Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

The Slaasriithi’s finger-furlings and — unfurlings paused. “All may visit.”

“That is most generous, Ambassador, but our security policy prohibits full attendance. Some must remain behind with the hab module.” Not that you’d go rummaging through our drawers, but protocols are protocols.

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s frozen digits came to life in a sudden roiling motion. “Understood. However, those who do not make this first journey may not leave this module for subsequent journeys.”

“They will be restricted to this ship?”

“They will be restricted to this habitation module. To be safe in our places, you must visit them. So we cannot guarantee the safety of those who do not visit. This is the requirement for access to our worlds. We regret if it is inconvenient and we accept that some of your legation may not be able to comply.”

Yeah, but, we didn’t come out here to leave any of our experts corked up like genies in a lamp. Caine glanced at Gaspard—

— who nodded his approval.

Riordan flashed him a grateful smile— he does have his moments —and nodded at Yiithrii’ah’aash. “I am happy to say that all will go.”

“And we are happy to hear it. In preparation for your journey, we will allow free access to your two ships, as well as protected access to your cargo module, so that you may retrieve any equipment that you consider prudent. We have automated transportation waiting to carry the entirety of your legation there and back. However, be warned: it would not be safe to return there unescorted, so be sure to collect all the supplies you require before we depart.”

Hwang bowed slightly, waited until Yiithrii’ah’aash had turned his “face” toward him. “Ambassador, every time you mention entering your ship, you speak of these dangers. Do you have guards that would harm unauthorized visitors?”

The exosapient’s ostrich neck pulsed through a quick set of peristaltic ripples. “Not such as you mean. It is simply that our ship would not recognize you.”

“And so its systems would attack us?” Tygg asked.

“No, but they would not know to avoid you. Which could be just as bad. They would not desist from functions that might be injurious to bystanders. Before we reach our next stop, you will have been added to their recognition template. In your parlance, it is a biochemical database in which your genotype can be coded as being a friend.”

“Or a foe?” Caine inquired.

Yiithrii’ah’aash turned back toward him. “Yes. That, too. Now, let us go.”

Exiting the habitation module at the head of the humans, Yiithrii’ah’aash gestured toward four waiting conveyances. Unlike the small, sealed eggs that had carried Caine and his fellow conscious travelers on their earlier trip to the cargo module, these vehicles were fitted with clear canopies that emerged seamlessly from their ellipsoidal chassis.

However, “vehicles” didn’t seem an apt word for these objects. They had no protrusions or lines that betrayed the presence of maintenance housings or weld points. The only component reminiscent of human machinery was a panel behind which an operator might sit. But it was impossible to be certain of its exact function; the curved black-glass surface was inert.

It also fronted the eighth seat in the lozenge-shaped craft, into which Melissa Sleeman gleefully slid as she began inspecting the shining ebon arc. Behind her, Morgan Lymbery peered closely at the seamless juncture of the glass canopy and the vehicle’s body. His concentration was as monofocal and unblinking as that often associated with the autistic.

Tygg managed to get into the same pod-car, trailing just behind Peter Wu and Rena Mizrahi. The tall Aussie stole a furtive glance at Melissa as he slung himself into the seat next to Bannor. Unaware of his attention, she continued inspecting her novel surroundings — until the vehicles rose in unison. Gimballing their rotor-cans, they started toward the cargo mod at a reasonable rate.

“Shouldn’t we be starting to feel a loss of gravity equivalent?” wondered Tygg.

“It will take a little longer, and only if we’re moving inward toward the keel,” Caine answered.

“And we’re not,” put in Melissa, “We’re moving at about a twenty-five-degree angle to it right now.”

“How do you know?” Tygg’s voice was wonderstruck and completely incongruent emerging from one of the most blooded veterans of the recent war.

“Oh, well, I just counted the bends we’ve navigated.”

Riordan, who prided himself on being observant, wondered: bends? What bends?

The pod-bus veered into a side tunnel, sped forward a short distance and then slowed as it emerged into an open area. The high-domed space reminded Caine of a small, trackless turning yard: wide oval bulkhead doors were inset upon each of the other five sides of the hexagonal chamber. The pod-buses all landed in a row before the door opposite the tunnel mouth.

After Melissa had exited in an exuberant rush, Bannor asked, “Did anyone else see those bends she mentioned?”

“Not me,” Caine confessed.

“I didn’t see anything,” Tygg breathed, his gaze following Melissa.

“That’s because you had something in your eye,” commented Rena over her shoulder as she exited.

“Something in my eye?” Tygg repeated, baffled.

“Yes, as in Dr. Sleeman.” Wu managed not to smile.

“It’s that obvious?” Tygg asked.

Bannor rolled his eyes. Caine laughed, then the mirth suddenly inverted into sharp longing for Elena. He exited the pod-bus quickly.

* * *

Caine and the others who had been conscious for the trip helped the rest of the legation unload their scant belongings from the personal luggage antechamber of the cargo module. Finished, they gathered before the large doors into the main lading section, waiting for their hosts.

“Unloading should be easy,” commented Esiankiki Salunke, who moved gracefully in the slightly reduced gravity. “Everything weighs less.”

“Yeah,” commented Joe Buckley, “just remember that mass is unchanged. People who forget that often get squished.”

Esiankiki raised an eyebrow. “My, you are a most cheery person.”

“Comes from seeing newb cargo handlers get smashed as flat as a surfboard. Gives me a sunny outlook on this job.”

Caine heard a soft hum, turned to see another vehicle gliding to a halt in the turning yard. As soon as the craft had settled to the deck, Yiithrii’ah’aash emerged from it, followed by a pair of Slaasriithi whose matching physiognomies differed slightly from his. Their necks were shorter, thicker, more like a giraffe’s than an ostrich’s. However, their bodies and limbs were longer and thinner. Their fingers were wraithlike tapers, as were their bifurcated prehensile tails. And instead of having Yiithrii’ah’aash’s stunted, toelike protrusions, they had what appeared to be another set of full grasping tendrils in contact with the deck. Overall, whereas a quick glance at the ambassador’s odd-hipped torso produced the impression of a lean gibbon, his two associates’ bodies recalled lemurs on the edge of emaciation.

“What’s wrong with them?” Buckley muttered.

“Nothing. I think they’re part of a different taxon,” answered Ben Hwang.

Buckley stared blankly at the word “taxon.”

Well, it’s clear who doesn’t pay close attention during briefings.

Ben moved forward to greet the new arrivals. “Ambassador Yiithrii’ah’aash, I wonder if I might ask you a question about your companions: are they members of a different taxon?”