Beyond the buildings lay a narrow airstrip. Evidence that it was an airstrip came from the sight of two tri-lobed winged vehicles, one sitting at each end. Friday saw them and thought, jackpot! Not just civilization, but technological civilization. Weapons and lamps suggested it, but aircraft like those were a final proof. He had never seen anything remotely like them. With those peculiar shapes it seemed improbable that they could ever leave the ground, but apparently they did. Alien technology was different . Alien technology could be the key to unimaginable personal wealth and power.
He was so excited by the thought that he reached an entry point to the compound before he noticed that the sentry guard held a black cane in one pincer, exactly like the one that had knocked him out on the shore. He stopped in his tracks. Suddenly it felt less like first contact, more like he was being taken prisoner.
“ You go. We not go. You talk, she talk.” The Indigoan who had brought him held a weapon in its pincer, too. Had the creature been holding it ever since they left the watery chamber? It was waving it now, urging him forward.
“I’m willing to talk, more than willing. But who will I be talking to? Does your leader have a name?”
“You go. You talk, and” — there was a pause, while the translation unit buzzed to itself — “you listen big little one — leader? — talk. You go.”
Clear as mud. But the black cane was pointing at his head, and if Friday recalled little after it was used before, he did have the strong and unpleasant memory of his brain seeming to spout gray matter out from the top of his head. It was not an experience that he wished to repeat.
He allowed himself to be led through the gate and on into the compound. The sentry remained at his post, but at a high-pitched squeak from his companion, that the unit translated mysteriously as “Call high servers,” three more Indigoans came scuttling out of one of the buildings. At the sight of Friday, a chorus of clucks and chirps came all at once. The unit at his belt was confused or overloaded. It produced only a squawk of its own. More weapons came out of side pouches.
Think of it as an honor guard. And don’t do or say anything that might annoy or be misinterpreted. They lined up, two on either side of him, and Friday walked cautiously forward. Maybe he didn’t want these brutish creatures named for him after all. If they preferred to be called Malacostracans, which was what the translator kept offering, he wouldn’t argue.
They led him to a low arched doorway in the flat semi-circular end of one of the buildings, lined up outside, and urged him through with gestures of the black canes.
He said to the Indigoan who had brought him from the shore, “What about you? Won’t you be coming in, too, to help translate? We’re beginning to understand each other.”
The Indigoan pointed with the black cane toward the doorway. The translator said, “To the big little, go. You, one, in. We stay.”
“Will the big little” — my God, they had him doing it now — “I hope that your leader sounds exactly the same as you do. Otherwise, the translator will have a hell of a time and may have to start from scratch.”
“You to the big little. Go now. Talk, listen.”
The black cane waved ominously, suggesting no room for discussion.
“All right, I’m going. See? I’m on my way.”
Friday walked forward, down an unlighted ramp and away from the bright beams of the searchlights. At once he found himself splashing along in a foot of water. He paused to close the visor of his suit — for all he knew his next step would drop him in over his head — and realized as he did so that this building was even worse than the one where he had awakened. It not only had standing water, it had no lights at all.
He stepped gingerly forward, stumbled on a down step, and almost fell.
He stood still. “This is ridiculous. I know you gooks understand about lights, so why the hell don’t you use them? It’s black as a witch’s ass in here.”
He was talking to himself, and he certainly didn’t expect an answer. But the room lightened as orange-red tubes lit up all along the side walls. Trills and chirps came from in front of him, and the translator said, “Light is provided. Say what is enough.”
“That’s fine.” Friday glanced at the bright lighting on the walls and at the structures like huge easels that stood beneath them, but most of his attention was focused on the small table a few meters in front of him. It was low, no more than knee-high, only a third the size of the one on which he had awakened. That seemed appropriate, because the Indigoan who sprawled on top of it was also a miniature version of the ones outside. He realized that the table, like the one in the chamber near the shore, was designed to accommodate Indigoan body structure. Five pairs of walking legs draped over the side, while the flat lower body sat comfortably on the hard table beneath. The small body, unlike those of the other Indigoans, wore clothing. The blue-black carapace was dressed in a glittering wraparound of orange-red, while the double pairs of pincers emerged from mitten-like sheaths of the same color.
It was a dumb question, but he had to ask it. He splashed forward until he was within a meter of the table. “Was it you who turned on the lights, and asked me what was enough?”
Miniature eyestalks waved up at him, and the topmost mouth opened. The translator said, “Who but I? No one else is here.”
“I don’t get it. I understand you, but the one who brought me here hardly made sense at all. I know that the translator improves as it hears more of a language, but it shouldn’t be this fast.”
A pincer claw pointed to the unit at Friday’s waist. “I s that the ‘translator’?”
“Sure. Do you also have such things?”
“We have … other ways. Better ways for translation, ways that do not allow mistakes. I think that we communicate, but I am not sure. As for understanding the one who brought you here, it cannot be expected.”
“Does it speak a different language?”
“It speaks no language, no true language. It is not a leader. It is a lower, a Level Three.”
“You mean, a sort of moron?”
“It is Level Three. A patroller, a guard, a worker.”
“I get it. I had the same sort of problem on my ship, workers who couldn’t grasp the big picture. I’m a leader, too.” He had missed with his earlier tries at first contact, but this looked like the right time for it. “Let me explain who I am, and why I am here. My name is Friday Indigo, and I have come to this world from another star system. I am the captain of a starship, the Mood Indigo , which is stranded near the shore not far from here. I am also the representative of all humans, and of all other intelligent species who are members of the Stellar Group. I would welcome the chance to compare your civilization with ours, and if possible to exchange elements of our technology.”
Even as he spoke, Friday wondered if he was being a trifle optimistic. The translator was working now — of course it hadn’t worked when he was talking to a half-wit minion, how could it? — but he was throwing at it some pretty high-level concepts.