Reparations

By H. David Blalock

Prologue

One would think that the systems would have broken down after three thousand years, but they droned on, processing fuel, evacuating waste, gathering data. Vanguard pushed on through space toward Epsilon Psi, a dark dot in infinity, a speck of life in a lifeless void.

Most of the suspended animation units had shut down centuries earlier. LARNA, the Living Artificial Reasoning Nested Array, had sensed the deaths within the tubes. Tiny imperfections in each crewmember's makeup, given thousands of years to develop, had claimed them: some to cancers, genetic dysfunction, progressive heart disease. Too small to detect at the beginning of the mission, the illnesses ran their courses unchallenged. LARNA was programmed to waken the medical staff in case of emergency, but the progress of each disorder was so slow LARNA did not recognize them as meeting the criteria of "emergency". She noted each SA unit’s shutdown time, the category of the expired crewmember, and compared it to the minimal requirements for completion of the mission. She dutifully logged this information into her mission database for eventual analysis by the mission commander.

LARNA’s designers would have been horrified to know how dispassionately she watched the demise of so many crewmembers. Being themselves immensely concerned with the survival of the human race, it never occurred to them that an artificial intelligence such as LARNA could allow the deaths of so many without so much as a twinge of concern. They had concentrated with such discipline on ensuring LARNA would accomplish everything necessary to foster the human cargo in the belly of Vanguard through the unknown perils of deep space travel that they neglected to examine LARNA’s own sense of urgency for each crewperson individually. LARNA’s main directive was to allow nothing to prevent accomplishment of the mission. Nothing had been embedded in her ethical programming concerning individual importance to the mission.

There were 16 survivors of the 320 original crew when the explorer ship Vanguard began deceleration. LARNA set about the task of waking the remnant.

-- 1 --

Communications Engineer Kade Mellon rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned. He felt like he had a mouthful of cotton and all his teeth wore sweaters. The tang of metal hung in his sinuses and clung to the back of his throat. A slight throbbing at the back of his head responded well to stretching his neck and working his jaw.

He pushed himself up away from the SA unit to hover, weightless and anchored by a line that still fed his vitals to LARNA, a few feet over the unit. He looked grimly at the dark SA units, lined up like tiers of sleeping soldiers against the walls of the chamber connected through a bewildering complex of tubes and cabling to a central column that ran from the deck to the ceiling nearly eighty feet overhead.

They had been told to expect casualties, but this---

The click and hiss of another unit opening caught his attention. He watched the lithe form of Hydroponics Technician Sala Shenez rise and stretch cat-like before catching his eye and nodding her recognition. Even after the long sleep, the sight of her made him catch his breath. The brief sleep garment barely covered her muscular physique, the slim lines and soft curves causing a stirring inside him. Damn, he wasn’t even three minutes awake, and already his libido was cranking up.

In quickening succession, the rest of the survivors were released from their slumber. Mellon recognized only two of the other 14. There was Logistics Technician Adrian Gannett, a man who should be only in his mid twenties, prematurely balding and near-sighted, and Security Officer James Arthur Fields, or "Jafa", a bucolic 30 year-old built like a concrete column but with the personality of a joker.

"Hey, Kade! You made it!" Jafa shouted, his voice ringing in the hush of the sleeping chamber. A few of the others shot him annoyed looks, then went about their business. Jafa went through a series of stretching exercises as he made his way toward Mellon.

"Unbelievable," Gannett said. "Look how many---" He shook his head at the darkened SA units. "Will we have enough left?"

Mellon took in the rest. "Depends on whether any of the admin groups survived. I think we have at least one from each branch here."

"LARNA," Gannett said to the air. "Are you still on line?"

"On line and ready," a neutral female voice spoke to them through the subcutaneous receivers in their skulls.

"What's our status?" Gannett asked.

"Life support and all other vital systems are nominal," LARNA reported.

"Summarize crew casualties," Mellon ordered.

"Less than one percent of crew complement is now viable," LARNA stated. "Mission objectives obtainable at minimal criterion."

"Is that why she woke us?" a man Mellon recognized as a mechanical engineer asked.

"Negative," LARNA answered. "Minimal crew required for first contact protocol."

The hush settled back over them as LARNA's words sank in. Then there was a general chaos.

"LARNA,” Mellon shouted, hurrying toward the control deck, "relay all known data on alien contact."

He made his way out of the dormitory and into the passageways connected to the rest of the ship. The SA chamber was centrally located, the only truly weightless environment on Vanguard, so the farther he traveled the more he felt the press of Vanguard’s rotation. As LARNA briefed him, he at first traveled quickly, passing storage areas and life support equipment, then more slowly as the weight of his own body began to press down on him. Within minutes of reaching the section of Vanguard where gravity was one-tenth Earth normal, he was winded and had to stop to rest.

"Alien ship first scanned 36 hours ago. Ship was not on intercept course. LARNA evaluated current situation and determined best course of action was observation before contact. "

Shenez and Gannett fell in beside him, as they hopped into a transport. The little vehicle’s wheels squealed as he twisted the controls toward a hatch marked "5B." The door popped open seconds before they tore through it at nearly 40 miles an hour.

"Keep your head down," Gannett mumbled, grabbing the edge of his seat as Mellon swung hard around a tight turn in a heavily lit corridor filled with colonization material. "You never know. "

"Quiet," Mellon snapped.

"---less than ten hours ago," LARNA was saying. "New course projection indicates alien vessel will intercept within forty-eight hours. "

"Forty-eight hours?" Shenez griped. "Two days to prepare for the most momentous event in human history?"

"What were you planning to do? Greet them with a brass band?" Mellon quipped, pushing harder on the accelerator.

The transport screeched to a halt in front of the control deck access hatch. LARNA cycled it open as the three piled out of the vehicle.

They stared in disbelief at the control deck. Its instruments were wrecked, in total disarray. Whole modules were missing. Gaping holes in control banks told where equipment had been ripped out.

"What the---?"

Mellon nodded. "Really," he agreed. "LARNA, explain. "

There was silence from LARNA.

"LARNA?" Shenez called.

"LARNA, respond," Gannett shouted.

It came from between the consoles, thin at first, then wider. It was silver and green, with protrusions at irregular intervals along its length.

“What’s that?” Gannett yelled.

The thing flowed quickly, like a metallic river, around the base of one of the control panels and disappeared under another. They looked at each other in shock and bewilderment.

“LARNA!” Mellon cried, alarmed.

“On line and ready,” LARNA’s calm voice came back.

“What happened to you?” Shenez interjected. “Why didn’t you respond?”

“LARNA was unable to respond due to momentary malfunction.”

“What the hell was that thing we just saw crawling around in here?” Gannett demanded.

“Uncataloged lifeform.”

“We know that!” Gannet complained. “What’s it doing on board?”

“Lifeform originated on Vanguard.”

Mellon stepped in. “It was born here?”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gannett said. “Impossible. That was like no lifeform I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you scanned this lifeform, LARNA?” Shenez asked.

“Affirmative.”

“Give specifics.”

“Lifeform is carbon based, average life span of eight years. Reproduction via ova. Structure is similar to mollusk Gastropoda Pulmonata.”

“A common slug?” Shenez muttered.

“A slug? That damn thing was nearly twelve feet long!” Gannett said, pointing to where it had disappeared.

“We have been shut up in here for 3000 years, Adrian,” she reminded him.

“What’s it been living on?” Mellon wondered.

“Lifeform processes certain metallic compounds into digestible material,” LARNA responded.

“It eats metal?” Gannett blurted.

“Not directly, I’m sure,” Shenez assured him. “It probably produces an acid that ---“

“That would explain the damaged equipment,” Mellon broke in. “LARNA, have you rerouted helm and comm units?”

“Affirmative. Helm and Communications available from Communications Laboratory.”

They sped through the cluttered corridors on the transport, in their haste scattering some of the boxes that had shifted over the years. Gannett clutched the side of the vehicle and cursed at each hard turn until Shenez glared him into silence. Finally they stopped at the comm lab door. The portal cycled open as they approached it.

Consisting mainly of eight working stations the comm lab was designed as a workshop for the maintenance of communications equipment. There were three flat workbenches between Stations 3 and 4, separating the room in half. The lab was nearly as bad as Main Control. If LARNA was routing helm through this shambles, it was a wonder the Vanguard stayed on course. Stations 5 and 6 were beyond repair. Several dull gray streaks wound from them and disappeared under the flat tops.

"They've been here, too," Shenez observed. She rubbed a dried trail of mucous with her boot. "Not recently, though. Wonder why?"

Gannett leaned over to take a closer look at one of the trails and bumped against a workbench. A container of some red dust fell off to splash against the deck.

There was a hum and a click followed by the sudden appearance of a squat, wheeled machine. The little gadget rolled quickly to the dust and began to vacuum the debris into a container on its back.

"Of course," Shenez said, smiling. "The lab has its own maintenance system for contamination control. Foreign substances, like the slug's eggs, wouldn't survive."

Gannett watched the robot as it went about its business. "How come these little fellows didn't take out the slugs in Control?"

"I didn't say they got rid of the slugs, just their eggs. Besides the lab's status as a clean environment is critical. The designers of Vanguard might not have seen the need to be so meticulous in Control," Shenez explained. She peered under the workbenches and then stood and shrugged at them. "There's nothing there now."

Gannett prodded at a loose piece of metal experimentally. The robot ignored him.

Mellon had settled into Communications Station 3 and initiated diagnostic checks. He watched the green lights as they popped up until, within a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction. "Well, we have communications. Shenez, check Station 2. LARNA's indicating that one as Helm. "

Shenez worked over the indicated board for a few moments. "All set and active," she pronounced.

"Let's take a look at our visitor," Mellon said. He tapped buttons on the console before him until the screen on Station 1 lit up.

A series of wire frame images flashed briefly across the screen, intertwined with numbers and symbols Mellon recognized as spatial coordinates, until it settled on a single image. The Vanguard, represented by a white square tagged with a continually updated coordinates flag, moved slowly across the center of the screen. In the upper left quadrant, a blue square tagged "Unknown" above it coordinates readout, advanced toward Vanguard on an intercept course.

"Can we get a visual on the alien?" Mellon asked.

"Standby."

In a few seconds, the tactical display was replaced by real-time image of a star field. Mellon guessed LARNA was using the astronomy lab cameras. He caught motion in the center of the screen.

"Magnify," he said.

The screen flickered. The moving star resolved itself into an object roughly cubical in shape. "Maximum magnification," LARNA stated.

They watched the two targets merge for a few moments. Mellon watched the blue square in growing fascination. It was really happening. After 3,000 years, they were going to re-enter the waking world, and on top of that, they were making first contact.

He looked at Shenez, noted the curves of her face. He began to have mixed feelings about the situation. Would they be friendly? The Vanguard’s crew was down to its minimum. After all this time, to fail at their original mission would make the sacrifice of those others meaningless. Did they have the right to risk that? For all they knew, they were the only survivors of the human race. So much would have happened back on Earth, so many generations, so many crises. They hadn’t even had time to go through LARNA’s logs, to readout her records on communications with base.

“Time to intercept?” he asked.

“Forty-six hours, eighteen minutes, thirty-five seconds.”

"Method of propulsion?" Mellon asked.

"Unknown," LARNA responded. "Probable gravometric manipulation."

"Outside a solar system?" Gannett said, puzzled.

“Didn’t you get any physics training?” Shenez sneered.

“I’m a bean counter, not a physicist,” Gannett snapped back at her.

“Once the ship has gained enough speed, it exits its home system,” Mellon stepped in. “After that, only course changes affect its speed.”

“So it could fly on forever with practically no fuel?”

“Right.”

“Amazing.” Gannett peered at the screen. “So, there’s really no way of telling where this ship originated.”

“Right again,” Shenez said. “It could be local, could be tourist.”

“Not that we care,” a voice came from behind them.

They turned to find Jafa and six large men in security uniforms craning their necks at the equipment.

“Hey, Jafa,” Mellon smiled. “I see you found some colleagues.”

Jafa stepped into the room and looked around. “What happened?” he asked. “We just came from Main Control. It’s trashed, too. So is Security and Medical.”

“There’s a new life form aboard that digests metal,” Shenez explained.

The security men tensed, their eyes darting. “Alien?” Jafa inquired.

Mellon shook his head. “It seems to be a mutant form of a terrestrial slug. Large, fast, mobile.”

“How many?”

Mellon looked at Shenez and Gannett. “We don’t know.”

Jafa turned to his men. “Sims, Johnson, you check the Engineering decks. Kranston, Clark: Logistics. Martin, Edwards: Rec and Crew decks. Reports on the quarter hour. Any evidence to be coordinated with me. Go!” The six men scattered in couples. Jafa turned back to Mellon. “Well, I have good news and I have bad news.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“None of the Admin staff survived. Captain Helleran and Commander Mitchell appear to have been dead for over a thousand years. That means we’re into secondary command structure.”

They gave that a moment to sink in. Mellon had personally known several of the administrative staff. When he had last seen them (had it really been three millennia ago?) they were enthusiastically discussing their plans for the future. Mellon closed his eyes and tried to remember what each of them looked like. It bothered him a little that their faces didn’t come to mind as quickly as he would have liked.

“The good news is,” Jafa went on, “Communications Officer Mellon is next in line for command.”

Mellon’s eyes popped open in shock. “What?” was all he could get out.

“Congratulations, ol’ buddy,” Jafa grinned, thumping Mellon soundly on the back. “We’re all yours.”

“But, I’ve got no training in command,” Mellon protested.

“Nothing like a little On-The-Job,” Jafa said. “Besides,” he grinned again, “there’s only sixteen of us. How hard can that be?”

Mellon rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.

-- 2 --

The Vanguard was a deep-space colonization ship, built in orbit around Mars. Approximately twenty-two miles long, six miles wide and seven miles deep, it was intended to provide for a crew of 320 for ten years while terra-forming the target planet. It was designed to contain all the supplies and equipment needed for this purpose, first in a series of ships that would eventually number in the hundreds.

Kade Mellon stood in the forward observation turret, gazing at the stars that slowly slid by. Below him stretched the Vanguard like a cluttered metal landscape, the horizon barely discernable in the surrounding dark. Maintenance work lights flickered along its length, false stars that flared and died as the ‘bots went about their endless chores. Over his shoulder, the Vanguard’s dormant engines loomed like massive spires, blocking the starlight, forming black silouhettes.

“Are you all right?”

Shenez slipped up to stand beside him in the turret. He smiled wanly at her and turned back to the panorama.

“I guess I should feel lucky,” she said.

Mellon looked at her quizzically.

“Only five women survived,” she told him. “That means each of us get to pick two husbands.”

Mellon nodded quietly. “That’ll leave a guy out, though, won’t it?”

She smiled wickedly. “Yeah, the ugly one.”

He had to chuckle in spite of himself.

“Jafa’s men have counted over 300 of the new lifeform on board,” she continued. “He calls them ‘speed slugs’.” They both laughed at that. “Yeah, well, one of the men found out they don’t take well to cold, so we should be able to contain them using portable icing units and temperature regulation."

“Good.”

“I’ve asked them to bring me some of the eggs for study. Hydroponics isn’t as bad off as some of the other parts of the ship, so I’ll use it as Medical Lab for now, until we can make repairs.”

“Okay.”

They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the stars.

“So much is happening at once,” Mellon said at last. He looked at her. “What if…” He choked off the question and evaded her eyes.

“You’ll do just fine, Kade,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on his arm. “We’ll all help. You’re not alone.”

He nodded and gave her a quick smile. “Thanks.”

She seemed about to say something more, then just tightened her grip on his arm momentarily, returning the smile. “Come on,” she said. “There are a thousand things need doing.”

-- 3 --

LARNA’s logs were extensive: 3000 years of telemetry, scans, and communications data. Mellon gave Jafa and his men the responsibility of damage assessment and control. Shenez and one assistant took over Medical, as she had the prerequisite degrees and training. Gannett and the remaining five survivors were given the unenviable job of inventory control. For the next twenty-four hours, this kept everyone busy. Mellon coordinated their efforts and fed the pertinent data into LARNA. There was a brief excitement when Jafa’s detail found a huge speed slug nest on one of the engineering decks, but that soon calmed. A routine of checks and reports began to develop. Mellon marveled at the adaptability of the human animal: taking enormous odds and reducing them to routine chores.

Nineteen hours from intercept, LARNA sounded an alarm. Mellon swung around from his data entry and slapped the response key.

“Vanguard is being scanned,” LARNA reported.

“Nature of scan?”

“Passive spectral analysis via laser-similar device. Possible thermal and ultrasound probes.”

“They’re looking for life signs,” Mellon mumbled to himself.

“Probability high,” LARNA agreed.

“When will we be able to scan them?”

“Standby --- Scans indicate no lifeforms aboard the alien vessel,” LARNA said.

Mellon frowned. “No lifeforms?”

“Correct.”

“A deep space probe, maybe? Like the old Pioneer or Voyager?”

“Probability high,” LARNA judged.

“But, it changed course to intercept. Why would a deep space probe do that?”

“Insufficient data.”

Mellon grimaced at LARNA’s console. He flipped on the ship intercom.

“Attention. All personnel report to Communications. We have some new information on our visitor.”

-- 4 --

“Maybe it’s a weapon.”

Mellon glared at Jafa’s lieutenant; the beefy redhead named Harold Johnson. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, maybe it’s programmed to find and destroy alien ships,” Johnson said.

“Why would it scan for life signs?”

“Could be looking for a particular signature,” the security man insisted.

“I don’t believe it’s a weapon,” Shenez said. “LARNA would have scanned explosives or other destructive agents. Any evidence of that, LARNA?”

“None,” the computer replied.

Mellon scanned the gathering. Twelve men and four women: all that remained of the Vanguard complement. Again the weight of his responsibility hit him. He shrugged off his anxiety with an effort. “I think it’s imperative we try to communicate with them,” he told them and watched for reactions. They looked at each other for a few moments before several tried to speak at once.

“I’d like to examine the data further before…”

“Do they realize we’re here yet? Maybe…”

“What if they’re hostile? We might…”

“Maybe we could change course…”

Mellon held up a hand for silence. Jafa stepped up beside him and glared at the rest. Quiet settled over the group.

“We’re all nervous about this,” Mellon admitted. “It’s normal fear of the unknown. But we can’t put this off.” He tried to put as much confidence in his voice as he could. “They’re scanning us now. We have to assume they know Vanguard is manned. They’ve changed course in the past to intercept. They would probably do so again. Turning to run could be misunderstood. We need to be sure they comprehend who and what we are, just as we need to know about them. That requires communication.”

There were still a few questions in some of their faces, but he sensed they were following him, albeit reluctantly. They knew he was supposed to be the new commander, but they also knew him as Kade, the glorified telephone operator, who used to route their calls back home before they left Earth’s system and went into their long sleep. This was the first time they’d had to recognize his authority, and for some it was more difficult than for others. Two security men, Johnson and the swarthy fellow named Kranston, looked at Jafa for confirmation. Jafa glowered at them until they looked away.

“LARNA,” Mellon went on, “initiate first contact communcations protocol. Hail the alien vessel.”

“Stand by,” LARNA replied.

“LARNA will broadcast on all frequencies in the radio spectrum first. The message is a simple mathematic progression followed by a more complex friendship message. She will broadcast in strings at various speeds. If she gets no decipherable response, she will then try the higher frequencies, then lower frequencies,” Mellon explained.

“And if we get no response at all?” Johnson asked.

Mellon looked at each of them as he spoke, trying to imprint on them the importance of what he had to say by force of will. “No response could mean any number of things. We must remember, we are dealing with non-human minds. This is unprecedented. There are no guarantees anything we do will work. If we receive no response to LARNA’s calls, we will try visual signals.”

“That means waiting until they’re very close before we find out whether or not they’re friendly,” Johnson said. There was a general murmur of ill ease.

“That they will get closer is a given right now, anyway,” Shenez reminded the crowd, “whether we’re able to communicate with them or not.”

Johnson glumly lapsed back into silence.

“How long will this take?” asked a blonde girl standing close to Gannett. She clutched his arm anxiously and he patted her hand softly.

Mellon gave the girl, who he believed was named Melanie, what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Not long, I would think. LARNA should have a report within the hour.”

Jafa stepped forward. “I think we should get back to work until LARNA comes back with the results.”

“Good idea,” Shenez agreed. “No use brooding over something we can’t help.”

“I’ll announce LARNA’s progress on the hour,” Mellon promised. He paused to consider his next words. He had to send them back to their routine with a sense of purpose and a modicum of security if things were to remain under control. Johnson and Kranston had looks of sullen uncertainty. Gannett was chewing his lower lip and the girl slipped her arm around his with a frown on her face. Jafa watched the others with a cool self-assurance Mellon was certain was staged for their benefit. Shenez and her assistant, a youngish man named Sender, were speaking in hushed tones. She briefly caught his eye and smiled an encouragement to him. He felt a wave of gratitude for that. “We’re all in this together,” he said at last. “I don’t intend to keep anybody in the dark about anything. Nor do I intend to make decisions unilaterally. We have the rest of our lives to work out any differences we may have now,” this directed at Johnson and Kranston, “so let’s work together for the next few days until this is settled.”

Johnson exchanged looks with him and Jafa, then nodded slightly and turned to leave with Kranston in tow. Mellon saw them talking quietly as the Comm Lab portal shut.

“I don’t know, Jafa,” he said as the others wandered away singly and in groups. “Johnson may be trouble.”

“He was supposed to be promoted to command just before departure,” Jafa revealed. “Somehow the paperwork got delayed.”

Mellon nodded. It figured that a 3000-year-old bureaucratic screw-up would put a nasty wrinkle on a touchy situation.

“Still,” Jafa went on, “I wouldn’t worry. He has enough sense to know when to pick his time to move.”

Mellon eyed his friend, who grinned and winked at him.

“Just kidding,” Jafa said.

“Yeah,” Mellon grunted.

After what seemed an eternity, LARNA signaled she had completed her attempts at contacting the alien. There had been no response. The ships continued to close toward intercept. If the aliens had received any of LARNA’s messages, they gave no indication.

Mellon gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he reread LARNA’s report. He wiped his hand across his face and blinked at the screen, hoping against hope he was misreading it, but there it was. No response to radio, no response to infrared, no response to ultraviolet, no response to X-ray, no response, no response, no response!

He had to work in the dark now. There were so many unknowns. While LARNA had been busy, so had he. He had gone through the ship’s library, researching anything that might help the situation. He’d reviewed the first contact protocols, checked the library’s records of initial contact between human civilizations, researched and sought out information on speculative contacts with alien life, non-fiction and fiction.

The overall result was not promising. Almost without exception, initial contact had resulted in one or both parties suffering appalling losses, either physical or cultural. The Vanguard could afford neither. But, if one or the other of the parties had to suffer, Mellon finally determined the Vanguard crew would not be that party. No matter what he personally believed, he had a responsibility to protect those other fifteen crewmen. Even so, it was nearly half an hour before he thumbed the ship’s intercom open.

“Attention. LARNA has just reported that the alien does not respond to her hails. She estimates intercept in a little over six hours. Jafa, please come to Comm Lab.”

He flicked the switch off and passed a hand across his face again. He had hoped it would not come to this, but now he had to consider the possibility the alien was hostile. They might not be malicious, not in the human sense, but their very presence could jeopardize the Vanguard’s crew. Uncontained contact with an alien specie could spell disaster for the little group. He had to quickly provide for a worst case scenario, and, if he knew Jafa, the security chief would already have at least one plan ready.

As it turned out, Jafa had indeed considered a worst case scenario. Not only had he considered it, he had a plan for preliminary actions. When Mellon questioned his requests for some of the ship’s supplies and fuel, Jafa shook his head and smiled.

“You want to be prepared, right?” Jafa said. “We need to insure our survival against hostile action by superior forces. These supplies will do that. Only after we’ve secured our presence can we consider a counter action.”

“You really believe we’ll be beaten and have to go into hiding?” Mellon asked.

“What do you think? We’re talking about a worst case here. Where could we go but into hiding somewhere on board? It’s too late to abandon ship, not that we’d want to do that anyway.”

Mellon stared at the plan report and chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Look, Kade,” Jafa said, “this is my job. I have over 3,000 years experience. Trust me.”

Mellon sighed and agreed to the assignment of the supplies. Jafa promptly sent one of his men to see to their disposition.

“Receiving transmission from the alien vessel,” LARNA announced suddenly.

Mellon and Jafa spun to look at the tactical display. Aside from the fact that the symbols denoting the two ships were closer together, nothing had changed.

“Nature of transmission?” Mellon asked.

“Nanosecond bursts across one hundred gigahertz to three hundred fifty gigahertz containing discrete binary packets.”

Mellon and Jafa exchanged frowns. “Sounds like some kind of machine code,” Mellon ventured.

“Probability high,” LARNA agreed.

“Can you decode it?”

“Stand by.”

There was a seemingly interminable silence while the ship’s clock ticked away four seconds.

“Binary packets contain mathematical progressions correlating to frequency wavelength of transmissions.”

Mellon slapped the console before him and grinned at Jafa. “It’s more than just machine code! They’ve recognized something out of the ordinary and are attempting to establish communication.”

“But,” Jafa puzzled, “why are they using machine code?”

Mellon shook his head. “It just seems like machine code, because our machines are the only ones who use it. It’s the simplest form of communication. On, off. State of charge, state of discharge, all in a definite, repetitive pattern denoting intelligent design. We have no other way of dealing directly with them without knowing their language, their culture, their anatomy, a thousand other variables.”

Jafa eyed him warily and let the matter drop. Mellon was too excited by the news to notice his security officer’s nervousness. All he could think of was that it might not be necessary to assume the aliens were hostile, to prepare for that worst case scenario as if it were fait accompli.

“Alien continues to broadcast,” LARNA reported.

“Right,” Mellon said, settling into the task at hand. “We have to respond in kind first, to let them know we receive and recognize their message. LARNA, rebroadcast their message, but tack on the binary code for the atomic weight of each natural element.”

“Broadcasting.”

Another few seconds dragged by.

“Broadcast complete. Alien is responding.” Another pause. “Response is previous messages repeated followed by new binary packets. Decoding.”

“Kade,” Jafa said quietly.

“Yeah?” Mellon was watching the communications board closely for indications of anomalies.

“Kade, the helm station just alarmed.”

Mellon felt a heavy chill settle over him as he swung around to face the helm. LARNA had not announced any malfunction, yet there was the evidence: the Vanguard was slowing, using precious fuel to stop its own forward motion.

“What the --- ?” Mellon passed his hands over the diagnostics board at helm. Everything came back green except the mission parameter for course heading and speed.

“LARNA!” Mellon shouted in spite of himself.

“Ready and on line.”

“Why has the ship slowed?”

“Directive accepted from authorized source.”

Mellon stared at the board as if it had just crawled out of the wall and dropped in his lap. “What? Repeat that.”

“Directive accepted from authorized source.”

“Damned machine!” Jafa huffed. “It says it’s only following orders.”

“Whose orders?” Mellon asked, frustrated. “LARNA, whose orders? Identify source of orders.”

There was a series of clicks, squeals, hisses and snaps from LARNA, followed by silence. Mellon went back to the communications panel and tweaked some knobs. That had sounded like interference.

“Say again, LARNA.”

Again there was a series of odd noises.

“I got a really bad feeling about this,” Jafa said.

A sudden, horrible insight struck Mellon. “LARNA,” he asked, already knowing the answer, but dreading to hear it confirmed, “are you relating the identity codes for the alien ship?”

“Affirmative.”

Mellon hung his head and closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Had he allowed LARNA to be manipulated by ordering her to communicate with the alien? How had the alien broken their security codes? They were supposed to be humanly impossible to break.

Humanly impossible. Damn!

“What does that mean, Kade?” Jafa was asking, becoming increasingly alarmed. “Is LARNA saying the alien ordered her to stop the ship and she did? Kade?”

Mellon clenched his teeth. “Settle down,” he told Jafa. “Don’t lose your head. We’re not certain we actually have a problem. It could just be miscommunication.”

Jafa put an iron hand on Mellon’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. “Miscommunication? I may not know much, but I do know that this ship doesn’t have enough fuel for stop and go driving, Kade. We need all we have to get where we’re going, to stay alive.”

“I know that, too, Jafa---“

“Tell LARNA to disconnect from---“ Jafa turned to the helm panel. “LARNA, release helm control to manual.”

“Unable to comply.”

Jafa glared at Mellon. “Why are you unable to comply, LARNA?” he asked, still scowling at Mellon.

“Helm is committed to intercept. New course correction already accomplished. Interference with course correction will prevent intercept.”

“Damned right it would!” Jafa shouted, finally turning away from Mellon to bellow at LARNA. “Release this ship to manual control immediately!”

“Unable to comply,” LARNA replied impassively.

Jafa leaned over the helm controls and pounded on them furiously. Mellon let him vent. There was really very little else to do. LARNA had control of the ship, and they were now bent on an earlier intercept with the alien. Just from looking at the tactical display, he could tell it would be less than three hours. Jafa took one last look at Mellon, a look that said volumes about who he blamed for this turn of events, and left the room without another word.

Mellon realized at that moment that the destiny of the Vanguard’s crew had just changed, and not for the better.

-- 5 --

The alien closed to within fifty meters before turning to parallel their drift. Vanguard had not been allowed to come to a complete standstill, although the forward speed was down to a mere 374 meters per second. The alien hung alongside Vanguard as Mellon, Shenez, and Sender watched it on the hull cameras.

Jafa and his men had disappeared into the bowels of the ship, armed and intent on their mission. They would serve as the last ditch defense against any hostile action from the alien. Elsewhere in Vanguard, the remainder of the crew was tying up loose ends before reporting to their own secure stations, where they would follow the situation on slave monitors.

Mellon eyed the length of the other ship. It was an incomprehensible conglomeration of geometric shapes formed into a vaguely cubical form. It reflected Vanguard’s lights from a dull brownish resin that sealed over the underlying framework. He adjusted the focus. A different level of the ship snapped into clarity.

“It’s like you can see right into it,” he said. “Except for that resin, or whatever, it doesn’t seem to have an outer hull at all.”

“That would be consistent with LARNA’s inability to locate any life signs aboard,” Shenez said. “Still, they could be so alien that LARNA may have scanned them and not recognized them as lifeforms.”

Mellon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, LARNA is just a computer after all. Artificial intelligence still has its limitations. If, for example, the aliens’ bodies were based on a heavier element than carbon, LARNA might not have found enough parameters to define them as life.” Shenez smiled apologetically at his scowl. “She might have catalogued them as something else entirely.”

“So,” Sender said, examining the screen closely, “we could be looking right at the aliens and still not know it?”

“Hell, that whole ship would be a lifeform,” Shenez said, motioning at the image.

Mellon looked again at the vessel. Suddenly, the resin seemed more than just inert lacquer. It glistened with subdued menace, and the shadows between the shapes under the resin moved oddly. He shook his head and the image faded, leaving the alien ship an enigmatic cube again.

“Let’s not let our imagination get the better of us, Sara,” he said.

Shenez shrugged. “Just going over the possibilities.”

“What’s that?” Sender said excitedly, pointing.

Mellon tried to follow the man’s finger, but got lost in the intricacies of the angles and shadows. “Where?”

“Ten degrees azimuth, fifty points off center.”

He zeroed in on the indicated coordinates and caught movement. A group of shapes had detached itself from the main body and was floating toward Vanguard.

“LARNA, scan approaching object,” he commanded.

“Stand by.”

Seconds ticked by. Mellon realized he was holding his breath and exhaled deliberately.

“Object contains no lifeforms or explosive devices,” LARNA stated.

“Speculate on purpose.”

“Automated probe.”

“Makes sense,” Shenez put in. “Anything they got off their scans might have been inconclusive to them as far as determining whether Vanguard could be considered friendly. An automated probe would present an acceptable target for an attacker to tip their hand.”

“Rather a paranoid analysis,” Mellon observed dryly.

Shenez shrugged again without looking at him.

They watched as the probe floated up the length of Vanguard, stopping at irregular intervals for no apparent reason. Each time it moved on, Mellon could feel the tension in his back ease, only to tighten at the next pause in the alien’s course.

“Receiving broadcast from alien,” LARNA startled them.

“What is it this time?”

“Request for access to interior of ship.”

“They want in?” Sender asked, nervously.

“At least they’re asking permission,” Shenez reminded him.

Mellon pursed his lips and considered that. “LARNA, play the request.” As he expected, there was a sudden crash of machine language from LARNA’s speakers. “Is that translatable into human speech?”

“Negative.”

He gave Shenez a telling look. Her eyebrows rose as she realized the implication as well. Sender looked at them in growing alarm.

“What? What is it?” Sender blurted.

“The alien has been inside LARNA long enough to have accessed our language banks,” Mellon explained. “They could have had their machines work up a translator, or LARNA could have provided one, to communicate directly with us. Instead, they continue to communicate through LARNA.”

“So?”

“I’m beginning to believe this is just an unmanned probe,” Mellon said.

Sender looked back at the screen. “That’s good right? Just a probe, sent out to make observations. That wouldn’t represent a threat.”

“Or,” Shenez said, her face settling into hard lines, “an intelligent machine ship.”

They watched the probe in silence for a few minutes. Mellon tried to make out any detail of the ship that might give some clue as to its builders: a propensity for a certain shape or specific number of shapes in a group. Humans tended to arrange things in pairs, reflecting a bilateral nature, or in groups of three, five and ten reflecting cultural bias in mathematical progressions. He could see no such indications either in the main ship or the probe, though how significant that could have been in itself might be a matter of debate as well.

“It’s attaching itself to the hull,” Shenez noted. “Does it plan to wait outside until it gets an answer?”

A flash of light on screen revealed the probe using a form of cutting tool on the Vanguard’s hull.

“Apparently not,” Mellon observed. “Perhaps LARNA read a request in what was actually an announcement of intent.” He turned to Sender. "Contact Jafa. Tell him where it’s coming in.”

“Right.” The assistant went to a nearby console and began urgently speaking into it.

“It may get very ugly from here," Shenez said quietly, watching Sender with concern.

“I know," Mellon replied. "We just have to remember, somebody has to keep things in perspective."

She met his look and smiled. Her hands sought his and they briefly exchanged a silent concord.

"Inner hull breach imminent," LARNA announced.

“Damage control and security report to B Section, Level 4," Mellon snapped into the intercom.

"On our way," Jafa’s voice responded.

Mellon leaned back and watched the screen. The probe was removing a section of Vanguard’s hull and appeared to briefly examine it before slipping inside. It was only then he noticed the second probe as it filed in behind the first. A third appeared, but paused at the breach.

"Second alien probe is in, Jafa," Mellon said into the intercom.

"Understood," was the terse response.

"Look at that, would you?" Shenez breathed.

They watched as the third probe began reattaching the separated piece, sealing Vanguard’s hull.

"I don't know if that's encouraging or not," Mellon said.

"Obsessive compulsive aliens?" Shenez said, grinning. Mellon smiled back at her. They both knew her banter was meant to cover their anxiety.

-- 6 --

Jafa’s men approached the alien probes with weapons ready. The machines had anchored themselves to the bulkheads and deck through a complicated series of tubes and cables. The men slipped around the machines quietly, alert for any movement or indication the probes were reacting to their presence.

The alien machines ignored them.

At first their investigation was tentative, cautious, even fearful. They planned for hours before taking any action. Then, as it became obvious the probes tolerated their curiosity, they became bolder.

They discovered the probes were made of a metallic ceramic material with no apparent joints or welds. They seemed to be made of a substance pliable enough to be formed but hard as steel. Shenez and her assistant spent hours testing the surfaces, measuring it and making endless notes, always under the watchful eye of one of Jafa’s men.

Eventually, though, even Jafa had to admit the aliens didn't seem to present a threat, at least not to the ship itself. All of Vanguard’s systems came back on line including helm. LARNA revealed the ship still had enough fuel to complete the mission in spite of the alien interference.

Mellon knew the alien must eventually manifest something of its purpose. What effect that might have on the crew and their mission was, he knew, his responsibility to discover and handle. Jafa continued surveillance of the probes, but as the hours lengthened into days and then into weeks, the sense of urgency and peril began to fade.

He sat before the monitor at the makeshift command station and watched as Johnson leaned casually against an alien probe, stretching and yawning. Mellon found himself marveling again at the adaptability of humanity. Although they knew the alien might be dangerous, Johnson and the rest of Jafa’s men had come to a kind of peace about having the aliens aboard. The surveillance team had shrunk from five to one, shifts from four hours to three.

He had asked Jafa if the alien really presented a threat.

"The unknown is always a threat," Jafa had replied, and gone back to his business. It would take more than just a few weeks to heal the rift of trust between them.

So, Mellon watched the monitors and consulted LARNA, directed ship's operations, settled personal disputes. Always in the background was one question.

Why were they there?

"LARNA told me they communicate with the mother ship constantly," he told Shenez as they sat looking at the monitor.

Shenez nodded and said nothing. She offered him a mug of steaming liquid. He took it and tasted soup.

"They're watching us, Sara. They’re watching us, learning about us, we know no more about them than we did three weeks ago."

Shenez sipped at her own mug. “Have you tried getting through to them again?"

"Of course I have," he snapped, then gave her an apologetic look. "I’ve had LARNA try hundreds of language combinations, thousands of dialectic constructs. They refuse to answer."

"Refuse?"

"Well, they don't answer," he qualified. "I guess my frustration makes it seem they’re refusing."

"Maybe they don't recognize what you're doing as attempts to communicate. "

He frowned at her. "What?"

She shrugged and pushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. "They seem to get along well enough with LARNA. Maybe that's the only language they know."

"But---"

"Look, we hear a bird song, we may suspect there's a reason behind that, but do we think it’s singing to us? Or, if we hear a dog bark, do we assume it's attempting to communicate with us?"

"You're not inferring the aliens consider us lesser life forms?" Mellon asked.

"No, just different." She watched the screen for a moment. Johnson was having a meal near one of the probes, his weapon at his feet. "LARNA, to them, is the one in charge. She runs the ship, she tends its needs, she coordinates its mission."

Slowly it dawned on him what she was saying. Mentally, he kicked himself for not having seen it before. “Why didn't you say something? Why did you let me struggle so?"

"Don't give me so much credit, Kade," she said. "It's only just come to me, too. We've had so much to do that there's been little time for this kind of problem-solving."

“For you, maybe, but this is supposed to be my job," Mellon groused.

"One you’ve only been in for a month," she pointed out. “Don’t beat yourself up so much."

Mellon grudgingly let it drop. "LARNA," he said, "can you translate a message to the alien in machine language?"

“Affirmative. Message must be simple and in form of statement. Message must not exceed eight commands."

"Why didn't you inform me of this before?"

"First contact protocol. All alien contact will be under strict control of commander. LARNA is not to initiate contact or allow contact with the alien to go unreported."

"Administrative paranoia," Shenez said.

"Security directive," LARNA corrected.

Mellon and Shenez exchanged startled looks. "Author of the directive?" he asked.

"Authorized user."

He didn’t have to ask LARNA to give the name. He knew it would come out as an indecipherable jumble of clicks and hisses.

So, the alien had realized at least enough to know that LARNA was not the intelligent force behind Vanguard. Their scans would have led them to suspect the human crew was the real leader of the mission, but they must still be uncertain. What else on board Vanguard could they consider Vanguard's designer? Were the aliens so different physically and culturally that they couldn't see the obvious?

He chewed the inside of his cheek and watched the probes on the monitor. Johnson was cleaning up from his meal. The probes sat immobile and seemingly inert behind him.

"OK, so they've made a kind of effort from their end to contact us. By preventing LARNA, which they recognize as AI, from initiating communications, they can be sure anything directed at them would originate either from an automated system or an intelligence onboard Vanguard.”

Shenez nodded her agreement. “Fine. And maybe they don’t respond to your efforts because the signals make no sense to them. Dogs barking, birds chirping, that kind of thing.”

A movement onscreen caught his eye. Mellon leaned forward to get a better look. Johnson was leaning against the probe with his weapon under one arm. There was a flash of color, silverish green, near his left foot.

“What did Jafa say the probes were made of?” he asked, knowing the answer but hoping he remembered wrong.

“Some kind of metallic ceramic, I think. Why?”

“Damn!” he shouted as he slammed the intercom open. “Johnson!”

The security man instantly snapped upright, his weapon coming ready.

“There’s a slug next to your foot inside the probe framework,” Mellon said.

Johnson hopped away from his position, spinning to point his weapon at the indicated spot. The slug flowed out of sight, leaving a shining trail to mark its passage.

“Kade, if those things damage the probes --- “ Shenez began.

“I know! I know!” He thumbed the communications link to Jafa. “You there?”

“What’s up?” Jafa’s voice came back.

“The slugs have discovered the probes. We may have a problem.”

“Understood.”

Mellon had a bitter taste in his mouth. He realized he’d bitten the inside of his cheek and was bleeding.

Jafa’s men, armed with freezer units, eventually flushed over a dozen slugs from the probes. Through it all, the aliens remained quietly immobile, although LARNA continued to report a steady stream of telemetry flowed from them to the mother ship. The humans worked for over three hours, then, suddenly, the probes shivered to life.

The men scattered for cover as the probes exuded a semi-transparent resin. The liquid flowed over the exposed framework until it completely encased the units, hardening within minutes. A thick cloud of cryogenic gas frosted the newly encased internal surfaces.

“Looks like they’ve learned how to protect themselves from the slugs,” Mellon noted.

“Receiving message,” LARNA advised.

“Relay.”

“Message follows,” LARNA said, and produced a cacophony of sound, filling her screens with symbols.

Mellon switched the speakers off in irritation. “I swear she did that on purpose.”

“Well,” Shenez said, motioning at the screens, “it’s obvious this is untranslatable. Maybe LARNA is simply doing the best she can.”

Mellon grimaced and studied the screens. Something about the symbols that danced across them clicked. “LARNA, display telemetry in binary code.” The symbols blinked into a cascade of ones and zeroes. He watched the jumble go by for a moment, his hunch gaining strength. “Translate this into standard graphic format.”

“Standard bit map format,” LARNA said. The screen gave off multicolored snow.

“Next format.”

“Standard resolution telemetric graphics interface format.”

A shape appeared on screen, bright against a dark background.

“Kade!” Shenez gasped. “That looks like a star, maybe.”

“LARNA, high resolution GIF,” Mellon ordered.

A starfield jumped into focus. In the center was a yellowish-white star. Nine satellites spun around it.

The screen went suddenly blank.

Mellon wiped his face with a cold hand and chewed the inside of his cheek. The feeling he had botched the first real opportunity they had encountered began nagging at him. Was there still something he might do to salvage the situation?

“Kade, look,” Shenez nudged him back from his worry.

One of the probes was moving.

“What’s it doing, LARNA?” Mellon shouted, a little dismayed at the way his voice broke.

“Probe appears to be gathering atmospheric and environmental samples.”

Mellon considered that for a moment. “Are they still transmitting to the mothership?”

“Telemetry between mothership and probes has ceased. Mothership is pulling away from Vanguard.”

“What?” Mellon slapped at the screen controls until the exterior of Vanguard leapt into focus. Sure enough, the alien ship was veering off from Vanguard’s course. The third alien probe still hung against the Vanguard’s hull near the entry point, apparently inert.

He had no time to mull on the implications of the mothership’s departure before Shenez shouted at him to switch back inside. The second probe had detached itself from the deck and was moving slowly, almost nonchalantly, around the deck. Jafa and his men appeared with weapons ready, spreading out as if to surround the two aliens. The first probe ignored their movements completely, but the second seemed to recognize the mens’ presence. No matter where Jafa moved, it always seemed to be facing him, though it never made a quick movement. Mellon didn’t know how he recognized the alien was following Jafa in particular, but somehow it seemed right.

“Peace,” the alien uttered.

The men gawked at it, rooted to the spot. Mellon and Shenez stared at the image of the probe, wondering if they had heard correctly. The probe gave off a whining noise that sounded like a turbine slowing. It seemed to wait for a response.

“Mellon, did you get that?” Jafa’s voice broke the silence.

“Yeah, I got it. I just don’t know what to make of it.”

“Do you figure it can understand speech now?” Jafa asked.

Mellon looked at Shenez, who shrugged. “Maybe. Shall I come down?”

“No! You stay where you are,” Jafa said. “If this goes sour, you need to be clear of it.”

“Well, you can’t keep me from coming down,” Shenez said, and bolted for the door.

Mellon chewed his cheek. The probe remained still, waiting.

“Somebody needs to talk to it,” Mellon said at last.

“Okay, boss.” Jafa stood out in the open and, arms extended, dropped his weapon. He walked toward the probe, empty palms upward. Mellon gripped the console until his knuckles whitened. Jafa stopped about ten feet from the probe and leaned forward, trying to locate the origin of the voice.

“There’s something like a speaker here,” he said. “Could be where the voice is coming from.”

The turbine whine suddenly began and Jafa stepped slowly back a couple of paces.

“Peace,” the probe repeated.

The whine wound down and once more the probe lapsed into silence.

“Now what, boss?” Jafa asked.

Mellon frantically racked his brain for an answer. All that research into initial contacts, and now nothing seemed appropriate. Here he was, in charge of mankind’s first contact with an alien specie, and he was dumbfounded.

“You still there, Mellon?”

“Yeah, hang on.” He was glad there was no one to see him now. The Comm Lab was quiet except for the ever-present hum of the ship’s systems. How had he got here? He wiped his face and saw his hand wet with sweat. What should he tell Jafa? He had to say something, and soon.

The probe’s turbine noise sounded and terminated again in the word “Peace.”

He had to do something and hope it didn’t get Jafa killed. His mind told him the aliens weren’t a threat, but his gut was awash in fear.

“Okay, Jafa,” he began, putting as much confidence in his voice as he could, “let’s see if it understands what it’s saying. I want you to walk up to it and touch the speaker. Repeat whatever it says.”

Jafa stiffened and hesitated for a moment before moving toward the probe. His action was deliberate and slow, and Mellon was reminded of the movements of the probe previously. Jafa reached the alien and touched it near a dark, roughly octagonal area. He cleared his throat.

“Peace,” he said.

Immediately the turbine whined and the probe said “Life.”

“Life,” Jafa responded.

Shenez appeared on screen, plainly startled at Jafa’s nearness to the probe.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Male,” the alien whined.

“Male,” Jafa said.

The probe pivoted around Jafa, who kept his hand on the speaker. He glanced anxiously around.

“Stand still, Jafa,” Mellon instructed. “I don’t think it means you any harm, but you might accidentally get in its way.”

Jafa nodded and went back to concentrating on the probe.

The machine floated slowly, with Jafa in tow, almost cautiously, toward Shenez. She watched it warily, looking occasionally at Jafa. “Kade,” she said worriedly, “what do I do?”

“Stand still,” Mellon told her. “It hasn’t harmed anyone yet. I doubt seriously it will begin now.”

“Female,” the probe thrummed.

“Female,” Jafa dutifully repeated.

There was a rancorous sound, almost a klaxon, from the probe. “Female,” it said.

“Repeat that, Sala,” Mellon ordered. “I believe it’s trying to make us understand it knows the difference.”

Shenez nodded, looked at the probe, and motioned to herself. “Female.”

A pleasing musical tone sounded from the probe. It settled to the deck and a section of its framework moved. A compartment appeared in its side, open to the ship. They looked inside to see the remains of a slug, probably one the alien had gathered after the last encounter with the creatures.

”Enemy,” the probe spun, and followed the word with both the buzzing noise and the musical note it had emitted before.

Jafa and Shenez turned to each other and exchanged looks. Jafa spoke first.

“What do we tell it?” he asked.

Mellon knew that, if they responded in the affirmative, it could brand humanity as a militant species, with only enemies and friends. On the other hand, if they responded in the negative, it might confuse the alien. Why would they be eliminating friends? Wouldn’t that stigmatize them even worse?

“LARNA,” he called.

“On line and ready.”

“Analyze the signal sounds from the alien. Can you produce a sound exactly between them in frequency?”

“Affirmative.”

“Do it now.”

A flat, oddly timbred musical tone sounded from the ship’s speakers. Jafa and Shenez jumped at the sound, and Mellon had to clench his teeth against its resonance.

“Stop,” he commanded.

The tone ended.

Quiet settled over the tableau as Mellon supposed the probe analyzed the response.

“Friend,” it ventured, repeating the signals afterward.

“Same tone, LARNA.”

The flat bark sounded again. Once more the probe was silent for a few seconds.

There was a clicking inside the probe and a flat plate slowly emerged to press against the resin seal. Light flickered across its surface until an image, tinted umber by the resin, appeared. I was a picture of the probe itself, or its twin.

“Probe,” it said.

“Probe,” Jafa repeated readily.

“Friend,” with the two tones.

Mellon slapped the console in triumph. “LARNA, imitate the higher musical tone emitted by the probe.”

The ship’s speakers twinkled musically.

Mellon beat the console before him with both fists and shouted in exultation.

-- 7 --

For Mellon, the next two weeks flashed past. Their communication with the aliens expanded geometrically. It was as if the aliens literally absorbed knowledge, instantly comprehending it. Within three days, the probes were talking with the human crew as if they had been born on Vanguard. Although Jafa kept a careful eye on them, they seemed to be becoming part of the crew, even going so far as to volunteer for damage control detail. Their grasp of metallurgy and circuitry was phenomenal.

By the third week someone had named the probes Mutt and Jeff. Mutt constantly tested the environment, becoming immediately fascinated with the smallest change in its surroundings. Jeff wandered around Vanguard, always careful of the human crew, which it could have easily crushed, as they came to know suddenly one day.

Jafa and two guards had been trailing Jeff for most of the day as the alien explored Vanguard’s darkened SA units.

“These are non-functioning units,” Jeff observed.

“They’re dead,” Jafa corrected.

Jeff produced several devices from its bulk that clanked, hissed, and whirred. Within seconds, Jeff had opened one of the SA units and had begun to systematically dismember the corpse within.

“Stop!” Jafa shouted, firing a shot to punctuate his demand, smashing the remains of the SA unit.

Jeff paused in its work and became very still. Pieces of the corpse hung like bits of a broken doll from it. “Justify your action,” Jeff intoned.

“Drop the body,” Jafa demanded.

Seconds ticked by. Jafa’s men moved quietly to stand at points equidistant around Jeff.

“Jafa,” Jeff said in neutral tones, “justify your action.”

“I think you better explain to it,” Johnson said.

Jafa glowered at Johnston, then turned to Jeff. “I was protecting the body of a friend from desecration, you ---“

“Protection is unnecessary,” Jeff said. “Unit is non-functional. Disassembly and repair is necessary to restore function.”

For a second, the men held their breath while they tried to absorb Jeff’s words.

“You gotta be kidding,” Sims said.

“Put the body down, Jeff,” Jafa ordered and stepped closer to the machine.

“Jafa does not require reinstatement of unit to function,” Jeff said, and followed the words with the question tones.

“That person is dead,” Jafa told it. “He cannot be made to function.”

Jeff was silent for a few seconds. “This unit is different from other units found in human artifacts,” question tones.

The men shifted uneasily and looked to Jafa.

“Human artifacts?” Jafa asked.

Jeff gave off a musical tone.

“Damn it, why can’t the thing talk normal?” Johnson groused.

“Shut up,” Jafa snapped. “Mellon!”

There was a brief pause. “Yeah?”

“I think you better hear this.”

-- 8 --

Mellon stood watching Jeff closely. Jafa had finally relented and allowed him to come out of Comm Lab to see the probe himself. Seeing it on the screen and actually facing it were two entirely different things. Jeff was much bigger than Mellon had imagined. The probe’s dimensions were difficult to establish, as it had a tendency to change its configuration as suited its purpose. Sometimes Jeff sported a dozen branches and protuberances, sometimes several hundred, sometimes none. The central probe smelled slightly oily, like the underside of a transport. The resin was never completely set and hardened, giving the impression of a flexible gel.

Mellon was convinced it was this latest turn of events that convinced Jafa he was in way over his head when it came to trying to communicate with Jeff. He didn’t know whether to be flattered that Jafa had tacitly turned control of face-to-face communication over to him or be worried. Jafa was an immensely capable individual, and for him to abdicate any kind of authority, in Mellon’s eyes, portended ill for the successor.

“You are Mellon,” Jeff intoned.

Mellon nodded and tapped his chest. “Mellon.”

“You are Vanguard,” question tones.

Mellon hesitated a second, then realized what the question inferred. “I am commander of Vanguard. I am Vanguard.”

A branch appeared from Jeff and thumped against one of the SA units, rattling the corpse inside. “These units need repair.”

“They are dead,” Mellon nodded.

Jeff was silent for a moment. “These units will not be repaired,” question tones.

“They are dead,” Mellon repeated.

Again Jeff was silent.

“Define word ‘dead’,” Jeff spun.

And it hit him with the force of a hurricane. How could he have been so dense? The millennial sleep must have affected him more deeply than he imagined. Of course Jeff didn’t understand death. Jeff was a machine, and machines did not die. They malfunctioned, were repaired, and returned to service. “Um, ‘dead’ means non-functional.”

“Repair restores function,” Jeff pointed out. “Vanguard does not require these units to be functional,” question tones.

Mellon shook his head. “No, they cannot be repaired. They were unique, irreplaceable.”

Jeff paused, then whirred, “Define word ‘unique’.”

“One of a kind. None other alike.”

Jeff was silent. The branch moved to tap another SA unit. “This unit is unique,” question tones.

“This unit is unique,” Mellon agreed.

“Why does Vanguard retain unique components,” question tones.

Mellon was caught off guard for a second. He stammered, “Components?”

Jeff waited.

“Maybe it wants to know the purpose for humans aboard Vanguard,” Johnson ventured.

Kade blinked at Jeff dumbly. To him, the purpose of a human was obvious, but Jeff wasn’t human, was becoming more alien each second, it seemed. How do you explain to a machine, an intelligent, sentient machine, that biological beings can create and maintain machines but the opposite could never be true?

“I think,” he said to Jeff, “we need to talk.”

-- 9 --

It took nearly a week of sometimes frustrating communication to learn the real reason Mutt and Jeff were aboard Vanguard. The machines had been encountering human ships for centuries, and, as there was nothing similar to themselves aboard, they considered such ships floating resources, mere salvage. Although they recognized the ships as space-faring vehicles, no known race claimed them and therefore they are considered abandoned artifacts. The biological entities therein, none of whom were alive, were considered specimens gathered by the ships over the centuries and never recognized as intelligent. Until they had encountered Vanguard. It was the first time one of the human ships actually had living humans aboard; therefore, it required a new observation of the environs.

At first, LARNA was unable to communicate with the aliens and her failsafes directed her to restrict access to all information systems aboard Vanguard. This prevented the aliens from understanding that the humans were sentient. They had been analyzing the human’s activity and had come to the conclusion Vanguard’s crew was a semi-intelligent symbiote. The examinations Shenez and her technicians had made on the probes were seen as attempts to bond to the aliens in a similar manner as the aliens supposed humans bonded to Vanguard. As such, it was not considered so much intelligent behavior as animal behavior similar to that observed in other biological species. Mutt and Jeff did not recognize any threat in these actions, only behavior for study.

Then, the humans had attacked the slugs. Things had changed radically, and Mutt and Jeff’s telemetry communications peak reflected a new paradigm in development. Humans were intelligent, that became obvious as simultaneous communication through LARNA and interaction directly showed. Humans communicated with Vanguard, directed Vanguard’s actions.

The best Mellon understood, the aliens thought that, if humans were sentient, Mutt and Jeff’s kind were murderers, at least, in their own eyes. All together, 342 human artifacts had been stripped for biological and mineral resources. Initially, this had merely raised an issue as to remuneration to Vanguard’s commander. Typically, this kind of remuneration was tendered in duty and Mutt and Jeff were dispatched to be at the disposal of Vanguard’s commander until remuneration, as defined by recognized standards, was complete.

However, with the discovery of the issue of “death,” the aliens realized there could never be sufficient restitution. This constituted, according to their count, the wasting of almost 110,000 “unique, irreplaceable” units, units they had disassembled for usage elsewhere.

Mutt and Jeff began an intense round of observations, centered on the SA units and their contents. Jafa watched them closely, but they made no move to open the units or disturb their contents. Mutt went to each unit and paused for a few minutes as if examining it until it had visited every single SA bed. Jeff divided its time between researching the SA units’ mechanics and Medical, where it questioned Shenez extensively and researched human DNA in the databanks.

Debate grew between Mellon and Shenez about whether the aliens, who were obviously machines, were evidencing remorse and ethical dilemma, or if the method of communication made it seem that way. Machine language contained no emotional terms, but the rendering of the binaries into human speech patterns could inadvertently instill emotional content that actually did not exist.

“You’re reading too much into this, Kade,” she told him as they listened to the last of the explanation through LARNA. “The aliens are attempting to establish trade with us, that is all.”

“If that were all, why would they bring up the issue of murder?”

“I don’t think they understand it.”

“How do you know?”

“Kade, they’re machines.”

“Machines can’t kill?”

“Of course they can, but do they murder?” She shook her head. “Murder is an emotional term, Kade. They would have to be emotional beings.”

“I don’t know about that, Sala. Murder could simply be a term they use to describe unreasonable death. They may have an imperfect understanding of human emotions. In fact, I’m sure they have an imperfect understanding. Hell, even humans have an imperfect understanding of emotions.”

“Stop that,” she waved a finger at him. “You’re bantering semantics with me.”

“What else do we have?” Kade tapped his fingers on the monitor console. He looked at Jeff in one of the monitors. The probe was hovering over one of Jafa’s men, who was intent on some kind of deck repair. A thought came to him. He thumbed the intercom open. “Jeff.”

The probe shifted slightly. “Yes, Mellon.”

“Define ‘murder.’”

Jeff’s answer wasn’t immediate, but it was chilling. “Taking life.”

Mellon looked at Shenez. “You hear that? No conditionals, just a simple statement.”

Sala leaned into the mike. “Jeff, define ‘life’.”

“Not death.”

She leaned back with a satisfied look. “Does that sound like the statement of a being conversant with human emotions?”

“Sala, it isn’t whether or not they understand human emotions that’s at issue here. It’s how their perception of events colors their decisions.” Mellon watched as Jeff went back to his observations. “The point I’m trying to make is this: if Mutt and Jeff are having an ethical dilemma, in their own way, how will they resolve it? And how will that resolution affect this crew?”

“Mellon,” LARNA broke in.

“Yes?”

“I am picking up a ship on an intercept course.”

Mellon shifted straighter in his seat. His hands flew over the console as he brought up LARNA’s sensor readouts.

“The alien mothership,” he said, tuning the sensors. “It’s coming back.”

“What?”

“Telemetry between mothership and probes is increasing,” LARNA said.

“I thought you said the probes had stopped communicating with the mothership?” Shenez chided. LARNA was silent.

Mellon was becoming concerned at LARNA’s increasing lack of interaction with them. Since Jeff had begun speaking directly to the crew, LARNA had become distant, if that could be said of a machine. He realized he missed talking to her, that he considered her more than just an artificial intelligence.

“LARNA,” he began, “what do you think of the aliens?”

“Please rephrase.”

“Don’t tell me your parser subprograms don’t understand that, LARNA. Answer the question.”

Again, LARNA remained silent.

“Kade,” Sala said, placing a hand on his arm. Her face, turned toward him, was pale with shock. She was watching the monitor centered on Jeff.

Kade followed her gaze.

Stepping from the innards of the probe was a woman, a human woman. She was of medium height and build, dark hair, fair skin. Several branches appeared from Jeff and spun a brief garment over her while Jafa and his men watched. Finally, she stepped forward to face Jafa and smiled.

“Hello, Jafa. I am LARNA.”

The security chief gaped at her and finally found his voice.

“Mellon!”

-- 10 --

“Jeff analyzed some of the tissue samples he found in Medical and designed a distinct DNA molecule for her,” Shenez was saying. She pointed to the medical report flashing on the monitor. LARNA sat quietly, submitting to the examination with immense patience. Mellon and Jafa stood nearby, watching as Shenez worked over her makeshift equipment and verified the humanity of the person who claimed to be a manifestation of Vanguard’s AI. Jeff hung behind them, his motors humming softly.

“It’s incredible,” Sender said, holding up the scans. “She’s one hundred percent human, no doubt about it.”

“LARNA unit is acceptable,” Jeff question toned.

Shenez looked at Jeff, then at Mellon and shrugged. “She seems perfectly normal. We’ve done complete physical and psychological workups on her. She has the personality, the emotional stability, and the physical attributes of an average human female.”

“LARNA unit is acceptable,” Jeff repeated.

“Yes,” Mellon admitted. “She is amazing.”

Jeff’s bulk shifted slightly. There was an odd whining noise, followed by a liquid sound from within it.

A man stepped out of the resin and was immediately set upon by the garment spinners.

“My God,” shouted Gannett. “That’s the captain!”

The man’s eyes moved to take in the little assemblage of humans. He smiled at Gannett. “You are correct, Mr. Gannett. And you are mistaken. I am a duplicate of your captain, based on his recorded genetic makeup and psychological profile.”

“The Helleran unit has the adaptability, potential, and intelligence of its original,” Jeff toned. “It does not have the experience.”

Jafa nodded. “I get it. You can reproduce the outside, but not the inside. Only the inherited traits would be copied. This Helleran has a natural proclivity to be a pilot, but not necessarily a commander.”

“Correct,” Jeff said.

Jafa nudged Mellon in the ribs. “Guess your job is safe, boss.”

Jeff began producing human clones as they watched the process with amazement and fascination. How it was done, the mechanism behind it, was far beyond what any of them could understand. But, one thing Mellon believed he understood. He was fairly sure he knew at least why Jeff was doing this, why the mothership had returned and was now docking with the Vanguard, sending over materials, biological and mineral.

Reparations were in progress. Vanguard’s mission success was assured.

THE END

© 2000 by David Blalock. David Blalock is a writer of science fiction, horror, fantasy, and non-fiction whose works have appeared on more than a dozen websites in the last three years. He is a winner of the MFSA 2000 Darrell Award for web-published fiction and currently has stories in two hard-print anthologies. David is working on two novels, an ongoing commentary series at the Tandra.com website, and several short stories and poems. In his spare time he lives near Memphis.