Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

He looked up as the hatch opened, revealing two humans. It was hard to tell the scrawny bipeds apart, but one of them wore a neural interface, suggesting that he’d been one of the original captives. The thought made him clack his feet against the deck in frustration. It was clear, now, that the Varnar hadn’t engineered fighting abilities into their cyborgs. They were natural fighters, even when taken by surprise and transported into an utterly unfamiliar environment.

The second human took a step backwards as Cn!lss came into view. It was hard — again — to be sure, but the protrusions on the human’s chest suggested a female… unless the humans were radically different from the other biped races. Not that that meant the female would be subordinate, he reminded himself sharply. There were races where one sex was clearly superior and races where both sexes were equals… and races where swapping sex was as natural as breathing. For all he knew, he was looking at the Queen of Earth.

“I greet you,” he said, dropping into the Posture of Respect. Whatever she was, he had a feeling that rudeness to her would not go unpunished. “I am Cn!lss.”

There was a long pause as the translator worked through his words. “Hi,” the human female said, in return. “I am…”

Cn!lss cocked his head, unsurprised, as the translator failed to provide any translation for the alien name. Unlike concepts such as technology, basic names and superstitions were hard to translate, no matter how capable the computers operating the system. Besides, one race’s religion and naming conventions were another race’s source of endless amusement.

“I would like to examine your body,” the human female said. “Would that be permissible?”

“Yes,” Cn!lss said. Compared to the torture he’d been expecting, a medical examination wouldn’t be too bad. “I would not object at all.”

Steve had been reminded — again — of just why he’d fallen in love with Mariko. She’d stopped dead when she’d seen the alien, as if nothing she’d seen up to then had been quite real, and then she’d gone forward and started a conversation. Now, she was poking and prodding at the alien’s body, all the while bombarding him with questions about how his body actually worked. Not all of the answers seemed to make sense, but at least they were learning something .

“They’re egg-layers,” Mariko said, afterwards. They left the alien in the cabin and walked out to a place where they could talk. “And they’re real.”

“They sure are,” Steve said. “What else did you find out?”

“He’s quite ignorant of how his body works,” Mariko said. “I’d need a proper laboratory to do more research, but I think he knows almost nothing. It seems odd.”

“These guys seem to have been kept in ignorance,” Steve muttered. It still seemed absurd to him that the aliens didn’t even begin to comprehend the potentials of their own systems, but he had seen human groups with similar levels of ignorance. He straightened up as Mongo and Jayne walked past, the latter looking completely stunned. “Welcome to our new ship.”

“Thank you,” Jayne stammered. Unlike Mariko, her family had been ranchers for the last two hundred years and had no intention of leaving their land. But that might have changed now, Steve knew. The children, in particular, would be fascinated by the starship… and the chance to live on the moon. “This is… this is…”

Steve sighed, inwardly. Mariko was adaptable, Jayne… was not. But it was hard to blame her; she’d grown up in Montana, never gone to college or anything else that might have taken her out of the state and married a man she’d known since they were both children. It was a comfortable marriage, Steve considered, but it wasn’t exciting. Or maybe he was completely wrong. Both he and Mongo were gentlemen. They didn’t kiss their wives and then compare notes.

“Something new,” he said. Would Jayne refuse to join them? Would they have to decide what to do about someone who wanted out sooner rather than later? “And it’s one hell of an opportunity.”

“Yes,” Jayne said. She wrinkled her nose. “It also stinks.”

Steve watched Mongo lead his wife further into the ship, then nodded to Mariko and led her back towards the teleport compartment. Mariko bombarded him with questions about how the system worked, questions that produced little or no useful data from the interface. It was quite happy to teach them how to teleport into a high security zone — it crossed Steve’s mind that he could simply beam into the White House — but it still wasn’t prepared to tell them how the technology actually worked . Steve made a mental note about hiring scientists who might be able to start unlocking its mysteries, then set their destination coordinates as close to Vincent’s home as he dared. Living on the edge of a town, Vincent had far more neighbours than Steve and his family.

“I wonder,” Mariko said, as she eyed the teleporter, “what happens if we merge with something else that’s already there.”

Steve queried the interface. “Apparently,” he said after a moment, “the compensators push everything out of the way.”

He paused, considering it. The system would make one hell of a weapon, if used properly… or they could simply teleport bombs onto enemy ships. No, somehow he doubted that was possible. If a relatively small terminal could mess up the teleport lock, it was certain that a more advanced race had ways to block teleport signals. They certainly wouldn’t share the technology with a band of barbarian scavengers if they didn’t have any way to defend against it.

Mariko held herself very still as Steve joined her on the pad, then sent the signal. The starship faded away around them, to be replaced by the edges of a small farm. Steve glanced around quickly, wondering if they had been seen by one of Vincent’s hired hands, then led the way towards the farmhouse. Mariko followed, her face surprisingly pale. It was clear that she didn’t like teleporting, no matter how efficient it was. But Steve suspected she wouldn’t be the only one who had her doubts about the system.

He smiled as he saw Vincent’s small collection of older cars parked in the yard. Vincent could have expanded the farm several times over for what he’d paid for the vehicles, to say nothing of the difficulties he faced in keeping them running. But Vincent had always been a little paranoid about new technology, pointing out — when they’d teased him — just how often it had failed on the battlefield. When the Chinese dropped an EMP bomb on the US, he’d said, they’d be glad of his cars then. And, until then, they were a hobby.

Poor bastard , Steve thought, as he reached the farmhouse door and knocked. You deserved so much better .

Vincent’s wife opened the door and peered at them, alarmed. Steve cursed, inwardly; normally, carefully-trained officers were sent to inform wives and families of their death of their husbands and fathers in combat. It was never a duty he’d wanted, nor was it one he’d ever had to do until now. And he didn’t know what to say.

“Ginny,” Mariko said, taking the lead, “can we come in?”

Ginny paled, but led them into the sitting room. Vincent had decorated half of it with paintings and drawings of vintage cars, Ginny had decorated the other half with paintings of flowers and her family. She was quite a talented artist, Steve had often considered, when she had time to paint. Normally, the life of a farmwife consumed all of her time. He felt an odd lump in his throat when he saw a painting of Vincent himself, then one of Mariko from years ago. There was something almost waiflike in her face that had faded over the years.