Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [64]
Each utilitarian vessel could accommodate a maximum of four, but two were adequate to fly and operate the compact craft. Taking silent leave of their respective air locks, they fired programmed bursts from their tiny engines as they descended toward the scabrous surface of the noticeably ellipsoidal moon. The feeble electronic anomaly that had sparked the unplanned visit grew no stronger as they tracked it, suggesting emission from a natural source.
The reality turned out to be anything but.
The pilot of the first ship altered his trajectory as soon as visual contact was made, directing his backup to do the same. Anxious communications flew back and forth between the two repair craft and the starship.
“A vessel of some kind it is, MotherTwo.” The pilot and his companion did not have to use instruments to reach their conclusion. The silhouette that was floating above the crater was unmistakably synthetic.
“Can you it identify, TwelveSon?” came the apprehensive response.
Both Unop-Patha stared at the quiescent, shadowed object that lay in front of and below them. “Ours it is not, but that without saying goes.” Alongside the pilot, his companion hazarded a guess.
“FortyDaughter here being. Human maybe it is, because it on a moon sits that a human world orbits it does.”
“Real you speak, FortyDaughter,” came the reply. “However any space-going species belonging to it could. Including maybe sentience unknown that the population of this world made dead.”
However reasonable and indeed, unavoidable, the verbalization of such a possibility was, it was seriously disconcerting to the crew of both observing repair craft. Yet there was no sign of movement or life from the unidentifiable ship, nor any indication that anything aboard, organic or artificial, was aware of their presence.
“Very small it is,” the pilot of the second repair vessel reported. “No larger than our own. Not capable of space-plus travel it is, would I estimate.”
His colleague in the other ship continued the reportage. “No generating projector visible is, nor anything that an analogous structure might be called. Old it looks. If elsewhere encountered, not capable of flight of any kind would I think it. Almost at the end of a decelerating synchronous orbit it appears to be. If not for the slightness of this moon’s weak gravity I imagine it long ago into the surface would have crashed.” When no response was forthcoming, he inquired hesitantly, “Closer looking should we take?”
This time the ensuing silence from the starship was understandable: The commanding family was taking the request under advisement and discussing it with the heads of the other dominant families. The pilot was not sure whether to be happy or despondent when the response that was finally forthcoming was affirmative.
“Distance where and when possible keep,” the pilots of the two investigating craft were admonished. “Remove yourselves if any hint of trouble or hostility there is. Scrutiny we perform will, recordings you take will, and when done all a report to the human authorities we make will.”
TwelveSon waited for FortyDaughter to bring her little ship up alongside his. Together they advanced on the silent, inactive alien craft. No, silent not, he reminded himself. It continued to emit its feeble, intermittent electronic sputter.
What if a scout ship of the unknown ravening species that had annihilated Argus V it was? He could feel his copilot shivering and shuddering alongside him. Together they sloughed off an inordinate amount of nervous energy. He knew that FortyDaughter and her companion must be experiencing similar terrors. He wanted to turn around, to flee this dark, dead place and return to the familiar family warmth and comfort of the starship. Wanted to, but did not. The Unop-Patha were not particularly