Traveler in the Dark

19

The animals led Issk'ath to a hulking beast of metal. It had outstretched wings and a blunted beak, and Issk'ath's first idea was that the enemy had created a counterpart. That they survived and had stolen one of Issk'ath's counterparts to imitate. It tried to speak to the beast, clicking and hissing a greeting. But the beast did not respond. It made no sound or motion. Issk'ath wondered if it were dead. Yet the hum of electric power was unceasing. Issk'ath tried a visual display. Perhaps the beast had no auditory function. No response. It tried looking to the animals for assistance, chirping, but they had turned from Issk'ath, hovering outside a gray cube and rapid patterns of sounds passed between them. Issk'ath took a quick step toward the cube. It was flimsy. Textile? It pressed its maxillae against the material. One of the animals began pulling on its leg, indicating they should move elsewhere. Issk'ath turned its head to look at the animal, but something else hit its tympana. The vibrations inside the animals had been regular. Different from one another, some rapid, some slow, but pulsing in regularly spaced intervals. But inside the gray cube was a different pulse. Too far for Issk'ath to feel it clearly, buried under the others and the electric hum, but it wove in and out of the other input. Did it come from the cube? It flicked its tarsus up the textile. The material sheared away. The animals' bleats grew louder. One was waving a tool again. Issk'ath peered into the open cube. Two animals— different, smaller. The one with the irregular vibration was not erect. Issk'ath stepped inside. A weak electric discharge from the animal's tool splashed over its chassis. Issk'ath ignored it. It took another step toward the smaller animals and extended its maxillae, careful to tap lightly over the top of the animal. Soft, these ones. Furred. Vulnerable. But Issk'ath was not a predator. It pulled back and turned toward the animal lying prone. Another electric burst splashed across Issk'ath. The animals were squawking now, louder than expected for their number. As if there were more inside the cases. Issk'ath extended its maxillae again, touching the animal before it. The vibration was worse, erratic. Its electrical system was disorganized, chaotic. Issk'ath was unfamiliar with the organism, but that type of disorganization was not optimal for life. The animal's vibration stopped. A mechanism made a loud, insistent chirp and all around it, the others scurried into far corners, picking up tools. The electrical function was stopping, becoming echoes, ripples stilling into nothing. All of its data would be lost.

Issk'ath located the center of its remaining activity and plunged its sharp tarsus through the animal's skull. There was a wet cracking as it pierced the bone. Soft and hard and soft again. Little more than larvae. The others halted for a moment.

"Holy mother of man," said one. Then they began running. It ignored them. The order of this animal was complex. There were many processes that had to be rewritten to accommodate the data. Issk'ath couldn't even be certain it received all of it in the minutes that the impulses slowed and finally ceased within the animal. But it got some. Enough, perhaps. The other animals would have to judge.

It began processing, shuttling the data to a new pinpoint of light near the chassis center. Dorothy. That was this one's designation. The language was imprecise. Vast. Ah, Issk'ath understood. They lacked suitably fine olfactory receptors. All of their communication relied upon auditory and visual cues. How inefficient. It would take time to parse the language and develop a lexicon. Mathematics. It could understand that. This one had some knowledge of it. Rudimentary, but sufficient for communication, if the others shared Dorothy's experience. "Holy mother of man" the other one had said. Issk'ath was curious, but the flood of imagery and language that erupted from the query made it back off shortly. There would be time later. They were not the ancient enemy. Nor did they belong to the colony. That was enough for now. The animals were coming back. None soft now. Helmets, casings, the one designated Dorothy supplied. Armored. Not prey. There were many. All with tools. Not tools. Weapons, corrected Dorothy. Issk'ath raised its wings in warning, though the weapons had not affected it.

The animals did not understand, all shouting. Issk'ath processed rapidly, but it was still analyzing. It caught only "Stop" and "kill." It pulled its tarsus out of Dorothy's corpse, all of the data that could be gathered, it had already taken. It considered as the animals continued to shout. Its sound imitation programming was not designed for these modulations, but Issk'ath relished a challenge. It processed.

"No kill." The sound was a cross between the colony's chirps and the deep mating calls of a lesser prey. Issk'ath repeated it. "No kill. No hurt." It tapped one of the gold sparks that speckled its chassis. "Dorothy Hackford."

"Flaming core," gasped one of the animals. Humans, offered Dorothy. Nicholas Spixworth. "It's speaking. How is it speaking?"

"I don't care what it's doing, Spixworth. It killed Hackford. Everyone back to the Wolfinger. Guess we got your answer, Emery. No mercy for us."

"Captain—"

"No kill," said Issk'ath. "Mercy. Hackford safe. All safe." This rudimentary language was limiting. Issk'ath clicked in frustration. The colony was awake, jostled from its long sleep. A thousand processes clamored for Issk'ath's attention, cluttered the sorting.

"Not safe," said Spixworth, creeping toward Dorothy's body. "Dead. We're fragile. Not metal. You killed her. She's gone."

"Not gone. Here." Issk'ath tapped its tarsus against the spark again. "Safe. No kill. Casing not optimal." It clicked the pattern of Dorothy's dying heart.

One of the animals gasped. "Her heart— you heard her heart?"

Leroux, identified Dorothy, medic. Doctor. Healer. Help.

Issk'ath clicked the pattern again. "Heart not optimal. No kill."

"Then what happened?" asked Spixworth.

Issk'ath processed. "Need words. Dorothy help. Slow."

"Captain, we should find a way to link it to the library—" started Liu.

"Are you insane? This thing murdered one of us. We aren't giving it a damn thing. Get back on the Wolfinger. Now."

Only Martham headed for the ship. The others hesitated, watching Issk'ath for some reaction.

"That's an order, people. On the ship, or get left here."

"We can't just leave Dorothy out here," said Leroux.

"On the ship!" shouted Stratton, "We'll worry about Hackford when we're certain we're safe."

The humans backed toward the metal beast. Ship. For travel. It swallowed them one after another, leaving Issk'ath staring after them.