Prodigals, page 7
“Our overseas friends know no more about alien technology and how to keep it functioning than we do,” Zimmer pointed out.
Pavesi had been relatively quiet up until then. “One more thing, as long as we’re taking about ‘old cars.’” She paused. “They can crash and burn just as lethally as new ones. Especially if the owner has little or no understanding of how they work. We could receive in trade a device that controls the weather. That would be truly wonderful—as long as we are capable of controlling the device. The same holds true for anything that could be used as a weapon. Even modern weapons can backfire or blow up and kill their user. I had an old colleague of mine who was preparing to deliver—let’s call it a ‘gift package.’ It went off prematurely. He lost two fingers. Imagine the consequences if the same thing happened with an alien device of unknown potential.”
Katou-Zimmer turned philosophical. “Well noted, Diana. Or to put it another possible way, we should most assuredly beware of aliens bearing gifts. Even if they come with extensive instruction sheets.”
The president, his council, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, together with their respective adjutants and advisors, were all waiting to debrief the contact team via video upon their return from the second meeting with the aliens. In contrast to the first such encounter, when Dev had been more than a little overawed and enthused by his audience of political and military movers and shakers, the second time around he found himself oddly indifferent to the proceedings. Significant as they were, he found his thoughts drifting, away from the president, the generals and admirals, and their intent, well-meaning, but somehow distant queries.
Even as he listened to the anxious questions that were being asked and to the calm, carefully considered replies of his fellow team members, he was thinking about that last, fleeting, almost furtive glance from one of the tall alien bodyguards.
In the course of the two contact encounters, neither had spoken a word to the humans. One had said something to the principal alien, the tentacled Vantolos. Or maybe he (they would all be “he” in Dev’s mind until gender clarification was provided) hadn’t said anything. Maybe the armed biped had simply blown air into one of Vantolos’s hearing organs. There was so much they didn’t know about the gruff, commanding visitors. Given the abrupt nature of the two meetings that had transpired thus far, all they had to go on were endless analyses of the audio-video recordings.
Was the asperity intentional? Designed to intimidate, to restrict questioning and conversation while delivering demands? It was impossible to avoid the thought even as he knew that, like his colleagues, he risked imposing humanoid cultural norms on creatures that were utterly non-human. Perhaps in the ethos of tentacled interlocutors, brusqueness denoted courtesy and understanding whereas extended casual conversation was a sign of contempt and indifference.
But then there was that one backward glance….
During the course of conversation, the two massive bipeds had ignored the humans. Were they simply not curious about a newly met species? Or were they under orders, or commands, or some other unknown directive to ignore anything that was not an obvious threat to themselves or Vantolos? If such was the case, then why the look back, and at the very last moment?
Rising from the bed on which he had been watching television with the sound off, Dev walked to the compact bathroom to brush his teeth. He was obsessing over a glance. That attention to oftentimes obscure detail had been a characteristic of his since childhood. It had also garnered him several promotions, when he had found holes in arguments or, more importantly, in proposed budgetary material. Yet this time his fixation seemed misplaced, almost frivolous. There likely was nothing of significance to the alien’s backward glimpse. Maybe it was doing nothing more than relieving pressure on its neck. Still, Dev could not shake it from his memory.
Possibly, he told himself, because the two bodyguards were bisymmetrical bipeds. Like humans, they had two arms, two legs, two eyes, hands with fingers (albeit two fewer on each) and walked upright. In appearance and in movement they were far more like humans than was the cephalopodan Vantolos. Yet Vantolos was plainly in charge. Were the bipeds Vantolos’s comrades, equal partners in the unexpected stopover on a small planet? Or did they occupy lesser positions in the hierarchy of visitors? For that matter, were they and Vantolos’ kind the only two species on the mothership? Might there be more, whose importance superseded that of Vantolos’s people but who preferred to remain out of sight, pulling diplomatic and martial strings from the safety of their vessel?
His ignorance overwhelmed him. Because there was far more to it than just personal curiosity. His own fate, that of his family and friends, indeed that of the entire human species, might well depend on how efficiently he and his colleagues interacted with the aliens. He would have to be careful what questions he asked. While he badly wanted answers to so very, very many, he could not risk antagonizing Vantolos or his thus far silent attendants. There was too much at stake.
As he started brushing his teeth, the battery-powered brush humming softly, he stared back at himself in the mirror. What he saw there did not rouse him with confidence. Was there more danger in possibly asking the wrong questions—or in not asking the right ones? He and his colleagues knew so little. If they held back from inquiring, he told himself, they would learn nothing more. Such as the reason for the tall biped’s single backward glance. Only one way to really find out.
At the next meeting, should the opportunity arise, Dev resolved to ask it.
Vantolos refused every suggestion that they might change the meeting place. Informed that the corn and wheat and other materials he had requested might be more quickly and easily delivered via a main container port such as New Orleans, or better still, St. Louis, the alien insisted it all be brought to the site where the previous encounters had taken place. The poor undersecretary of agriculture who had been charged with fulfilling the aliens’ demands was greatly relieved when he was informed that the tons of requested grain did not have to be trucked down the narrow road that bisected the peninsula but could instead be delivered via ship onto scoop-like receptacles just offshore.
Having arrived in a single cargo vessel especially designed and equipped to transport grain, the sea-going vessel anchored off Lake Surprise while several aliens saw to the transfer of its cargo. Through binoculars, Dev and his colleagues could see at least two representatives of Vantolos’s kind supervising the transfer operation. Under their direction, members of the bodyguard species operated a variety of smooth, almost featureless machinery in conjunction with a swarm of automatons. Resembling neither alien species, these robotic workers were little more than efficient amalgamations of internal lights and busy limbs.
Dev was about to pose his why-did-you-look-back question to one of Vantolos’s two personal bodyguards when it struck him that not only did he not know which of them had made the glance, he did not even know if the two present at today’s encounter were the same pair who had accompanied Vantolos previously. They knew that the alien speaker was Vantolos because he identified himself as such. But as far as the tall bipeds were concerned, they remained essentially visually interchangeable. It might be easy to find out. Or it might initiate the apocalypse.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Dev told himself with an air of fatality. Lifting an arm, while aware that the gesture itself might constitute some inexcusable breach of alien protocol, he pointed at the slightly taller of the two bodyguards and addressed it directly.
“Did you look back at us yesterday, just before boarding your vessel? If that was you, I was wondering why you did so?”
From height and behind a transparent dome, the alien peered down at him. Its companion shifted his stance. Reed’s expression tightened, Pavesi looked surprised, and Katou-Zimmer made a slight choking sound. But a wide smile broke out on her husband’s face, and he nodded encouragingly at Dev, his neatly trimmed beard bobbing slightly.
The bodyguard did not reply. Vantolos did.
“If Oktonc did as you say, then it was only out of curiosity. Did you think your kind the only sapients afflicted with inquisitiveness?” Vantolos did not turn to look at the individual under discussion, but a tentacle rose to point backward in the taller bodyguard’s direction. Dev was exceedingly pleased with himself for having identified the alien correctly as Vantolos continued.
“Unlike the Olone, my people, the Kaijank are less inclined to pursue interests that do not directly involve day-to-day survival. But they are not entirely lacking in curiosity. What I find interesting is that an individual of your primitive kind would take sufficient notice of such a small thing to find it worthy of comment.”
For the first time, Dev realized, they now had English-equivalent names for both alien species. Emboldened, he pressed on. “Curiosity has always been an acute component of my personal makeup.” He indicated the being who had been identified as Oktonc, who instead of gazing into the distance was now staring directly back at him. While the attention was a bit unsettling, Dev forced himself to ignore it. “It was the first time one of your bodygua—one of the Kaijank had shown any interest in us outside of formal proceedings.”
“Keep it going, son.” From nearby, an approving Jakob Zimmer whispered to him.
Dev needed no urging. At any moment, Vantolos might decide to terminate the exchange and return to his vessel. “I just wondered why neither of the Kaijank had taken the time to do something like that before.”
Beneath Vantolos’s golden garment, small shapes curled and writhed energetically. “As I said, while the Kaijank are not driven by inquisitiveness like the Olone, neither are they entirely immune to its call.” Rising from the ground, a tentacle tip curled up and back to point at the pair of tall attendants. “Oktonc and Uleasc have their assigned tasks, as I have mine. Theirs is to watch for treachery or surprise among those with whom we exchange pleasantries. If he indeed looked back at you subsequent to our last meeting and just before re-entering our vessel, it was likely because he felt confident that all had gone well and would continue to do so until the moment of our departure. If he had felt otherwise, he would have favored you with more than just a glance.”
Filing the implied threat for future analysis, Dev looked up at the big Kaijank. Alien and human regarded one another quietly for a moment. Then Oktonc looked away, toward the road where military vehicles stood waiting for the return of the contact team. Nothing was implied by his shifting glance, nothing had changed. Was it possible, Dev wondered, that the Kaijank had no understanding of what Vantolos had been saying? Did they, inside their domes, even have access to translation facilities? He hoped so. Ignorance had a tendency to lead to misunderstanding.
Vantolos did not appear concerned. “The extent of your curiosity is surprising and does you credit.” He looked from Dev to Pavesi. “Do you feel likewise? Are you also driven to know?”
Pavesi nodded eagerly. Then, realizing that while the Olone had a fine grasp of common English, he might know nothing of human expressions, she added, “My profession requires me to learn as much as possible, in as many fields that are relevant to my profession as possible.”
“An understandable response.” Vantolos’s torso turned slightly to enable him to regard the rest of the contact team. “I presume you all feel similarly?” The Zimmers added their own enthusiasm to that of Dev and Pavesi, while Reed managed a slight mumble in the affirmative.
The Olone paused a long moment, as if listening to sounds out of range of their hearing.
A moment later he declaimed in a tone that was devoid of his usual contempt and aggression, “Would it then please you, and perhaps also quicken the delivery of the items we have demanded, if you were to briefly visit our ship?”
Taken aback, Pavesi murmured, “I’ll have to check with my superiors.” Reed immediately agreed with her position. The Zimmers readily concurred.
As for Dev, he almost forgot to say “yes,” so excited was he by the prospect. For someone who had seen so many of his dreams fulfilled merely by having been appointed to the contact team, the offer to see inside the alien ship exceeded his wildest hopes.
He feared that Pavesi might have botched the offer when she looked up from her communicator and asked, “Can we make visual and audio recordings of what we see?” To Dev’s relief, Vantolos was not fazed by the request.
“Certainly. You may make records of whatever you like.”
So, the aliens had nothing they wanted to hide, Dev reflected. Maybe they were convinced that such recordings would prove useless to the uncomprehending apes making them. Or perhaps Vantolos and his superiors, assuming he had any, were in truth responding with an honest and open offer: a gesture of kindness coupled with condescension in response to the humans’ ready compliance with their demands.
“What time could we arrange to do this?” Katou-Zimmer gazed expectantly at Vantolos. “We don’t need much time to prepare and we …”
The Olone cut her off. “Now. Soon everything we require will be loaded and we will depart.”
“Will you return some day?” Katou-Zimmer asked quickly. “We have hardly had a chance to ask you any questions, and …”
The alien interlocutor turned to her. “Come with me now or not at all.”
Reed voiced the thought Dev and the others preferred to avoid. “How do we know this offer isn’t some kind of trick? How do we know you won’t just leave with us, so you can use us for …?” He left the rest unsaid.
Vantolos replied anyway.
“‘Use you’? Use you for what?” This time two tentacles rose to semaphore outlines in the air while the enigmatic shapes beneath his garment accelerated their twisting and wriggling. “What possible use could we have for a handful of primitives such as yourselves? You would require constant supervision to ensure you did not damage yourselves by attempting to interact with our ship. You would need your own food, facilities, atmosphere.”
“You’re breathing our atmosphere,” the ever-observant Pavesi pointed out.
The alien swung to face her. “Your ignorance is profound. Yes, I can breathe the air of your world.” One tentacle gestured behind him. “The Kaijank and others cannot.”
“There are others? Other species on your ship?” a startled Dev inquired. Vantolos ignored him.
“You assume much. I can promise that if you come with me now, you will see many wonders, the sight of which will remain with you forever. Your ‘recordings’ will awe your species and give them much to ponder. Then you will be returned to this location. We have neither the interest nor reason to retain you on board our ship.” He paused. “I give you one of your minutes to make up your minds.” Dev found that the alien was again looking directly at him. “We will see how deep your curiosity truly runs.”
“Not even enough time to check in with Washington.” Reed was shaking his head slowly. “Any of you going?”
“We would never forgive ourselves if we decline,” murmured Jakob Zimmer. Taking his wife’s hand in his, he smiled down at her. She patted the back of his hand with one of her own and turned, resolute, to face the alien.
“Such a thing has been a dream of mine since I was eleven years old.” Dev took a step to his right, to stand beside Zimmer. “If it’s the end of things for me, what better way than to end with the fulfillment of a dream?”
“I have to go.” Pavesi advanced toward the aliens and halted just out of tentacle reach.
A doleful Reed was still shaking his head. “Get gone or get fired. No wonder the department picked people for this team who didn’t have family.” With a sigh, he moved up to join his colleagues.
“I am impressed. Come now and be amazed.” Dropping all four tentacles to the ground, Vantolos turned and started back toward the small ship. In a tight bunch, the five humans followed.
Dev noted that the pair of Kaijank brought up the rear. Not behind Vantolos this time. Behind him and his colleagues. In the distance he could hear the first stirrings of confusion, fear, and anxiety rising from among the waiting, watching military and civilian escort. A glance back showed one of the technical team starting toward the slowly withdrawing knot of humans and aliens. Two soldiers rushed forward to grab the man and hold him back. Without orders they were paralyzed. They had no appropriate orders because no one had seen, could have foreseen, a scenario where the contact team would suddenly decide, without requesting permission and plainly not under duress, to head for the alien craft in the company of its contact team. Doubtless a number of those in charge of the convoy were on their phones frantically inquiring what they should do. By the time anyone in a position of authority heard their requests, came to a decision, and conveyed it, the contact team would be rising skyward.
Dev almost felt sorry for them. Over the past couple of days, he had come to know many of them personally, even if there had not been sufficient time to form real friendships. He wondered what his own colleagues in Washington and at the Johnson Center must be thinking as they watched him march willingly toward the alien vessel. Just as they must be wondering what he was thinking.
A rush of thoughts and emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Was Vantolos telling the truth when he promised to return them? Pavesi already had her recorder out and working. Neither the interlocutor nor the two Kaijank gave the slightest indication that they were interested in impeding her effort. That much of Vantolos’s assurance held true—so far.
Tilting back his head, Dev gazed skyward. Somewhere up there the great gray bulk of the alien mothership hovered in Earth orbit, taking on loads of terrestrial foodstuffs, woods, metals, and the other substances the aliens had requested. Soon he and his colleagues would board it. Would actually step aboard an alien spacecraft. For how long? An hour? Two? Vantolos had promised they would see wonders. How long would it take for all of them to be amazed and astonished beyond measure? His heart was pounding. A great, if brief, adventure lay before them.
