Part 2 (1/2)
”Rapidly diminis.h.i.+ng.””In what way?” ”They're bringing their guns to bear on us. I surmise that any sudden move or untoward action will bring instant obliteration.” The computer paused. ”It has been wonderful working with you, Millard, an experience I shall always treasure. I am programmed to conduct services in seven- teen different religions and forty-three dialects, and can supervise any form of funeral except burial at sea. Have you any preference at this time?”
”What are you talking about?” snapped Pierce. ”All I want to do is talk to these people!”
”The absolutely correct procedure,” agreed the computer. ”Pay no attention to me at all. I just have a little brus.h.i.+ng up to do. B'rou hatoi Adonai . . . Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be they name . . .”
”Shut up!” yelled Pierce.
”It's not dying that I mind so much,” continued the computer. ”It's never finding out what that scene on page 187 was all about. I don't suppose, as a final favor of your ever-loyal XB-223 navigational computer, that you'd take a few seconds to explain what f.a.n.n.y Hill meant when-”
”Open up a hailing frequency!” ordered Pierce.
”No response,” said the computer after a brief pause.
”Try another.”
”No, still nothing. I don't think they want to talk to us, Millard.”
”They've got to,” said Pierce. ”The last thing we need is a galactic war.”
”Actually, it would probably be excellent for the economy,” observed the computer. ”After all, the Gross Galactic Product has risen by an increment of only two percent during the past three years, and certainly any rational a.n.a.lysis of the current fiscal expenditure situation would lead one to conclude that-”
”Shut up! I've got to think!”
”Certainly,” said the computer. ”I'll just lower my volume and speak to myself. Dearly beloved,” it whispered solemnly, ”we have gathered here today to pay our final tribute to-”
”Enough!”
”My, aren't you the touchy one!” said the computer, suddenly upset. ”I've got a good mind not to put their crew on visual for you.”
”Can you do it?”
”Not when people holler at me.”
”I'm through hollering,” said Pierce. ”Let me get a look at them. Please,” he added.
”Coming right up.”
Pierce looked at the screen as the images began taking shape. He didn't like what he saw.
The aliens appeared to be between seven and eight feet tall, and mildly reptilian in appearance. Their heads seemed elongated for their slender bodies, and were covered with ugly red scales and possessed more teeth than any animal could possibly have use for. Each of them possessed four beady little yellow eyes, two fore and two aft, giving them an effective 360-degree field of vision. Their bodies, reddish at the neck and shoulders, slowly turned to a dull orange at their waists and a bright yellow at their feet. They stood erect on powerful, heavily muscled legs, they had vestigial tails that seemed to be used for balance when walking, and their feet and hands possessed long, powerful talons.
Their artificial armaments were even more impressive than their natural ones. Each carried knives and swords in abundance. Hand weapons were tucked into pockets, pouches, and holsters all over their military harnesses. All carried power packs strapped onto theirbacks, from which their atomic weapons could be instantly recharged.
It was not a rea.s.suring sight.
”They're coming aboard through Airlock 2 right now, Millard,” announced the computer. ”How many of them?” he yelled over his shoulder as he raced for the galley.
”Four,” said the computer. ”Big, ugly-looking brutes with skin conditions and halitosis.”
Pierce picked up a wicked-looking steak knife, the most potent offensive weapon aboard the entire s.h.i.+p, and raced toward the airlock, tucking it into his belt as he did so.
He came face-to-face with the invasion party in the corridor.
It was hard to say who was more surprised. It was not terribly difficult to say who was more frightened. However, aware that the future course of galactic history might well be resting upon his scrawny shoulders, Pierce drew himself up to his full height and extended his right arm in the universal sign of peace.
The four aliens leaped back, startled.
”My name is Millard Fillmore Pierce,” he said in a somewhat tremulous voice. ”I offer you the olive branch of peace, and wish to establish a friendly and constructive dialog between our races.”
The four aliens put their heads together and whispered furiously among themselves. Finally one of them withdrew a hand weapon and pointed it at Pierce's midsection.
”You'd better come with me,” it said in absolutely perfect English. ”I don't know what powers your race possesses, but it's obvious that we're going to have to take you apart in the lab and see what makes you tick before going ahead with our invasion.”
”Powers? What are you talking about?”
”You made a big mistake, fella,” continued the alien, shoving the barrel of his weapon into Pierce's belly. ”You see, my name really is Millard Fillmore Pierce.”
They marched out of the airlock and into the alien s.h.i.+p without another word, because Pierce-the human one, anyway-was too speechless to say anything.
As soon as the alien airlock opened, he got a whiff of the atmosphere of the strange craft, though, and immediately felt like throwing up. Whatever this stuff they breathed was, it was close enough to his that they weren't worrying about it-but it reeked of the rotten-egg odor of hydrogen sulfide.
The reptilian alien who'd called himself Pierce gave what pa.s.sed for a toothy grin and inhaled deeply.
”Ah! That's so much better! You have the dullest atmosphere I have ever encountered! No character, no body.” He eyed the human suspiciously with two yellow snakelike orbs. ”And now we'll find out just what kind of funny stuff you're trying to pull.”
They. approached another reptilian creature seated behind some kind of molded desk. Still gagging, the human was too miserable to more than idly note that fact.
The officer or whatever it was seated there looked up at him and hissed. ”So that's what they look like. Disgusting!” It sighed. ”Well, what are we going to do with it?”
The leader of the boarding party gave a shrug. ”The usual. Torture, mutilation, that sort of thing.”
The seated creature nodded its long reptilian head and reached into compartments under the desk, pulling out a red form, then a yellow one, then pink, then-well, there seemed no end of them.
”You know the SOP,” the creature said matter-of-factly. ”Itemize the torture on forms XA76 stroke 5 and JR82 stroke 19, then requisition who and what you need on the MA72s and KL5s.
Need a pen?”
”You're torturing me already!” Pierce managed. ”I'm puking to death from this air!”
The administrative reptile looked up in surprise. ”He speaks Englis.h.!.+” The reptilian boarding party leader nodded. ”You can see the need for urgency,” he responded, beginning to sign the forms.
”But-is what he says true? Is he being tortured by breathing our atmosphere?”
The alien Pierce shrugged. ”Beats me. Who can tell about somebody that alien?”
The administrator eyed the suffering human critically. ”I think he really is in some discomfort,” it concluded, then looked back at the other Pierce, who was still busily signing forms. ”Do you have a KZ-26 to cover that?”