Caine took hold of another handle. “I think we’re supposed to lend a hand here.”
“Or a claw.”
“Just pull.”
After a few coordinated heaves, the door opened a crack, allowing the humans to finish the job with their pry bars. As soon as the way was clear, the Arat Kur darted in, almost disappearing into a dense thicket of burnt circuitry and warped cables. Trevor peered—and aimed—over Caine’s shoulder to watch the alien’s speedy rerouting work. Caine nodded toward the ruined rainforest of wiring. “What do you think? His engineering section?”
Trevor nodded. “Probably had multiple short-outs when the ship was hit. Just like the cutter did. It’s also why he couldn’t use his engines or restart his power plant: he couldn’t get in to reroute the command circuitry or power supplies.”
Apparently finished, the Arat Kur turned, dove back into the corridor and motioned toward the bridge. Once the humans had followed him into that new location, the alien pointed at what they had conjectured was the main computer, itself, and then the computer again. Trevor and Caine exchanged resigned looks, and then nodded at the Arat Kur in unison.
The alien slid into its acceleration couch, powered up the computer and began manipulating a set of touch screens with extraordinary speed. The deck began to vibrate faintly. A moment later, large metal panels sealed off the shattered cockpit blister and the tumbling star field beyond. A gentle hiss indicated that the chamber was repressurizing.
A few more taps on the touchscreen and the bridge lit up, ringing the humans in holographic displays and dynamically reconfigurable control panels. About half of them were dark or malfunctioning, but that did not seem to impede the Arat Kur. Trevor felt a new vibration through the soles of his feet and simultaneously watched half of the orange lights on the control panels change to green. Evidently, the power plant was online. A moment later, he felt a sideways tug: thrust. The Arat Kur was starting to correct the wreck’s tumble.
Whether it was a matter of fine piloting or extraordinarily powerful computing technology, the alien successfully stabilized and mated the wreckage of his ship with the Auxiliary Command module in less than ten minutes. Then he pointed to a hologram of the space near The Pearl. He zoomed in. At the extreme edge of the field of view was a red mote. He pointed at the mote and then swept his arm in a wide circle, indicating the craft they were in. Caine did the same and nodded.
The Arat Kur seemed to be pleased, emitting a number of trilling whistles and bobbing up and down slightly.
Caine, smiling at the Arat Kur, said sideways to Trevor, “Well, so far, so good.”
“Sure. Marvelous. And now that we’re all such good friends, I’m sure we’ll want to launch straight into a major cross-cultural dialog.”
At that moment, another carrier tone intruded on their private line and a new voice cut in. “Yes, I believe such a discussion would be beneficial to us all.”
Trevor and Caine turned to look at the alien, who had finished working with the computer. Noting that he had their attention once again, the Arat Kur bobbed up and down once. Muffled by the creature’s suit, the whistles and trills resumed. As they did, the new voice spoke again over their radios.
“My apologies for omitting an introduction. I am Darzhee Kut.”
What the Arat Kur said next was even more improbable than his first calm interjection.
“I wish to apologize for meeting under these circumstances. I thank you for showing me trust despite the—unexpected attack which brought me here. Your deeds sound a high and noble melody for your race.”
Caine took a deep breath and answered. “Darzhee Kut, we must apologize also. We had no way of discerning that your personal intentions might be peaceful, after our first and unfortunate encounter in this room. And of course, you had no reason to think otherwise of us. We are most happy to meet you—and through you, come to finally learn something of your race.”
“These harmonize with my own feelings, but before we may do so, we must ensure our survival.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“The weapons-fire from the ship to which your module was originally attached sheared away all my sensors and disabled my communication equipment. I would have pulsed my engines to attract attention but, being unable to enter the engineering relay room, I was unable to effect repairs to those systems. Therefore, may I inquire: do you have an intact communication system? For if you do, we could use it to summon a rescue.”
Trevor shook his head. “Not so fast. You’re expecting us to surrender to you? Even though we’ve got the gun?”
“I expect no such thing. Surrenders, and the accepting of them, are actions undertaken by what you call ‘soldiers,’ are they not?”
Caine leaned forward. “Darzhee Kut, do you mean to imply that you are not a member of your species’ military forces?”
“Not as you would mean it. Moreover, the word military does not completely harmonize with any of ours.”
Caine frowned. “This is an unusual concept for us. Before we agree to communications with your fleet, it would help for us to understand a little more about you and your species. Specifically, do you mean to say that you have no ‘military’ forces?”
Darzhee Kut buzzed lightly. “This is not quite correctly said. We have military forces when we require them, but we have no caste which specializes in conflict, particularly not in physical combat. When the nest is compelled to defend itself, we all aid it according to our best abilities and the nest’s greatest needs.”
“So your race never fought wars?”
“Long ago. But they were too destructive, and so we ceased.”
These were hardly the kind of attackers Trevor had expected. “What made your wars so destructive: the weapons? Nuclear warheads? Gas?”
“No,” said Caine, nodding, “the bodies.”
Darzhee warbled a bit before he answered. “You have sung our sad refrain without having heard it before: this is well. Indeed, the bodies. With no way to dispose of them quickly enough, disease and carrion-creatures became a worse scourge than the war itself.”
“So what did you do to stop further wars?”
“Does one need to forbid one’s own suicide? We did not need to ‘do’ anything but see what was before our eyes: to wage war upon others was, ultimately, to kill oneself and one’s nest.”
“With all due respect, then why did you make war upon us?”
Darzhee Kut made a sound like a falling trill. “Ah. This is a far more complicated matter. But I would say this: let your own history be your answer. Your behavior toward each other told us something of how we must conceive of behaving toward you.”
Caine frowned. “But we do not always make war—unlike the Hkh’Rkh, who seem to be your allies.”
“And this was the great atonality in the chorus of this generation. Some of us sang the triumphs of your species’ dreams of lasting peace. Others boomed the dirge of your many wars.”
“And the dirge was the tune your race chose to focus upon?”
“Let us rather say that it drowned out the more hopeful song that I and others sang.” His front claws gestured beyond the walls. “And here we are, trapped in a growing crescendo that brushes aside all other melodies, tones, sounds. Such is war, it seems to me. Too much of even one’s own sounds, when made in time to war-drums, becomes chaos. It afflicts us with a temporary version of the perpetual sun-time that—it is said—afflicts your species.”