversely, there was no reason to assume any more would be necessary for the task at hand. The Chaka were lean, tough fighters, despite the times their hopeful depredations had resulted in measured reprisals from the more powerful leagues.

Now they’d beaten everyone to what was potentially the greatest prize of modern times … except that the prize had inconveniently vanished. This resulted in some heated exchanges and recriminations aboard the command ship. A couple of vociferous plotters were summarily executed before the alien craft was located in lunar orbit, subsequent to which discovery the Chaka commander noted his regrets at having ordered the executions.

The shift in spatial position was to be applauded. It meant that if offensive action became necessary, it could now take place more than four planetary diameters out from Earth, thereby avoiding potentially awkward violations of the Sol Charter. Delicate sensibilities on Earth and elsewhere would not be offended.

The delighted commander issued orders, knowing that the powerful alliances had to have ships of their own on the way. The Chakans would have to hurry if they hoped to exploit their early arrival. They blasted out of Earth orbit, ignoring the annoyed queries of the orbital flight controller in Nairobi who demanded to know how many tourists they had on board, what their itinerary was, and just when might she expect them to file the standard environmental impact brief, if they didn’t mind?

The Chakans did not respond. They had no time for Homeworld politesse. It had taken all the resources of the Chakan government to mount the hasty expedition, and the commander of the military quadratic knew that results would be expected of him, and fast. Otherwise he could expect to go the way of his unfortunate plotters.

“It’s even larger than the initial reports claimed.” The technostat was young for his position, as proud of his achievements as was his clan. He’d risen through the ranks through study, hard work, and fearlessness.

Now he observed via his instruments the looming proximate mass of the alien vessel. “Much larger.”

The commander sat in his seat and pressed his thumbs together until the bones complained. It was a useful, stress-relieving exercise.

“It is only a machine.”

The technostat turned from his instruments. “Naturally, sir.”

“Think of this,” the commander went on, “as planning an assault on a city. According to the reports, it hasn’t made a single hostile move. Mere size is nothing to be afraid of. Nor are the five seniors purportedly aboard. And having now seen it in person, I’m willing to vouch that it’s for real. This is no scam of the FFF or the Keiretsu.”

“I’m not afraid, sir.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re Chaka. This will be a straightforward and glorious operation.” He swiveled in his chair to face his communications chief. “Open one of the hailing channels that were used to contact the artifact from Earth. It is time to deliver the ultimatum.”

The Autothor blazed briefly as it addressed the contented humans who lay on the shore of the artificial ocean, basking in the warm heat of an artificial sun. Piscean shapes with multiple gossamer wings flitted back and forth across the wave tops, snapping at tiny, electrically hued ballooning coelenterates. It was impossible to tell if any of the oceanic life-forms were real or simulated, nor did it matter to the beachcombers.

“Excuse me, but there are now four small vessels lying close to my sunward side. The occupants are desirous of establishing communication. In fact, they are quite insistent.”

“Really?” Gelmann sat up and pushed up onto her forehead the new sunshades the Autothor had recently synthesized for them all. “Let’s have a look at them.”

Instantly a spherical holo appeared to the right of the Autothor. The surface of the moon showed clearly within, as did a portion of the Drex ship’s mass and four slim, business-like craft.

“Can you enhance the image?” Iranaputra was peering with interest at the semi-translucent imago. “I can’t make out their markings.”

“Don’t ring a bell with me,” said Hawkins.

Follingston-Heath waited until everyone else had expressed their ignorance before harrumphing importantly. “They’re Chakan. A member of the LFN. Traditionally belligerent and, I am led to understand, a generally unpleasant lot.”

“Never heard of ’em.” Hawkins belched warily.

“They have a warlike history that dates back to Old Earth days.” Follingston-Heath used a handkerchief to clean salt from his monocle. “I wonder what they’re doing here?”

“Let’s hear what they have to say,” Gelmann informed the Autothor.

The image in the holo was replaced by the face of a heavy-set, dark-skinned, middle-aged man with a deep, rasping voice. His proportions were similar to Shimoda’s, though even in the face he was obviously more muscular.

“To those aboard the alien vessel: This is Commander Chief Muthezi of the Chakan quadratic Knobkerrie. We have recordings of all communications that have taken place between you and the Homeworld authorities. You five will not be hurt if you will agree to assist us in boarding and taking control of the craft on which you find yourselves. I assure you that this is the best course of action for all concerned.”

“I’m not so sure.” Follingston-Heath regarded the speaker uneasily.

“What you think doesn’t matter,” came the blunt reply. “Four warships of the Chaka now have you within range. We are neither strangers to nor afraid of combat. We demand that you immediately direct the alien AI, or whatever intermediary you are using to communicate with the ship, to open a port to allow us entry, either with our ship or if a port of suitable dimensions is not available, in individual suits, so that we may officially take control.”

“You can’t just come barging in here and ‘take control,’” Gelmann scolded the commander. “Where do you think you are? Where are your manners? Shame on you!”

“Uh, Mina,” Shimoda whispered to her, “this isn’t your pushy cousin Murray come visiting from Florida.”

Iranaputra took a hurried step toward the ellipse. “You do not understand, sir. This vessel is not something you can just board and take over. I am afraid you do not appreciate the scale of things. Having dealt with logistical matters all my life, I can assure you …”

“We will decide what is possible and what is not.” The Chakan cut him off brusquely. “It is our intention to assume control of the alien artifact. By peaceful means if possible, by whatever means if not. We claim possession by right of discovery.”

“I hate to point this out to you chaps,” said Follingston-Heath in his best military-polite manner, “but if anyone has the prerogative to claim possession through right of discovery, it’s the five of us, what?”

“I have no time for jokes.” The Chakan did not smile. “You represent no world or league, you do not function in any recognizable official capacity. I remind you: We have monitored all your transmissions. We know who and what you are. The tide of time has passed you by.” As if aware that his gruff words were availing him nothing, he softened his tone.