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.
“We don’t want anyone to get hurt. Your presence aboard the artifact is an accident, and we will take that into account. But I want you to understand my position clearly. I have information that substantial forces from the FFF, the Keiretsu, and elsewhere are on their way to the Sol system even as we speak.
“The Chakans have always struck boldly. I cannot waste any more time.”
The Autothor flared briefly, a delicate pale blue. “A portion of my exterior has just been damaged due to the impact of destructive energies. Steps are being taken to preserve atmospheric pressure and systems integrity.”
Hawkins looked around nervously. “Damn! They aren’t kidding.”
Shimoda blinked. “I didn’t feel anything. They must have hit the ship somewhere far away from our location.”
“Next time they might not.” Follingston-Heath, too, looked troubled.
“That was just a warning strike.” Now the Chakan allowed himself a slight smirk. “Our ships may be far smaller than the artifact itself, but size means nothing in these matters. The quadratic is quite capable of reducing a modest-sized city to ash. You can see that if necessary we can make our own entrance. I’d rather not do that. It could destroy valuable artifacts and information.
“Don’t think to run. Our predictors are locked onto you and will activate suitable weapons accordingly. Please provide us with an entry port immediately. If you do not cooperate, then when we have finally made our way aboard, I assure you your unplanned sojourn will come to an abrupt and unpleasant end.”
“What am I to do?” The Autothor was whirling rapidly and there was agitation in its voice. “This is so confusing.” In addition to spinning, it began to bounce off the floor like a ball on the end of a rubber band. “I don’t know what to do!”
“Can you slip into tachyspace and lose them?” Gelmann wondered.
“Not if they’re locked on with predictors, old boy,” Follingston-Heath said bleakly.
“There must be something we can do.” Iranaputra confronted the bobbing, dancing ellipse. “Search your memory. Look for analogies. Try.”
“I have tried. Perhaps if my cortex was completely restored … at this point I don’t even know what I am, so I can hardly decide how to respond.”
“Well, we can’t just let them in.” Gelmann sounded decisive.
“Why not?” Hawkins eyed them all wonderingly. “What do you all think you’re doing? What are we doing here? Look at us! We’re a bunch of decrepit old loons. We should be sitting on the porch at Lake Woneapenigong, playing checkers and discussing last night’s triball game or vidcom. We’re not marines.” He noticed that Follingston-Heath was eying him reprovingly. “That includes you too, Wesley. So don’t give me any of that supercilious lip of yours.” He approached the ellipse.
“Hey you, Chakans! We don’t want any trouble neither. Gimme a minute to talk to this thing and we’ll find a way to let you and your people … mmph!”
“Very sorry, Wal.” Shimoda had placed a massive hand over the much smaller man’s mouth. Hawkins squirmed like an electrified wire but even as a young man he couldn’t have freed himself from the sumo enthusiast’s grasp. “I feel your declaration of our surrender is premature.”
“That might be all it is.” Shimoda looked at Follingston-Heath in surprise. The Colonel shrugged helplessly. “Much as I hate to agree with Wal, there really isn’t anything we can do, chaps.”
“They are directing destructive fire at me again!” The Autothor was panicky. “What should I do?”
Hawkins finally freed his mouth, if not his body. “Let go of me, rice-ass! This is crazy! You’re only gonna get us all hurt, or worse!” He glared wildly at his companions, then at the Autothor. “For God’s sake, let ’em aboard before they blow their way in here and we lose pressure! I don’t wanna end my retirement as a lunar satellite.”
