Expendable - James Alan Gardner [52]
The only plausible explanation was that humans had lived on Melaquin, either now or in the past. The planet had worms, killdeer, and monarch butterflies; why not Homo sapiens too? And for some reason, those humans had fabricated this new transparent race…transparent to human eyes, if not to the eyes of extraterrestrial species.
Of course, I had no idea why they’d do such a thing. Why make yourself hard for your fellow creatures to see? Were they trying to hide from each other? But Oar still showed up on IR, UV, and other wavelengths. She couldn’t conceal herself from high-tech sensors…and surely her culture had such gadgets. They were sophisticated enough to engineer themselves into glass; they must understand basics like the EM spectrum.
Maybe turning to glass was simply a fashion statement. Or a religious practice—implementing some teaching that glassiness was next to godliness. No, I told myself, that was too easy: too many sociologists threw up their hands and said, “It’s just religion,” when they found a custom they didn’t understand at first sight. An Explorer doesn’t have the luxury to dismiss anything.
I had to be scrupulously honest: I didn’t understand why people would make themselves glass…and perhaps this whole train of thought was merely jumping to conclusions. Melaquin showed no roads, no cities, no signs of technology—scarcely consistent with a culture that could engineer people into near-invisibility.
Unless…
…at the same time they made a race so hard to see, they also removed all signs of their presence on the planet.
Unless these see-through bodies and the dearth of development were all attempts to hide that this planet was inhabited. Even if they showed up on IR, glass bodies were still harder to see than normal flesh and blood.
And if that was true, what were they hiding from?
I shivered; and this time it had nothing to do with air temperature or damp clothes.
Radio, Boat
Oar walked twenty paces, then crouched beside a shadowed tangle of thornbush washed up on the sand. She glanced back and gestured that I should turn my head away. I complied, but tucked the Bumbler’s scanner behind me so I could watch while my back was turned.
A few moments passed while she checked I wasn’t looking. Then she stretched her arm into the tangle, methodically pushing away one branch after another as she moved her hand inside. I played with the Bumbler’s dials, trying to see what Oar was reaching for; and suddenly, the image glowed with a flare of bright violet.
Hmmm.
On the Bumbler’s current setting, violet corresponded to radio waves. Somewhere in the bushes, a concealed radio transmitter had sent out a signal.
Oar stood and began walking back to me. I clicked off the Bumbler’s display and pondered how long I should pretend to be unaware of her approach. Before I was forced to decide. I was saved by the lapping of waves offshore—the glass coffin had reappeared, and was slipping in toward the beach. I watched it a moment, then turned to Oar. “Your boat?”
“Yes. It comes when it is wanted.” Her voice had a self-satisfied tone, as if I should be impressed by the boat’s “magical” response to her whim. The magic was surely the radio signal she’d just sent…but perhaps Oar didn’t know that herself.
“It must be good to have a boat like that,” I said. “Where did you get it?”
“I have always had it,” she replied, as if my question was nonsense. “Would you like to ride in it with me?”
“Both of us?” The boat’s size was generous for a coffin, but getting two people inside would be a squeeze. “It’s a bit small,” I said.
“Two can fit,” she started to say…then she stopped, suddenly stiff and distant. “You are right, Festina,” she