He had been studying them as he approached. They were like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. That was good. The worst thing after all his efforts would be to learn that they were already members of the Stellar Group.
Not these babies, though. They were low-slung, with a long, horizontal body and what seemed like an inordinate number of jointed legs. He counted five pairs, each with a carrying pouch on its outer side. That total didn’t include four at the front end terminating in pincers like lobster claws and surrounded by bristly projections capable of independent movement. The blue-black, hard-cased body was about a meter and a half long, so the creatures would be at least as tall as humans if they ever reared up onto their hind legs — which so far they showed no signs of doing. The two just seemed to be talking to each other, making chittering, clicking sounds and waving long stalky antennas.
One of those antennas finally turned in Friday’s direction. There was probably an eye at the end of it, because he could see a dark-blue gleam there — and the alien in charge of that particular antenna at once changed its clattering to a high-pitched squeak. Apparently the squeak meant something to the second alien, because they both swung round instantly to face Friday.
This was it, the big moment.
He raised his hand in a formal gesture. “Greetings, alien strangers. I, Friday Indigo, captain of the Terran ship Mood Indigo , and the representative of all Terrans and all species of the Stellar Group, seek your friendship and am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Of course, they would not understand him. That was too much to hope for. The translating machine had to listen to a bit of chat from both sides before it did anything useful. But his words would be recorded, and that was what counted. That was what went into the historical archives.
He lowered his hand and waited for their response.
It came in unison, and with astonishing speed. Two claws moved to two leg pouches, dipped in, and came out holding short black canes. The canes pointed at Friday. He heard sharp popping sounds like the bursting of small party balloons.
He didn’t see anything, but suddenly he felt as though his brain had turned to boiling liquid and was fountaining out of the top of his head. That was impossible — he had opened the faceplate of his helmet, but surely the rest of it was still in position. He tried to reach up to check, but before he could get his hand past shoulder height he was falling backwards.
As he fell he decided that he had been wrong. The worst thing that could happen was not that the aliens would prove to be members of the Stellar Group. The worst thing that could happen to him was what was happening right now.
19: THE HERO’S RETURN ARRIVES ON LIMBO
Chan Dalton knew within half a second that something had gone wrong. Subjective time inside a Link transition — the only time that had meaning there — was the single dizzying moment when your head turned inside out. After that you were back in the real world. In this case the real world was supposed to be the gauzy starlit splendor of the Geyser Swirl; that’s not what he was seeing. The forward observation chamber of the Hero’s Return revealed a murky green gloom, and hovering within its depths sat a gigantic alien spaceship.
The alien ship moved, jerking forward. Chan’s eyes refocused. Suddenly he was looking not at a distant behemoth but at a small fish-like creature, inches away from the transparent wall of the observation chamber. As Chan watched, the little animal darted away and disappeared.
Half a second in human terms was an eternity to the ship’s computer. While Chan was still peering after the vanished fish, the audio outlet in the observation chamber sounded an alert and continued with a message: WARNING. ANOMALOUS ENVIRONMENT. CURRENTLY CHANGING SENSOR OBSERVATION SUITE, RECALIBRATING INSTRUMENTS, TAKING READINGS. THIS SHIP IS ON EMERGENCY STATUS.
In the pause that followed, Deb Bisson gripped Chan’s hand harder than ever. “What’s happening? Where are we?”
All her previous Link experience had been within the solar system. She didn’t know just how unusual this one was. Chan tried to speak with a confidence that he didn’t feel. “We completed the transition. I assume that we’re somewhere in the Geyser Swirl. But we’re in a gravity field when we expected to be in free fall, and we’re under water when we thought we would emerge into open space. We won’t know more than that until the computer has taken and interpreted sensor readings.”
He was still staring outside. There was no light inside the observation chamber itself, but light shining out from other ports of the Hero’s Return illuminated the cloudy water for a few meters. The outside view was a uniform green, broken now and then by faint glints of silver.
Apparently the ship’s sensors had the same problem as Chan at visible wavelengths. A calm voice said, SWITCHING TO ULTRASONICS AND ULTRA-LONG FREQUENCY ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION AS PRIMARY SENSING MODES. PERFORMING PHYSICAL AND CHEMICAL ANALYSIS OF SHIP STATUS AND OF IMMEDIATE ENVIRONMENT.
And then, after a pause too brief for any human analysis, THE FOLLOWING STATUS REPORT IS RANKED ACCORDING TO PERCEIVED HUMAN SURVIVAL PRIORITIES.
ITEM ONE: THE SHIP’S HULL REMAINS INTACT, ALL INTERIOR SYSTEMS ARE OPERATING NORMALLY, AND THERE IS NO IMMEDIATE DANGER TO PERSONNEL OR EQUIPMENT.
ITEM TWO: THE SHIP’S EXTERNAL ENVIRONMENT IS RADICALLY DIFFERENT FROM PRE-TRANSITION ESTIMATES. THIS MAY LEAD TO LONG-TERM PROBLEMS.
ITEM THREE: THE SHIP FLOATS IN A CLEAR LIQUID OF DENSITY 1.156. THE LIQUID’S REFRACTIVE INDEX, DENSITY, CONDUCTIVITY, AND GROSS CHEMICAL PROPERTIES ARE CONSISTENT WITH THOSE OF DEUTERIUM OXIDE CONTAINING A SMALL FRACTION OF MINERAL SOLVENTS.
ITEM FOUR: THE SHIP SITS IN A GRAVITATIONAL FIELD OF 0.154 GEES. THIS IS TOO SMALL TO BE CONSISTENT WITH THE VALUE OF SURFACE GRAVITY ON ANY KNOWN HABITABLE PLANET POSSESSING A LIQUID WATER SEA. ALSO, THE PLANETARY RADIUS AS INFERRED FROM LOCAL HORIZON SENSING IS TOO LARGE TO BE CONSISTENT WITH THE OBSERVED SURFACE GRAVITY. NO EXPLANATIONS ARE AVAILABLE FOR THESE ANOMALIES.
ITEM FIVE: THE SHIP’S ESTIMATED DEPTH BELOW THE WATER SURFACE IS 161 METERS. THE ESTIMATED WATER DEPTH BELOW THE SHIP IS 1.52 KILOMETERS. THE CURRENT RATE OF DESCENT IS 1.1 METERS A SECOND. WARNING . IF THE PRESENT RATE OF DESCENT WERE TO BE MAINTAINED, HULL STRESSES WOULD EXCEED TOLERABLE LEVELS IN 13.8 MINUTES. AUTOMATIC REMEDIAL ACTION WILL BE TAKEN IN 9.4 MINUTES UNLESS HUMAN OVERRIDE COMMANDS ARE PROVIDED.
“Remedial action?” Deb glanced at Chan.
“I don’t know. But the computer knows what it’s doing. It will keep us safe unless we tell it not to.” He stood up. “We’re getting just the summary over the address system. If we really want to know what’s going on we have to be in the control room. Come on, let’s go.”
Progress through the interior of the Hero’s Return was slow. Walkways and handholds had been designed for free fall or for uniform fore-to-aft acceleration. In its slow watery descent the ship was canted far away from the vertical. That tilt seemed to affect Deb Bisson very little. She floated from chamber to chamber without effort and with no wall contact other than an occasional foot or hand. Chan, lacking the balance and sense of body position that made Deb unbeatable in single combat, floundered along behind.
The ship’s computer continued to offer its summary from every audio outlet. ITEM SIX: THE SHIP’S OVERALL LOCATION WITH RESPECT TO KNOWN MARKER STARS IS UNKNOWN. THE ANALYSIS OF AMBIENT SUNLIGHT SUGGESTS A NATURAL STELLAR ORIGIN, BUT THE RECONSTRUCTED STELLAR SPECTRUM MATCHES NO KNOWN STAR AND NO POSSIBLE STAR TYPE. THIS DISCREPANCY HAS NO EXPLANATION.