Double Contact (11 page)

“You've got organic microscopes there instead of eyes, Doctor,” it said. “But suggestive of what? I'm seeing what you're seeing, with great difficulty, but what should I be thinking about it?”

“Your pardon, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “I cannot be absolutely certain without analyzing a specimen for purposes of comparison, but the traces of foreign metal you see suggests that this is where the alien robot we found on
Terragar
sustained its injuries or—since it was not an organic life-form—damage. The weapon or other agency which blew a crater in the front of its body, also blasted it backwards against the hull with the results you can see. Perhaps it was trying to protect its ship from something, or someone. If the crew were defenders rather than attackers, their lethal assault on
Terragar
's computer systems may have been due to a panic reaction following an earlier attack as well as a simple, first-contact misunderstanding.”

“You could be right,” said the captain, “but I think you're giving them the benefit of a very large doubt.…” It reached towards the equipment satchel at its waist. “Grab my backpack and use your thrusters to hold me steady while I scrape off a specimen.”

“Friend Fletcher…!”

“Don't worry, Doctor,” said the other, radiating reassurance as it produced a short, broad-bladed screwdriver. “This thing is too simple and stupid to be infected by a computer virus.… Oops. That's strange.”

While it had been scraping hard to remove the largest of the specimens, the tool's sharp blade had penetrated the hull and torn out a narrow triangle of metal. It was surprisingly thin, structurally weak, and its underside was covered by the fine, geometrical shapes of integral circuitry. When it had bagged the original specimen, Fletcher removed the hull sample and placed it in an insulated box as a precaution against possible electronic infection. The captain's accompanying feelings of impatience and barely controlled excitement suggested that it would rather be doing something else.

“I feel that you, too, have found something interesting, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” the other replied. It secured the two specimens in its sample box before going on. “I had time for a quick look into what seems to be a long, thin and apparently empty compartment or corridor behind the access hatch. It would be easier to show you, Doctor. There's enough room for both of us, and your extra helmet light will help us see whatever is in there, and, if necessary, make a fast retreat.”

CHAPTER 11

Their lights showed a length of corridor leading inboard whose walls, except for a large cylindrical structure on one side that was enclosed by seamless metal plating that was warped and heat-discolored, was composed of a lightly-built, boxlike framework that appeared to be nonmetallic. Continuous lengths of open-mesh netting were secured to and stretched tightly along all four inner surfaces of the framework and, about thirty meters inboard, a similar netted passageway intersected theirs at right angles. When the captain's foot caught accidentally in the netting, the whole corridor vibrated for a moment before returning to stillness.

“That wall netting tells us one important fact about their level of technology,” said Fletcher, for the benefit of the recorder as well as Prilicla. “They don't have artificial gravity. And look at the internal supporting structure of the hull. It reminds me of the interior of one of Earth's old-time zeppelins—it's just a light framework on which to hang a streamlined skin that will aid passage through a planetary atmosphere.”

“A skin,” Prilicla reminded it gently, “that your second specimen suggests could be one single, overall, multipurpose sensor.”

“Yes, indeed,” Fletcher said. It pointed at the warped metal cylinder near them and went on. “I want to take a closer look at that later. From its size and shape I'd say that it houses one of a pair of matched hyperdrive generators which malfunctioned, either by accident or through malicious intent, and caused them to detonate a distress beacon.”

Fletcher moved its vision pickup carefully so as to sight it inboard between the open mesh of the net. Prilicla pointed his helmet light in the same direction.

“Several more enclosed structures are visible,” it resumed. “All are solidly-built, some with complicated shapes and many projections which badly needed that streamlined outer hull. They appear to be joined to each other by a latticework of structural-support members. All of the ones we can see are linked together externally by short stretches of open-weave corridors like this one. But our point of entry, which may not be the only one, was by a simple, close-fitting, hinged cover that appears to allow access deep into the entire ship. It was not a pressurized seal, and nowhere can we see anything like an airlock.

“But then,” the captain added, allowing itself a small bark, “a crew of intelligent robots wouldn't need air.

“There is no obvious threat here at present,” it went on, “so I shall continue the investigation deeper inside the ship. In case of unforeseen developments, Doctor, would you like to remain here so that you can make a fast getaway?”

Prilicla was silent for a moment while common sense and his evolutionary imperative of survival through cowardice warred with the intensity of his curiosity, and lost.

“I would like to remain here,” he said, “but I won't. Lead the way.”

The captain didn't reply but its feelings regarding such stupid behavior were very plain.

Slowly and carefully and with many pauses while Fletcher directed its vision pickup at objects that might or might not be of importance, they continued to move inboard while Fletcher described everything it saw and deduced in its flat, unemotional, observer's voice.

Their helmet lights showed many cable looms running along the members that joined the large and small structures and mechanisms that were coming into view. Some of the cable runs were attached to the outer framework of the passages they were traversing, and clearly visible. The individual lengths were color-coded, their gradation in coloration and shading suggesting that the visual sensitivity of the ship's crew was slightly higher than that of Prilicla's Earth-human companion, but lower than his own. When they drew level with a large, blocky mechanism of indeterminate purpose with what was obviously a control panel and two access hatches on it, the captain's curiosity became so intense that Prilicla felt obliged to issue a warning.

“No, friend Fletcher,” he said. “Look but don't touch.”

“I know, I know,” it replied with a flash of irritation. “But how else can I find out what it is and does? I can't believe that these people—robots or whatever—would plant a virus to booby-trap every internal control panel and hatch. That wouldn't make sense. It would lead to a lot of unnecessary accidents among the crew.”

“The robot crew,” said Prilicla, “should be resistant to their ship's computer viruses.”

“Good point,” said the captain. “But so far there has been no sign of them. Are they in their quarters? If so, what would the accommodations for a crew of robots look like?”

It didn't speak again until they came to the next intersection, a
T
-junction leading into a passageway that led fore and aft to the limit of visibility provided by their helmet lights. The support frames carried what seemed like hundreds of differently coded cable runs and the new passageway was obviously a main trunk route for crew members, but it was no wider or deeper then any of the others they had encountered.

That suggested infrequent traffic, Prilicla thought, or a small crew.

“We have to find out what this ship can do,” said the captain suddenly, “apart from simply killing other ships. For our own defense we must learn and understand its weapons capability and, if possible, that of its attacker. Next time I'll bring something more intelligent than a screwdriver. A radiation sensor, perhaps, that will work without being in direct contact with the target object.…”

“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla broke in, “would you please be silent and absolutely still?”

The captain opened its mouth and shut it again without speaking. As it waited motionless, the curiosity, puzzlement, and increasing anxiety it was radiating hung about it like a thick fog.

“You may relax, friend Fletcher, at least for a few minutes,” said Prilicla finally, directing his helmet light forward. “I thought I detected vibration in the corridor netting that was not being made by us, and I was right. Something is moving aft towards us. It is not yet visible. Shall we withdraw, I hope?”

“I want a look at it first,” said the captain. “But stay behind me in case hostilities break out. Better still, you head back to
Rhabwar,
now.”

The calm, controlled expectancy with a minimum of fear that was being radiated by the other compared very favorably with Prilicla's own cowardly feelings. He moved a few meters behind the captain but no farther.

In the netting around them the vibration increased, and suddenly it was within range of their helmet lights, a flattened, ovoid shape that moved like an enormous blob of animated quicksilver. The digits of the six short appendages spaced equally around its body were grasping the netting expertly and using it to pull the creature rapidly towards them, but at a distance of ten meters or so it slowed to a stop. Obviously it was watching them.

“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla said anxiously, “don't open your satchel—a tool could be mistaken for a weapon—or make any movements that might seem threatening.”

“I know the first-contact procedures, Doctor,” said the captain irritably. Slowly it released its hold on the netting and extended its two empty hands palms-outward.

A subjective eternity passed that must have lasted all of ten seconds without a response from the alien. Then its body rotated slowly through ninety degrees until the back or underside was directly facing them. Its six tiny hands were tightly gripping the netting all around it.

“It doesn't seem to be armed and its action isn't overtly hostile,” said the captain, glancing backwards over its shoulder, “and plainly it doesn't want us to go any farther. But what can the rest of the crew be doing? Moving to cut off our retreat?”

“No, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla in gentle disagreement. “I have a feeling that…”

“Doctor,” the other broke in incredulously, “are you saying that you're detecting feelings from this, this robot?”

“Again, no,” he replied, less gently. “It is what you would call a hunch, or a guess, based on observation. I have the feeling that we are meeting half of the ship's crew and that we met the damaged other half on
Terragar.
There are small differences in size and body configuration which lead me to think that the damaged specimen was the male and this one is the female equivalent.…”

“Wait, wait,” the captain broke in again, its emotional radiation a confusion of surprise and disbelief with a flash of the unsubtle humor associated with the cruder aspects of reproduction. It went on. “Are you saying that the design of these robots is so sophisticated that they have the means to reproduce sexually? That would imply the implantation of a metallic sperm equivalent and an exchange of nonorganic DNA and … It's ridiculous! I just can't believe that robots, even highly intelligent robots, would need a sexual act to reproduce their kind, and I didn't see anything resembling sex organs on either of them.”

“Nor did I,” said Prilicla. “As I've already told you, it was a simple matter of differences in body mass and configuration. This one appears to be slimmer and more graceful. But now I would like you to do something for me, friend Fletcher. Several things, in fact.”

The other's emotional radiation was settling down but it didn't speak.

“First,” Prilicla went on, “I want you to move forward, slowly, until you've closed to half the present distance from the robot, and observe its reaction.”

The captain did so, then said, “It hasn't moved and I think its hands are gripping the net even more tightly. Obviously it doesn't want us to pass. What's the next thing?”

“Move around behind me,” said Prilicla. “It may consider you to be a threat even though you've taken no hostile action. Your body mass is over twice that of the robot, your limbs are long and thick and strange to it. My body is also strange but I don't believe anyone or anything would consider me a threat or, hopefully, wish to harm me physically.

“Then I want you to return to
Rhabwar,
” he went on before the other could respond. “Move the ship away, a distance of half a mile should be enough, and come back for me when I signal. You will not have a long wait because fairly soon I will be close to the limit of my physical endurance.”

The other was radiating such a combination of surprise, bewilderment, and intense concern for his safety, that it was making his limbs tremble.

“Friend Fletcher,” he said firmly, “I need the area of this ship to be totally clear of all extraneous emotional interference, especially yours.”

The captain exhaled so deeply that the sound in his headset was like a rushing wind, then it said, “You mean you want to be left alone and unprotected in an alien ship while you try to pick up emotional radiation from a machine? With respect, Doctor, I think you're mad. If I allowed you to do that, Pathologist Murchison would have my guts for garters.”

It was a colorful and physiologically-inaccurate Earth-human expression Prilicla had encountered before, and knew its meaning. He said firmly, “But you will allow it and do exactly as I say, friend Fletcher, because this is a disaster site and I have the rank.”

Gradually the principal source of emotional interference that was Fletcher diminished with distance as the captain retraced its path to their entry point and jetted towards
Rhabwar,
and a few minutes later the faint background of emotional noise from the ambulance ship's crew was gone as well. Very slowly and cautiously Prilicla extended one long, fragile arm and moved close to the robot.