Gelmann dipped a handful of water and put it to her lips. “Salty as it smells, with a funny burnt tinge I’ve never encountered before. Either this is some kind of overdecorated on-board storage tank, or else it’s just a place to come and relax.”
“Could be both,” Iranaputra observed thoughtfully. “Recycled for looks as well as consumption.” He looked wistful. “I used to design setups like that.”
Shimoda lay down on the gently sloping beach. Irregular flat-topped plateaus took the place of the usual smooth walls. The overall effect was of a small cove cut into a rocky shore. He found himself wondering what sort of real or artificial life might inhabit the artificial sea. There were no seabirds, no arboreal life of any kind. Thus far they’d seen only the single burrower.
“Isn’t this pleasant?” With Iranaputra’s assistance Gelmann sat down and removed her walking shoes and linings, digging her toes into the sand. It felt exactly like normal, damp beach sand. “A little chilly, though,” she informed the Autothor.
The azure ellipse flared momentarily and the ambient temperature rose several degrees.
“How about some food?” Hawkins inquired. Shimoda rolled over to look at him.
“As much as you eat I’m surprised you’re not twice as big as I am.”
The ex-restorer grinned mirthlessly. “Anger bums a lot of calories. Hard to put on weight when you’re mad all the time.”
Their latest meal was light and innovative. The Autothor continued to improve with practice, this time producing synthesized shrimp that not only tasted but looked like the real thing, except for a slight greenish tinge and the helpful fact that they were presented without shells or heads.
Of more interest was the means with which, upon Iranaputra’s thoughtful request, the Autothor recharged Ksarusix’s depleted power cell. A sharp bolt of dwarf blue lightning shot from the ellipse to goose the serving robot three meters up the beach.
“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.”
