* * *
High in the neoaerie of Disparity’s Third Silver Tower, Senior Ratiocinator Mriif’vaal considered the speakers of both the cerdor and convector taxae who had come to deliver their reports in person. Their pheromones were an olfactory cacophony of uncertainty, anxiety, dismay. “The first alert of the alien craft came from the spore-shields, correct?”
“That is correct, Mriif’vaal,” asserted the cerdor, whose individual specialty was in overseeing the data interfaces and transfers between biota and mechanisms. “But the alien craft was not marked as an intruder.”
“Truly? Why not?”
“That is unclear, Mriif’vaal. The high-air spores are too simple to discern anything other than whether an object has been marked with Recognition, or not.”
“Yes, but you only said it was not marked as an intruder. Did it therefore carry the mark of Recognition, or did it somehow pass through the spore-shield without triggering either categorization?”
“I–I do not know, Mriif’vaal. The spore-shield did not dust a Recognition confirmation upon the regional ground biota, but nor did it signal an absence of Recognition marking. I suppose,” the cerdor mused, “that it must have detected a Recognition but did not transmit it.”
“That would be a dangerously uncertain supposition,” Mriif’vaal said mildly. “Besides, there is no precedent for such a mixed result. But let us turn to the reports of the convectorae. What did your foragers encounter, Unsymaajh? Did they observe the descent of the craft?”
The unusually large convector’s neck contracted slightly. “No, Mriif’vaal. They only detected the breaking of the sound barrier as it descended.”
“Did any of them send Affined sloohavs to fly in search of the place it where it came to ground and to sample the spore-change in that locale?”
“There were no sloohavs on hand to summon to that task.”
The cerdor’s eager interjection sounded like an extended chirp. “Would it not be prudent to send a rotoflyer to explore the alien’s projected region of terminal descent?”
Mriif’vaal raised a temporizing tendril. “That is an excellent idea, which we will hold in reserve.” The Senior Ratiocinator smiled within: and which you are eager to enact, given your taxon’s love of complicated machines. “But for now, we shall pursue subtler means of detection and, if deemed prudent, contact. We do not know these aliens’ capabilities or their intentions. Any machines we might deploy, particularly aircraft, will be easily discerned. They are particularly susceptible to detection by orbital sensors.”
Alongside Mriif’vaal, his designated respondent and Third Ratiocinator, Hsaefyrr, stirred from her meditative absorption — and thus, recording — of the discourse. “The defense spheres are no longer actively engaged. Is it likely that hostile or unpermitted objects remain in orbit?”
Mriif’vaal’s tendrils switched once. “The absence of detectable orbital objects only means that nothing anomalous remains within the range of our sensor-cloud or the action range of the defense spheres. This descended craft might have a homing beacon. Its crew could thus establish lascom lock with extraorbital allies and transmit information. Or perhaps the forces which attacked Yiithrii’ah’aash’s ship may have seeded the space above us with sensors as undetectable as our own. So, while the current circumstances might signify that we may act without fear of report, they do not guarantee it. We may simply be unable to detect all the elements that might bring us under observation.”
Hsaefyrr swiveled her head toward the bantam cerdor. “Did you detect any radio emissions from the craft?”
“We were uninformed of its initial descent, and so were not attentive to any signaling at that time. Since it made planetfall, we have detected a few transmissions, but all are low power and very short range.”
Mriif’vaal released a few Appreciation pheromones in elderly Hsaefyrr’s direction before resuming his inquiries. “Cerdor, tell me: are any of these radio signals known to us, either in their cyphers or physical characteristics?”
The cerdor emitted a rattle of chagrin. “I regret to say that I have little expertise in such matters. However, I may assure you that the signals are not ours, nor the Arat Kur’s, nor the Hkh’ Rkh’s.”
Mriif’vaal mused a moment. “So it may be that this ship carried the visitors that Yiithrii’ah’aash informed us he was bringing planetside tomorrow. About whose species I have some conjectures. But it is just as likely that this ship was part of the force that attacked them, and whose origins are equally unclear.”
The cerdor’s hip joints flexed anxiously. “Then what shall we do?”
“We shall send three overseers to manage this matter as it unfolds: one cerdor, one convector, and one ratiocinator. The two of you shall fulfill those roles I have thusly designated for your respective taxae. I shall find a suitable midlife ratiocinator within the hour. You shall approach, observe, and report upon the aliens, aided by biota only. You shall make direct contact with me if the ratiocinator and at least one of you two deem it wise. You may employ whatever subtaxae you require to locate and keep track of these arrivals to our planet. In the meantime, our rotoflyers and other relevant mechanisms shall remain ready and preloaded with defense automata. Lastly, we will see to the distribution of spores that alert all our taxae to evacuate the area that lies along the projected route of the aliens’ advance.” Mriif’vaal stared at the luminous holograph which floated before them, offering an unusually precise view of the region in which the alien craft was thought to have descended. “Do you have any sense of their progress, yet?”
“No, but it seems likely they will follow the river downstream,” answered Unsymaajh.
Mriif’vaal bobbed agreeably. “Which will make them easy to find and follow.”
Hsaefyrr’s observation was typically sour. “Which, in turn, will make them easy to kill for any pursuers that might hunt them.”
“Yes,” Mriif’vaal agreed sadly. “This is also true.”
Chapter Thirty-Three. SOUTHERN EXTENTS OF THE THIRD SILVER TOWER BD +02 4076 TWO (“DISPARITY”)
Caine glanced up at the murky golden star in the teal sky. It didn’t seem to race through the hours much faster than Earth’s did, so in all likelihood, and allowing for the current latitude and season, Disparity’s rotational period was probably not much shorter.
The survivors were moving carefully into and out of the wrecked shuttle, its nose having settled even further into the marshy bank. Higher up the shore, Ben Hwang sat checking for anything of value in the salvage that the team members brought to him, but that didn’t amount to much other than the tools and the sealed rations from extra survival kits. Anything made of fabric had already been inundated with a fine, algaelike slime that had entered wherever the shuttle’s hull had been warped, sprung, or ripped open by the force of the crash.
Macmillan emerged, carrying several packets that had not come from survival kits. “What are those?” Caine called to him.
He shook his head. “Don’t know. Dora found them in the ship’s locker before she headed back into the engineering crawlspace.”
“They look like extra filters for our masks.”
Hwang held up the dripping bag, kept it back from him. “That’s what they were. Who knows what they’ve been saturated with now? Probably some of the fast-growing slime we’ve found on everything else.” He glanced at Dora’s own mask farther up on the bank, picked it up. “I don’t think these are safe to leave around. We just don’t know how quickly the mold and algae can ruin them in this environment.”