Zach Hughes - The Legend of Miaree

"My companions were killed," he said, as the floater pushed against the wind with silent force.

"It is sad."

"The fleet," he said. "Have they contacted you?"

She glanced at him, her eyes turning a deeper shade of blue. Was it the light? He was to learn, later, that her eyes were reflections of her emotions.

"They send messages. The messages disturb us."

"I can understand," he said. He was beginning to realize that some of the sounds were unheard when she spoke. Interesting. Yet he understood. "We come as uninvited guests. But you must know from what we flee."

"Yes. We call them God’s Fires."

"You understand our plight, then."

"Are there not other worlds?"

"You are in space," he replied.

She was silent. To reveal the lack of star flight in her technology would be to admit a weakness.

"At the moment." he said, when he was sure that she was not going to volunteer any information, "we are limited in our choices. The worlds between here and— how do you say it? Delan? Are limited. And, perhaps, we are afraid. Perhaps we seek the advice and the support of the only other intelligent race we have encountered. Although some of our systems are now unsuited for life, we, the Artonuee and Men, face the same threat. Should we not compare notes? Should we not work together?"

"You give us little choice," Miaree said. "The fleet signals."

"Please understand," he said, looking into her eyes. "Our people are dying. Radiations are sweeping many of our worlds. On the rims of the galaxies two great globular clusters are already exchanging sheets of solar

flame among their outer members. When the critical moment is reached, and our science is not capable of producing an exact prediction, the worlds of Men will flame and smoke and die."

"It is God’s will," Miaree said, for lack of anything else.

"It is an accident of the universe," Rei said, with some force.

The floater was some distance from the rocks. One crag protruded from the water, an offshore upthrusting. Miaree spoke quietly to the younger male crewman. He produced a small, hand-held weapon. There was a flash and the rocky crag glowed, fused, melted with hissing steam into the water.

Rei controlled his impulse to start. He looked thoughtfully back at the steaming water. Then he looked at Miaree, his face grave.

"The decision is made?" he asked.

"We Artonuee are a carefully molded society. We have learned from the ages of our existence that order, peace, planned progress are necessary. Our life form is delicately balanced by the forces of natural evolution. As it is, it is stable, but we know from past disasters of our fragility, of the tenuous hold we have on life."

"You have five planets." Rei said.

"To each a purpose." Miaree said. "Each carefully balanced and a part of the whole."

Rei was silent. The floater, the hum of the drive sucked behind them by the wind, seemed to move on nothingness, rocked slightly by the running waves which sent spray from the prow. He was impressed by the beautiful female’s poise, as he had been impressed by the demonstration of the hand weapon. The weapon, he reasoned, was light, a tight beam. The principle was not unfamiliar to him. Each of the approaching star ships, with its precious cargo, was armed with weapons based on the same physical principle. Each skip was capable of destroying anything in its path. Had there been time, for example, he could have burned his way through the asteroid belt which killed his own ship.

When the distant shore was close enough for him to see with his naked

eye the forms of other Artonuee waiting at the dock, he spoke again. "Has the decision been made?"

She was not ready to answer, but his directness demanded it. She looked back at the high cliffs and sighed. "We have made no decisions."

"You have five worlds," Rei said. "Each is thinly populated."

"Please," Miaree said. "Not here."

He glanced at the two male crewmen. Sullen faces returned his look.

The male eyes were smaller, but of the same general construction. Only the outer circle of facets were missing.

Forbidden to talk, he observed. The female sat with a straight back, her face in profile to him. The air was cool and pleasant on his face. He contented himself with watching the activity on the shore, seeing adult females herd scampering young ahead of them as if to prevent contact with the alien. When the floater drew abreast of the dock there were only two females and a contingent of males on the structure.

Miaree stood, motioned him to precede her. He climbed out of the floater and extended both his hands toward the assembled group. The males stared at him dourly. The tallest of the two females smiled and imitated his motion, both delicate hands extended.

Miaree did not speak. She indicated the passage leading from the dock into a gleaming structure. The doors leading off the passageway were closed. Behind them he heard the musical voices of the young. From the front, as he boarded a ground vehicle, he could see the vast extent of the complex of buildings on the shore of the inland sea. He seated himself in the rear next to Miaree.

The roller moved smoothly over the terrain. There were no roads. However, the ground showed indications of former passage of vehicles and, rounding a hill, he saw something which sent a shock of disbelief through him. It was a primitive rocket. Flared tubes indicated that it was chemical. It was an anachronistic monster in gleaming metals, totally out of keeping with his preconceived ideas about a race which sent messages to the stars. He said nothing, however, since his escort seemed disinclined to talk. He climbed the series of steps to the entrance port, entered, saw the passenger compartment and was taken back in time. Vehicles such as this were rare at home, to be seen only in the best museums which housed the antiquities of his race.

He was alone with the female. He heard the rumble of the engines, felt the lift. He felt a bit like biting his fingernails, but forced himself to be calm until the bellowing of the engines had reached a peak and they had muted themselves. It took long minutes. Afloat in space, he asked, "Chemical fuels?"

She looked at him. Her lips were closed in a tight line.

"Our engines are powered by fusion." he said.

"Yes," she said, in his language.

He spoke in technical terms. He was no atomic expert, but he had passed a basic course before joining the fleet.

"Your faster-than-light ships operate on the same principle, I assume?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

He did not smile, although he’d thrown into his discourse on engines some hopelessly muddled gobble de gook. Obviously, the female had either been ordered not to share knowledge, or—as it seemed likely from the primitive rocket, which was now approaching an artificial satellite—these lovely Artonuee knew nothing about atomics, were not in deep space, but were limited to chemical travel between their rather closely situated worlds.

He turned his attentions to the docking and was pleased with its smoothness. At least they knew what they were doing with the old fire-burners.

The satellite itself was well-built, had, surprisingly, artificial gravity. This was inconsistent. If they could produce a gravity, why couldn’t they find a more efficient means of lifting from a planet?

"Come, please," Miaree said, leading the way from the rocket.

Curious bystanders, mostly males, watched them as she led the way

past shops and quarters buildings to the flyer docks. There, on the satellite of The World, the flyer facilities were few, largely emergency repair facilities. There was no regular traffic to The World-gate, but if a lady were in trouble she could come in for first aid to a reluctant converter. There was only one flyer at the dock. Rim Star.