“You could save the native rec ords. They have little mass, and would improve our knowledge of this civilization.”
“No,” said Irona. “They would only tempt you and others who think the same way. You would wish to learn more. Only probes at first, but then would come crewed missions. Where the explorers go, conquerors and exploiters always follow. We can only avoid moral fault by remaining at home, on our own world in our own communities.”
Tizhos couldn’t answer that; she could smell her own sadness and depression. The idea of returning to Shalina and living in a Consensus that thought the way Irona did made her want to die.
Perhaps she could accompany the human prisoners back to Earth. Assuming, of course, that Irona really intended to send them home.
“Tell me what will happen to the prisoners,” said Tizhos.
Irona didn’t reply. Tizhos looked at him and saw that Irona was staring at a swirl of dark material in the water. After a moment Tizhos realized that the dark stuff was coming from a hole in Irona’s suit, just below the helmet. There was some kind of pointed object studded with little barbs sticking out of the hole. As Tizhos watched, the tapered object slid back into the hole and then Irona fell over sideways in a cloud of blood and bubbles.
An Ilmataran was standing behind Irona, cleaning blood off one pincer with its feeding tendrils. Then it advanced on Tizhos.
“I surrender! I will not fight!” She bowed her head and held her front arms straight out from her body in the traditional pose of surrender, then realized that looked an awful lot like the Ilmataran threat posture. So she tucked in her arms and tried to curl into a ball.
The Ilmataran placed one sharp pincer-tip at the back of Tizhos’s neck and rattled off a loud series of clicks and pops. A moment later Tizhos heard someone banging tools together, and then a human was rolling her onto her back and peering into her helmet.
“Tizhos!” said Robert Freeman. “Are you okay?”
Tizhos indicated her broken speaker, then shouted inside her helmet. “I feel no injury!”
“Good. I was afraid Longpincer might have stabbed you. He’s pretty pissed off about his house.”
“The Ilmatarans escaped?”
“Most of them—about a dozen. Some of Longpincer’s apprentices and a couple of the scientists were still up on the battle line when the torpedo hit. The rest of us were swimming like hell in the other direction.”
“I apologize for not disabling both weapons.”
“What?”
“I apologize!”
“There’s no need. You saved our lives.”
“I could not permit Irona to kill you all.”
An Ilmataran came over to Robert Freeman carrying two microtorp guns. Robert Freeman took them, then tapped a reply on the Ilmataran’s shell. He examined the guns, clipped one to his utility harness, and held the other one ready to shoot. “Cool guns,” he said.
Tizhos looked over at the Guardians. Most of them were standing with arms extended while Ilmatarans and another human with a microtorp gun watched over them. Two of the Guardians lay on the sea bottom, with blood clouding the water around them.
“Tell me what you plan to do now,” said Tizhos.
“Now? Now we’re all going back to Hitode Station. I’m going to eat something that isn’t an emergency bar, and take a fucking shower. Broadtail’s coming with us. Longpincer and his people have to rebuild here.”
“I must join the other Sholen,” said Tizhos, getting up off the sea bottom.
“It’s okay. You’ve always been a pretty decent person; I trust you. Heck, you saved our lives when the rest of them were trying to kill us all.”
“That does not alter the fact that I belong with them. I disagreed with Irona and he treated me wrongly, but I will not join with you.”
“I guess I understand. Can you tell them we won’t hurt anyone as long as they cooperate? It’s a long way back to Hitode and if we start fighting nobody’s going to make it alive.”
“I will tell them. I do not desire any more killing.”
Twenty days later, Commander Jorge Hernandez floated in the command pod of the expedition support vehicle Marco Polo, looking over the shoulder of the sensor specialist at a display of the gas giant Ukko and its moons. “Anything?”
“Not that I can see. Optical’s clear, radio’s quiet, and there’s nothing on infrared. If there were Sholen here, I think they must be gone.”
Commander Hernandez didn’t want to admit it, but he was tremendously relieved. The Polo had deployed a whole constellation of sensor platforms, missiles, and laser mirrors, but everyone aboard knew that in an actual fight none of them would accomplish much more than using up some of the enemy’s munitions. It was precisely because the Marco Polo was not a military vehicle that UNIDA had agreed to send it to Ilmatar. All of Earth’s real combat-effective, purpose-built warcraft were scattered around Earth and Mars, waiting to meet a Sholen attack. The peacetime UNICA had changed hats and become the UN Interstellar Defense Agency, and explorers like Hernandez suddenly found themselves military officers.
Hernandez didn’t exactly relish being expendable, so the absence of any Sholen spacecraft was the best news he’d had in a while. If it was true, of course. They might be hiding somewhere, possibly behind Ilmatar or one of the other moons. They could even have some supertech way of fooling his sensors.
Still, better to find out now, before the braking burn, when he still had enough fuel to run for home. “Send a tightbeam to the surface station on Ilmatar. Tell them we’re here and ask for a sitrep.”
Moss sent the message for five minutes, then shook his head. “I’m not getting any response. Chances are the Sholen took everyone prisoner.”
“Or bombed the place flat. Keep trying until T minus ten minutes on the burn clock.”
“Wait a sec! I’m getting something. It sounds like Morse code. They must’ve lost their radio mast.” Moss called up a Morse code cheat sheet. “Here it comes: ‘Sho left two weeks ago, took sixteen, four dead, fixing damage.’ ”
“Ask them what happened! How did they drive off the Sholen? Do they need anything?”
“It says, ‘Sho captured base, Ilmatarans made them go, OK for now.’ Wait, there’s more: ‘Send all string cord etcetera on lander, Ilmats want to learn.’ ”
“Okay,” said Hernandez, utterly baffled. “Flight: go ahead with the braking burn as planned.” In a quieter voice he added, “I’m going down in the first lander. I want to hear the full story.”
“Adult swims grasping human on stone,” said Broadtail. He and Rob were floating in the nice warm outflow from the station reactor, watching a mixed team of humans and Ilmatarans load the sub’s power plant onto the cargo rack on top of the elevator. The elevator capsule was all pumped out and reattached to the cable, ready for a trip up to the surface.
“We can’t stay any longer,” said Rob. “It’s not safe here. The Sholen might come back, maybe with more spacecraft and troops.”
“Many adults stab Squatters.”
“Yeah, you guys kicked ass.” Rob wondered idly how his computer was going to translate that phrase. “But it’s not right to expose you to more risk because of us. We’re buttoning up the base, and when the trouble with the Sholen is over, we’ll send back an ambassador.”
“Human swims downward to house?”
“Sure. Later. We, uh, swim toward coming back.”
“Builder 1 swims downward?”
“No, not me. I can’t come back. I’ve spent enough time under high pressure already. Even with the drugs I’m at risk for nerve damage. The docs will veto that for sure.”
“Adult swims upward.”