Barrington Bayley - The Great Hydration

For all their alienness there was a cold sense of power about the beasts. It was a feeling Krabbe had expected, and one which he relished.

A voice hoarse and breathless, harsh and clicking came from one of the Tlixix. In reply a Gaminte embarked on a long explanation in guttural tones. Then the Tlixix turned to the Earthmen and spoke again. Bouche raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“We are strangers, Market Master,” he answered in Terra standard. “We cannot understand you.”

There was silence. All the Tenaciteans present, humanoid and crustacean, seemed mystified. It occurred to Krabbe that they might not have such a concept as a foreign language. The Tlixix had imposed their own on the dehydrate species as they evolved.

Behind him the door irised again. Through it poured more Gamintes, this time carrying everything that had been in Krabbe and Bouche’s lodging: water drums, food packs, assorted items including weapons. All this was dumped in front of the Tlixix, who peered at it with their blank, white eyes.

A Gaminte picked up a water drum and shook it. Water sloshed inside.

As he put it down again Bouche bent to the goods. He had spotted the ear and throat translators. Suspiciously the guards lifted their flingers, aiming flenching blades as he handed one set to Krabbe and fitted the other to himself.

The Market Master’s words were now intelligible. “You are in possession of water! All water belongs to the Tlixix! How did you come by it?”

His voice was like the roaring of surf. To fasten on the neckbands, the Earthmen had thrown back the hoods of their burnouses. The Tlixix became still, regarding them intently, as if puzzled.

“What is your tribe? From what part of the world do you come?”

Krabbe spoke, again experiencing the weird sensation of having his words whipped away to emerge from the voice-disk in an alien tongue.

“Our tribe does not exist in this world, Market Master. The water is ours, and nowhere in all the deserts will you find another people like us. We come from the stars.”

The two Tlixix stared at one another then back at Krabbe.

“From the stars? What nonsense is this?”

“We can prove it. We come from the stars, and we are here to trade.”

“And how did you come from the stars?”

Krabbe grinned. Incredulous though the lobsters were of what, after all, must seem a preposterous story, they would soon change their minds when they saw evidence of the technology the firm of Krabbe & Bouche had available.

“We came in a vehicle that is closed up like a barrel, or like this building. It carries its own air, for there is no air in between the stars. It now waits for us in the sky, too high to be seen.”

“Do not waste our time with your ridiculous stories. What is the name of your tribe? Where did you get this water?”

“We can prove what we say, Market Master. If you will allow me to use a device among our goods, I will speak to our comrades aboard the vessel in the sky, and you will hear their voices.”

“Hear their voices?”

“Yes, Market Master.”

There was a pause. “Proceed.”

Krabbe found the communicator and, again under the nervous gaze of flinger-wielding Gamintes, opened up its dish antenna.

Bouche took off his translator. “Here, you’d better let me do that.” He took the handset from Krabbe and touched a tab.

“Are you there, O’Rourke? Come in, please.”

Their most trusted bondman answered almost immediately.

“O’Rourke here, Partner Bouche.”

“We have made contact, O’Rourke. I am demonstrating that we have friends in orbit. That is all.”

“Understood, Partner Bouche.”

“Out.”

The Market Master’s companion uttered an exclamation and jerked his body, sending drops of water shooting off him. “That strange noise comes from a long distance?”

“That’s correct, Market Master,” Krabbe said with satisfaction.

“And it works, perhaps, by sending inaudible radiations? Something similar to light, except it cannot be seen?”

“Well, yes,” Krabbe said slowly, blinking. “That’s a good description.”

“Then it is true. There is such a device!”

The Market Master himself turned this way and that, stalks and feelers in a frenzy. “Seize these two! They have come to the market as liars and thieves. They have stolen our water. They have stolen the invention of the Analane! What else have they stolen? Seize them!”

With gruff cries the terrifying Gamintes rushed forward.

Hrityu and Kurwer, who had been wandering the market in a fruitless search, pleading with anyone who would listen to their entreaties, went wild with joy and relief when a Gaminte came to tell them the radiator had been found.

Hurrying to the Pavilion of Audience, they met a strange scene. The Crome, their enemy, was present. But so were two humanoids they could not identify, strangers of a pale greenish-yellow colour who stood with heads bowed before the lordly Tlixix. Around them were scattered a number of objects whose purpose was not clear.

Rherrsherrsh, the majestic Market Master, waved something in a manipulatory stalk.

“Come closer, Analane. Take this.”

Gingerly Hrityu reached up and accepted the object. He inspected it curiously. It was a flat, rectangular box, surprisingly light for its size, made of a substance that was neither glass nor metal. Coloured strips and tabs decorated its surface.

“Do you confirm that this is your missing property?” the Tlixix rasped.

Hrityu looked again at the box, puzzled. “Why, no, Market Master. This is not our radiator. Our machine is much larger. What this is, I cannot say.”

A rustling sigh came from within the transparent tents.

“You have never seen it before?”

“Never, Market Master.”

Rherrsherrsh pointed his snout at the pale-skinned ones. His white eyes glistened.

Boris Bouche licked his lips. “We spoke the truth, Market Master,” he said. “We come from another world. Allow us to prove it with a demonstration of our alienness.”

“Proceed.”

Bouche stepped to one of the water drums and unscrewed the cap. Using a ladle clipped to the side of the container, he dipped into its cool contents.

“Water, Market Master. We need it to stay alive, just as you do.”

He was, as a matter of fact, feeling thirsty. He gulped down the water, ending with a sigh of satisfaction.

The dehydrate humanoids stared in stunned amazement. Even the Tlixix waved to and fro in their consternation.

“To any but ourselves water is poison!”

Krabbe took the ladle from Bouche and also dipped, swallowing a mouthful, then replacing the screw cap. He turned to face the Tlixix.

“That is because yours is a dried-out world, Market Master. The worlds where we live have plenty of water. It’s the basis of our form of life.”

“Then you are as we are.”

Krabbe grinned broadly. “That’s it. We are just like you.”

Rherrsherrsh’s eyes became moist with excitement as he leaned towards the humans. “And do you come to our world to trade?”

“That’s it again, Market Master. We do indeed come to trade.”

In the dust of the concourse the Analane looked at one another in bewilderment. They had been ushered from the pavilion before the strangers could divulge their intentions any further, as had the lone Crome, but that scarcely interested them in their dismay.

“All is lost,” Kurwer murmured dejectedly.

Hrityu squared his thin shoulders. “Do not say that! There is still hope.”

The Crome eyed the two haughtily and stepped forward.