They were being scanned from monitors mounted on the gate as well as from scanners in fixed orbits farther in-system, and those scans were being beamed to the second planet.
This was not necessarily happy news. It implied that high tech defensive systems were probably also deployed and still operable, and that this would take a bit of diplomacy before proceeding.
There was no purpose in delay, though. They were potential targets even where they were, although it was unlikely that there would be any actions that might blow up the gate as well. That was a true last resort and would close the door for good on any hope of friends finding them.
Still, right now the planetary defense system knew more about them than they did about it or the planet and people it guarded, and that had to be rectified.
“Reconciliation ship Mountain to unknown planetary civilization,” the captain called via an all-frequency radio link. “We are pleased to have found you, but we have no idea who you are. You are on none of our charts. We come in faith and friendship as an arm of our Lord Jesus Christ. We have sophisticated databases and robotic synthesizing and repair systems, and we have agricultural seed, culturable DNA for domestic cloning of farm animals, and much more.” Many places would run from an evangelical group, particularly one with a ship this grand, but it was a lot harder to turn down the more material benefits they also brought and bargained for access to the hearts and minds of people.
There was no immediate reply. The captain waited a minute or two, then repeated his call almost word for word.
Still silence returned.
He shrugged and turned to see the Doctor entering the bridge. Everybody snapped to, even though they were used to the big bear of a man who looked and sounded much like a biblical patriarch but with the patience of a divine right monarch convinced of his infallibility.
Doctor Karl Woodward, Ph.D., was just short of two meters tall, and built so broadly and solidly that he filled a space. He wasn’t fat; in fact, he was in excellent shape for a man his age and delighted in challenging younger members of The Mountain’s family in all sorts of heavy exercise. He had flowing white hair that tumbled over his shoulders, and a full beard that gave his face a kinder look than perhaps the body’s build projected, and his rough, ruddy complexion beneath all the hair was cut only by sharp but very cold deep blue eyes. When he spoke, it was always the voice of the prophet, the voice of command, and in a deep, spellbinding baritone.
He waved his hand idly at the captain. “Keep going. It may take them a while to decide if they even want to talk to us.”
The captain shrugged and nodded, but noted, “It may be all automated as well, sir. We’ve run into that before, particularly if this is a pirate world or old military or maybe just plain paranoid.”
“They’re all paranoid at this level, Captain,” the Doctor responded. “But most paranoids don’t trust machines to do their vital thinking for them. Haven’t yet seen that, doubt I ever will. We do have live bodies on that world out there?”
“Definitely, sir. Hard to tell the size from this distance, but the best located of the three continental land masses appears to have a significant although not overwhelming population. Good climate, looks like decent rain patterns. The others are a lot more rugged.”
“How many?”
“Computer scan estimates no more than eight to ten thousand, well scattered, no cities, although it looks like everything is centered around a series of tiny towns. Surface roads indicated, mostly unpaved, but development does show a spoke pattern. JoAnn, that’s your department.”
A young woman with flaming red hair, in a tight fitting red bridge deck suit, looked at her console. “Aye, Captain. Landing site was near a large inland lake, which is fairly common, and somewhat centrally located. It appears they had a basic spaceport, the usual layout, but there’s not much sign it’s been used in recent memory or could be. The scans are definitely being reported to the complex there, but it’s not like it’s the capital city we might expect. In fact, I’d say it has only a few hundred inhabitants, no more than the obviously agricultural support towns in the central plain. There may be an administrator of sorts, but I would sincerely doubt if there is even as much as a centralized governmental authority with any real clout. No presidents, Maximum Leaders, or whatever. This is a classic frontier pattern.”
“That’s not a lot of people for this length of time,” the Doctor commented. “Any snakes in their Eden we can see?”
“No, sir. Climate’s good and it appears that agriculture is thriving. It may just be that there weren’t very many people to begin with, or that many of them left when the Silence descended and never came back. All that’s guesswork. Anything more would require we go down there and look.”
The Doctor’s massive white eyebrows went up. “What do you think, Captain? Should we send somebody down to look? Can we cover them?”
“I think we could cover them to planetfall, sir,” the officer responded, “but once they were on the ground they’d be sitting ducks. I’d recommend a robotic probe. Harder to protect, but it would give us information without risking lives.”
“I know that!” the Doctor snapped irritatedly. “Don’t patronize me! Ever! I helped design this thing, remember!”
Everybody on the bridge froze. When the Doctor was in one of his moods, which was more often than not, he couldn’t be pacified, was on a hair trigger, and often would just replace anybody who pissed him off. Everyone on the bridge was there by the grace of the Doctor; even the captain could wind up supervising latrines if the Doctor so chose. A combination admiral and pope, the Doctor was not very democratic. And even those who’d been around him his whole life could never be sure what was real and what was act, but they had known, seen, and sometimes felt the consequences of guessing wrong.
“How many unmanned probes we got left?” the big, bearded man asked, settling back into his chair.
“Nine, sir. And three of those are mostly being used as spare parts and models for spare parts. That last go-round with the Joy of Islam left us spent. Give me a few days with a competent shipyard or munitions factory and I can replace them all, but not with less.”
The Doctor tugged a bit on his bearded chin, thinking. “All right, we’ll try one. Protect it as best you can and try and recover if at all possible.”
“Cover it, sir? You mean defend it if it’s shot at?” This was quite unusual practice for an unmanned probe, even if they were in such short supply.
The Doctor got up and stretched, then nodded. “That’s right, Captain. Notify me when it’s within data collection range. Notify me even faster if someone or something takes a shot at it. And, if anything does, try and neutralize it.”
“Neutralize…?” The captain knew what the instructions were but he wanted it spelled out for the record.
“Blow it to Hell, damn it!” the Doctor snapped, then exited the com. He paused a moment, then added, “And let’s leave one Q and A channel open, the most likely one to be used, but let’s broadcast on the entire rest of the spectrum. Take a vote, then assemble and transmit at near overload on those channels the worst sounding hymns of all time. If nothing else, that might get some action!”
The captain sighed. “Well, you heard him. Deborah, Rachel, I’ll let you be the music committee. Everybody else on the probe and defensive station. Let’s see who’s down there!”