Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [66]
As they entered the lock both he and ThirtyOneSon agreed that the placement of controls and instruments suggested that the lock, and by inference the rest of the derelict vessel, had been designed with beings bigger than the Unop-Patha in mind. TwelveSon was not sure whether to be relieved or further intimidated by this conclusion. Trying to determine its composition, he studied a blank screen of alien manufacture while his companion scanned the inner door and its seals. The screen and its design were far more sophisticated than anything comparable aboard the starship.
ThirtyOneSon turned to him, staring out of his suit’s head bubble. “There’s no atmosphere on this craft. If there ever was one it has all away leaked.”
“It could be there was aboard never anyone.” Moving to the inner door, TwelveSon began running his four stubby fingers around the edge. It was darker here, away from the outer portal. “It might have been accidentally from the surface of the fifth planet launched, or from a human starship, or from a vessel of the attacking species. Or it might a true derelict be that has here for generations lain.”
“Not many generations,” ThirtyOneSon reminded him. “The colonizing humans had not this world for very long occupied before they wiped out were.”
“I realize that, but there is still—”
He let out an involuntary yelp and leaped backward as the inner door began to open. The paltry gravity would have sent him crashing headfirst into the ceiling had not an alert ThirtyOneSon reacted in time to grab his companion’s lower leg as he began to soar past. Even as ThirtyOneSon pulled his friend back down toward the floor, he was already stumbling toward the outer portal.
“What is it, what happening is?” FortyDaughter’s alarmed voice crackled over their simple bubbleset speakers.
“The inner lock door cycling is,” TwelveSon reported as he regained both his emotional and physical equilibrium. Together, he and ThirtyOneSon halted themselves in the frame of the outer doorway, watching and waiting.
The inner barrier continued to withdraw until the way was clear. Beyond, they could make out a corridor and more alien instrumentation. A few lights shone dimly. In the stillness of the airless moon, nothing moved.
“In the course of your inspection one of your hands must a still active control have brushed,” ThirtyOneSon remarked to his companion. When the pilot, still breathing hard, did not reply, the slightly larger of the pair added, “We should a survey of the interior make.”
TwelveSon looked over at him. “I would rather not.”
ThirtyOneSon did not possess an especially imaginative personality, a quality that was a definite asset in their present circumstance. His tone was maternal-stern. “We should a survey make,” he insisted firmly. “Having been the opportunity granted, we will chastised be if we without doing so return.”
“No one will know if…oh, wait,” an unhappy TwelveSon muttered. They had already reported to the other repair ship that the inner lock was open. Even if ThirtyOneSon had concurred, it was too late to back out now. With great reluctance, the pilot started back into the lock and toward the ominously gaping inner gateway.
The absence of breathable atmosphere was encouraging. Surely there was nothing left alive aboard the solitary little vessel. As they penetrated deeper within, keeping close to one another, growing confidence began to override his unease. As an exemplar of alien engineering the ship struck him as more primitive than what he had seen of the best of contemporary human and thranx and AAnn technology, but it was still more advanced than anything aboard his own vessel. A sudden thought struck him: If by chance the humans did not know this was here, perhaps he and his people could claim right of salvage. There might be much to