Moonstruck. Part 12

If Swelk were telling the truth, the aliens could be vulnerable when their single starship landed at one Earth city or another. But if she were lying . . . then the ship they might attack would be a mere landing craft from a miles-wide behemoth in lunar orbit. What retribution would the ETs exact?

And if there were, after all, a Galactic Commonwealth, a sneak attack on its emissaries was likely, at a minimum, to disqualify Earth's application. Without pretending to understand the interspecies politics of the supposed Galactics, Darlene could understand some aliens opting for the familiar. Maneuvering the humans into discrediting themselves could be an easy way for one faction to maintain the often- comforting status quo.

Kyle released the kitten; as it sidled toward the alien, still holding a treat, a second kitten, this one a gray tabby, scrabbled from the box. With a manipulation no human arm could have duplicated, Swelk's extended limb extracted and extended another morsel without dropping the sack or the piece already being sniffed by the black cat. "What are they called?"

"You can name them," answered Kyle.He hadn't brought her here to play with the kittens, cute as they were, nor had he lightly disclosed what must be an extremely closely held secret. So why was she here? As an unofficial second opinion, perhaps. As different as were their professions and interests, she and Kyle shared what she considered a healthy dose of skepticism (which, Darlene had good reason to suspect, her Foggy Bottom a.s.sociates more often considered an annoying contrariness).

The respect was mutual, and the opportunity for a career diplomat intriguing. She scooped up the

curious tabby, for which the antiques-furnished salon was entirely unprepared. "Swelk, I'd like to learn

all about your people."

CHAPTER 17.

Swelk rested on a soft platform, her wounded limb freshly bandaged. The bed was in luxurious contrast to last night's trek over the mountain ridge to Gustafson's house. Her scientific detachment proved to be something of an abstraction: clinging to an alien-even the man she had sought out-took a constant effort of will. The experience of dealing intimately with Smelly and Stinky had again served her well.

One of her good limbs held food freshly synthesized in the portable bioconverter she had dragged from

the lifeboat. Its preprogrammed capabilities included a full menu of Krulchukor cuisine.

"A useful gadget," her host said now. Kyle sat in a chair watching her. "Don't leave your home planet without one."

He did not realize how useful. "Given an organic sample, it can convert almost any bioma.s.s to any other." She raised her bandaged limb, which still throbbed. "Such as skin, bone, muscle, and blood." She did not know the meaning of his sudden pallor and loud swallowing, so she continued. "My former shipmates would not rest until they found me, and any humans thought to have spoken with me could have been at risk."

"So you cut off your finger as a template for the synthesizer?"

Bit her digit off-there was no time to hunt for a knife. "And much of the emergency rations on board were the bioma.s.s it converted."From what Kyle had told her, the robots had returned to the Consensus with "her" burnt remains: a perfect genetic match. Into the sack of synthesized tissues had also gone the garment she had worn onto the lifeboat, stained with Girillian feces. Grelben and Rualf would want to believe that she'd perished in the lifeboat, her body mangled and burnt beyond recognition in the crash. Swelk had made it as easy as she could for them to hold that belief.

Color slowly returned to Gustafson's face. "I think you should explain why you came here."

* * * Swelk's host drank cup after cup of coffee, once she convinced him, on the basis of his first serving, that the strong odor was not offensive. Mildly odd, perhaps. She contented herself with tap water and a snack fresh from the converter.

Both were, for the moment, talked out. After comparing notes, each knew far more than before their

meeting-and far less than they needed to know.Keep telling yourself it's only a movie. What a concise explanation for the enigma that was the F'thk.

What an indictment of Krulchukor ethics: that nuclear devastation of Earth and millions of human deaths were acceptable special effects for Rualf's film.

Any possible course of action was unclear. Krulchukor technology was advanced far beyond Earth's,

beginning with fusion power, artificial gravity, bioconverters, and robotics. And the starship drive, of course. To Kyle's dismay, Swelk had only the vaguest idea how the drive worked. Her interests were in social, not physical, sciences. She thought she remembered once hearing that the drive tapped the base- level energy of a vacuum.

But she also brought good news . . . or if not good news, an upbeat inference. The Galactic mother ship, that so unresponsively and impressively orbited the moon, beyond human reach, could not possibly be what it appeared. Like the F'thk, it must be a prop, something improvised during the lunar stopover of the Consensus. A radar buoy embedded in a holographic projection, Kyle theorized-extremely impressive, and nothing humanity could reproduce, but not real. A special effect.

If Earth's scientists could prove there were no miles-across enemy vessel, it would mean mankind had only to deal with one s.p.a.cecraft . . . and the Consensus was still in the habit, from time to time, of landing.

And anything that came to Earth, Kyle said, humanity had a chance to handle. * * * A helicopter was on its way. When it landed, Swelk would allow herself to be zipped into a duffel bag.

Kyle would carry her aboard, and both would be flown in secrecy to the presidential retreat he called Camp David.

A small number of American and Russian officials already knew that the F'thk were not what they

seemed. No more than a handful, Kyle had a.s.sured her, would be told that the F'thk were the teleoperated puppets of the xenophobic Krulirim-or that one very special, very brave Krul had defected to Earth.

One very frightened and guilt-wracked Krul, she would have said.

"Can I bring you anything?" He asked that a lot, and thanked her often for coming, as if he owed hersomething.Swelk channel-surfed as they waited. The television evoked a simpler time, when knowledge of the humans had been hers alone, solitary and naively content on the starship's bridge . . . a time before she had brought here the threat of destruction. She stopped at the image of magnificent, giant creatures. "What are those?" The English translation came, m.u.f.fled, from the other duffel in which were packed her few belongings.

"Elephants.""I should like to see elephants, sometime." And nurture them. Who will take care of Stinky and Smelly?"When it's possible, I will be delighted to escort you." A mechanical thp-thp-thp-ing sound intruded.

"Swelk . . . our ride is almost here."

Swelk limped to the gaping duffel. Shunned by her own kind; now to be hidden from most of his.

Humanity remained in terrible peril from her acts, the information she brought offering perhaps insight but no help. Incredibly, she felt . . . happy. Something had changed for the better. What?Keep telling yourself it's only a movie, she had told Kyle. She had known humans had movies, but seen very few. Her quote now to Gustafson from one of his country's greatest films was unintentional but apt.

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

CHAPTER 19.

From deep within a beanbag chair-Kyle had now brought one for most rooms of the building, Swelk watched two more curious and dissatisfied visitors leave. Humans under stress, she knew from both intercepted movies and her short time on Earth, paced to and fro. Krulirim in like circ.u.mstances also moved, in their case-naturally-always in circles.

Swelk's present immobility was willed. Her lame leg always ruined the perfection of her loops; she'd endured enough ridicule about her deviancies to have learned long ago how not to evoke more. Seething though she was in unexpressed frustration, a fragment of her mind laughed at the foolishness of maintaining self-discipline in front of the bilateral humans.

"May I join you?" asked Darlene Lyons from the doorway. She was at the house much more often than Kyle. Why bother, thought Swelk. So far today she had failed dismally to answer questions about the engines of the Consensus, the numbers and capabilities of its antimeteor lasers, and the range of its lifeboats. Of the lifeboats she had known only that the reach was less than interstellar. She had abruptly ended the last session, about "military capabilities," when she realized what motivated the two men's inquiries: a possible a.s.sault on the Consensus. Despite Swelk's abuse by its pa.s.sengers and crew, thoughts of revenge had not motivated her hasty departure.

"Of course," Swelk waggled two digits in feigned welcome. The gray tabby, now named Stripes, leapt clumsily onto the beanbag chair. It toppled against her, and almost immediately fell asleep. The fuzzy little thing, all legs and ears and impossibly soft fur, could not have been more different from a Girillian swampbeast-and the kitten reminded Swelk achingly of her abandoned charges. She would not cause them more suffering. "But I won't help Earth attack my former shipmates."

Darlene's cheeks reddened, a reaction whose meaning Swelk could not penetrate. "I have no desire to become a radioactive extra in a Krulchukor movie. What would you propose we do?" Swelk's sensor stalks drooped in sadness and shame. The pa.s.sengers and officers of the Consensus were eager to sacrifice the most advanced race her people had ever discovered. Would the plotters accept disappointment, meekly heading home if their plans were widely disclosed . . . or would they find new means to produce the same result? Rualf's special-effects wizards had already produced the robotic F'thk and the illusion of a gigantic moon-orbiting mother ship. Did she dare gamble they could not find a way to goad any Earth country into attacking its national rival? From newscasts Swelk had surrept.i.tiously watched in her lifeboat hideaway before her escape, it seemed that counterstrike after countercounterstrike would inevitably follow the first hostile launch.

And what if the filmmakers' attempts to fool Earth into a photogenic self-destruction did fail? Would Rualf and Captain Grelben, their dreams of vast wealth dashed, lash out at Earth in anger and disappointment? Swelk felt certain that an unsuccessful attack on the Consensus would draw an enraged response. Either way, as the morning's earlier visitors had made her realize, she simply did not know what danger the Krulchukor ship represented. There was no doubting from the humans' questions that they were concerned.

And she had led Rualf and Captain Grelben here. The exile's sensor stalks collapsed in withdrawal. The suddenly limp tendrils lay draped across her torso, obscuring her vision and m.u.f.fling her hearing.

"Swelk!" called Darlene. "Are you all right?"

Swelk roused herself with a shake, her sensor stalks snapping painfully erect. "I am far from all right,

but I have only myself to blame for that.

"And as for your previous question, I have no idea what we should do."

* * * Kyle watched Swelk watching the kittens from the comfort of the beanbag chair she had towed into the dining room. Blackie and Stripes-there were two unimaginative names . . . were all Krulirim so literal?-were tussling for no obvious reason, their tiny mouths opening repeatedly in meows either silent or too high-pitched for him to hear. From time to time a cat forgot what she was doing and pounced on the disheveled fringe of the oriental rug on which they played.

The little alien had two sensor stalks pointed at her pets; the third was time-shared between Kyle and

routine scanning of the room. One needed little time with Swelk, he thought, to deduce where the ET's attention was focused. He glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch and sighed inwardly. His impatience was unfair, and he knew it. One debriefer after another grilled her most of the day, every day. He had to allow her an occasional mental break.

Those feelings of tolerance did nothing to expand the hours in Kyle's day. Well, he hadn't grown up with pets for nothing. After a while, he took the laser pointer from his pocket, waving it to make a jiggly red dot beside the kittens. They immediately stopped wrestling to chase the spot around the room. The hunt became a stakeout at the hall-closet door beneath which the laser dot had vanished. They were likely to stay there, staring at the gap under the door, for some time.

With the kittens quieted down, he tried to get Swelk back to business. "I'd like to talk some more about

the bioconverter."

Success: she favored him now with two sensor stalks. "What else is there to say? I put organic material in. I take different stuff out."

"How does it work?"

"Here is the On-Off b.u.t.ton. I can pick what I want made from the list in this display, or insert a sample here. I speak how much I want. Raw material, when needed, goes into this chute. Anything it can't use is

emptied here. Food is deposited in the final compartment." She flicked, three times, all the digits of one limb. He took it as a sign of annoyance. "I have told you, and others, all of this before."

The day was overcast; the illumination from the window was gloomy. He pointed at the chandelier over

the dining-room table. "Would you mind if I turn on the lamp?" Standing without waiting for an answer, he was surprised at the response he got.

"I do not like your lights. They make me jumpy."

"All right." He sat back down. Kyle knew people who got depressed in the winter from too little sun.

There was even a medical name for the condition: seasonal affective disorder. In Swelk's case, of course, the ambient light wouldn't improve with the months-distant lengthening of the days. Renewed sympathy for the solitary alien washed over him. He tamped down the feeling-what Earth needed now was information. "I understand the controls for the bioconverter. My question is different. What happens inside to make it work?"

The alien hesitated. "Chemicals are broken apart. The pieces are recombined into new chemicals. Maybe

there's a computer inside to control it."

Foiled again. Kyle's certified-evidence-free theory was that the bioconverter employed nanotechnology: self-replicating molecular-sized machines to manipulate atoms and molecules. Nanotech was conceptual at best in some of Earth's cutting-edge labs; any clues to its practical implementation could be priceless.