Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

Fornax scowled through the windscreen at the domes beyond the beak-like nose of the berthed Platypus . She was frustrated to be so close to the action, only to find her story still out of reach. Sitting with her in the cockpit was Philyra, Momus and Zotz, all of whom had been told in no uncertain terms by Quirinus to stay aboard whilst he and Ravana went to look for the archaeologists and Artorius. The reporter sat in Ravana’s usual seat and so only had herself to blame for the electric cat fidgeting nervously upon her lap.

“Are you sure there’s no more pressure suits, kid?” she asked.

“Ravana and Quirinus took all the spare ones,” Zotz told her, though they both knew Momus had kept hold of his own. “They might be needed to bring people back aboard.”

“You heard the captain,” said Momus. “We’re supposed to stay put.”

“How about we use these?” suggested Philyra. She held one of the ship’s emergency oxygen masks, a two-piece design as old as the Platypus itself, consisting of a face mask and shoulder pack connected via a flexible tube. She raised it to her face and promptly wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If you don’t mind the smell of sweaty rubber, that is.”

“Surely we need a full suit to survive out there,” Fornax said doubtfully, irritably pushing aside a rogue tendril hanging from a control panel.

“Ship?” asked Zotz. “Can you analyse the air outside?”

“Exterior ambient atmosphere is approximately eighty-two per cent carbon dioxide, nine per cent nitrogen, five per cent oxygen and three per cent argon with traces of carbon monoxide, methane and water vapour,” reported the AI. “Air temperature is two hundred and seventy-six kelvin, atmospheric pressure is eighty-nine kilopascals.”

Philyra shrugged. “Who’s this kelvin guy?”

Momus rolled his eyes. “To put it another way, the air’s thick enough to stop your blood boiling but poisonous and frigging cold.”

“So you could manage with just masks,” added Zotz.

“And a few more clothes,” muttered Fornax, with a withering glance at Philyra.

Momus frowned. “We’re supposed…”

“…To stay put,” finished Fornax. “Yes, I know. But I am a reporter and inside those domes is possibly the greatest scoop of this century, if not of all time! I refuse to sit around in this heap of a tentacle-sprouting spaceship, waiting for our gallant captain to return. I am going to grab my story, whether you like it or not!”

“Me too,” declared Philyra, standing up. “Zotz?”

Zotz shook his head vigorously. “I don’t want to go out there.”

Philyra disappeared through the hatch into the crawl tunnel leading to the carousel. When she returned a few moments later, she wore a long coat and held Fornax’s bag.

“You’re both frigging mad,” Momus told them.

“Probably,” Fornax admitted. Taking her bag, she withdrew her tiny camera robot and carefully unfolded its twin rotors to make sure nothing was dented. She saw with satisfaction that it was charged and ready to go. “Welcome to the world of journalism.”

Ravana found the greys inside the large black tent that in her absence had appeared in dome two. There was no one else in sight, though she could hear faint voices coming from the walkway to the Dhusarians’ transport. The site was far more humid than she recalled; earlier, in dome three, she had been startled to find a pool of water in the trench containing the excavated tree stumps. Incredibly, tiny green buds were visible on the blackened outcrops, suggesting that the ancient remains were not as fossilised as they thought.

The air inside the tent was even more stifling than the clammy atmosphere of the dome and had an unpleasant coppery smell. The main area contained a couple of low couches strewn with blankets, a variety of locked crates and a freezer trunk that was chilling in more ways than one, for the lid bore a series of bloody six-fingered handprints.

Nana and Stripy were in a smaller inner tent, manacled to one of the tent poles and looking very dejected in their grubby cut-off overalls. Their restraints had implant-controlled locking mechanisms that Ravana was able to release with ease. The greys greeted her with a chorus of excited shrieks, which became quite emotional. Stripy gave her a hug.

“Fwack fwack!”

“Of course I came back for you!”

“Thraak thraak,” Nana cried urgently. “Thraak thraak thraak thraak!”

“Slow down!” protested Ravana. Her implant translator could not keep up with the torrent of white noise issuing forth from the grey’s lips. The visualisations that did appear were difficult to comprehend. “Can we get out of this smelly hole?”

Ravana led the anxiously chattering greys from the black tent. Her father was across the dome, inside the walkway link to the Dhusarians’ parked transport, busy doing something furtive with a spade and the vehicle’s hatch. There to greet her instead were Doctor Jones, the Que Qiao officers and her fellow student archaeologists, all of whom having followed from dome one. All stared at the two greys with expressions that conveyed disbelief, apprehension, amazement and bewilderment in various measures.

“Thraak?” asked Nana.

“They’re friends,” Ravana said, even though she had yet to hear a civil word from either of the police officers or Urania. “Well, mostly.”

“Fwack fwack,” murmured Stripy uneasily.

Doctor Jones stepped forward, took off his hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. Xuthus and Hestia exchanged excited whispers, interspersed with glances at Ravana filled with awe. Quirinus soon came to join them, wearing an equally bemused expression. Govannon replaced his hat and noisily cleared his throat.

“Are those really…?” he started, but could not finish his sentence.

“Aliens!” exclaimed Xuthus.

“Cool,” murmured Hestia.

Quirinus grinned. “You do mix with some strange creatures.”

“Freaky,” Urania muttered. “Are they for real?”

Stripy returned Urania’s stare. “Fwack?”

Ravana grinned. “He’s just asked the same about you. They’re really intelligent,” she added. “I reckon they’re as smart as you or I.”

“Don’t you mean as dumb as you?” sneered Urania.

“You can understand them?” asked Yima. Beside him, a scowling Ininna fiddled with her headscarf as if trying to shield herself from the quizzical gaze of the greys.

“The Dhusarians developed a translator programme for cranium implants,” Ravana replied, pointedly ignoring Urania. She glanced to Govannon, who was staring wide-eyed at Nana and anxiously shuffling his feet. “Is everything okay, Doctor Jones?”

Govannon gulped. “Aliens don’t exist, see?” he said slowly. “They cannot exist! I’ve spent my life debunking the crazy notions of people like Cadmus, who see extraterrestrial handiwork in every ancient ruin. I freely admit that what we’ve found on Falsafah is a puzzle, but in all my years of archaeology I have not once seen definitive proof of intelligent alien life. I don’t know what these creatures are, but…”

He tailed off, lost for words. Nana raised large beseeching eyes to Govannon’s own, stepped forward and gently placed a six-fingered hand upon the man’s arm.

“Thraak,” the grey said softly. “Thraak thraak.”

“Fwack fwack,” added Stripy.

“They like you,” said Ravana, then glared at Urania. “But not you.”

“What about me?” Xuthus asked.

“Thraak thraak,” Nana said solemnly.

“I do not!” retorted Ravana, blushing. “He’s just a friend!”

Hestia gave her a wounded look and sidled up to Xuthus in the wake of a coy glance of her own. Xuthus himself remained fixated by the greys, unaware he had briefly become the centre of attention.