“Isn’t this pleasant?” With Iranaputra’s assistance Gelmann sat down and removed her walking shoes and linings, digging her toes into the sand. It felt exactly like normal, damp beach sand. “A little chilly, though,” she informed the Autothor.

  The azure ellipse flared momentarily and the ambient temperature rose several degrees.

  “How about some food?” Hawkins inquired. Shimoda rolled over to look at him.

  “As much as you eat I’m surprised you’re not twice as big as I am.”

  The ex-restorer grinned mirthlessly. “Anger bums a lot of calories. Hard to put on weight when you’re mad all the time.”

  Their latest meal was light and innovative. The Autothor continued to improve with practice, this time producing synthesized shrimp that not only tasted but looked like the real thing, except for a slight greenish tinge and the helpful fact that they were presented without shells or heads.

  Of more interest was the means with which, upon Iranaputra’s thoughtful request, the Autothor recharged Ksarusix’s depleted power cell. A sharp bolt of dwarf blue lightning shot from the ellipse to goose the serving robot three meters up the beach.

  “Take it easy! That was almost an overload.”

  “Sorry,” said the Autothor. “I tried to be gentle. It’s hard to estimate capacity.”

  “Ask next time.” The serving robot managed a good approximation of cybernetic outrage.

  Gelmann was smiling at the persistent sunset. “I don’t mind saying so, this is even better than the garden club’s model greenhouse.”

  “Most appealing,” agreed Follingston-Heath. “We will have marvelous stories to tell when we get back.”

  “What makes you think we’re gonna get back?” Hawkins sat with his knees drawn up against his narrow chest, his chin resting on his crossed arms.

  Iranaputra looked at him. “The Autothor does what we say, and the ship responds to it.”

  “It does now,” Hawkins snapped. “What do you think’s gonna happen when it’s achieved full reactivation, when all its systems have come back on-line? When it finally brings up that part of its memory that contains its designers’ purpose? You think it’s still gonna dance to our tune?”

  They were quiet for some time. “At this point there is no reason to assume it will not,” Follingston-Heath finally said.

  Hawkins spat onto the green sand. “Yeah, sure. Don’t listen to me. I’m just the resident pessimist.”

  Follingston-Heath made a face. “I’ve known soldiers half eaten up with incurable alien diseases who were more optimistic than you in your best moments, old chap.”

  Hawkins regarded the Colonel fondly. “Why don’t you take one of your nice, shiny medals, Wesley, and shove it up …”

  “Now, boys,” began Gelmann in her irresistible maternal tone, “this is no time to be scrapping over possibilities that may never arise.” She eyed the attentive Blueness. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I suppose so.” The Autothor was uncertain. “I am equipped to deal with a certain amount of speculation, though it is a strain on inductive capacity.”

  “Never mind,” said Gelmann comfortingly. “We can speculate for you.”

  XIII

  The Chaka ships emerged from tachyspace in tight formation, a considerable feat of navigation considering the distance they had traveled. Their drives were smoking (in the subatomic metaphorical sense) and their crews tense and alert. The Chakas had strained the limits of the technologically possible in order to arrive before the anticipated and much more powerful forces of such alliances as the Keiretsu, Victoria League, and the First Federal Federation.

  A member of the good ol’ LFN, the Chaka could muster only four vessels. Conversely, there was no reason to assume any more would be necessary for the task at hand. The Chaka were lean, tough fighters, despite the times their hopeful depredations had resulted in measured reprisals from the more powerful leagues.

  Now they’d beaten everyone to what was potentially the greatest prize of modern times … except that the prize had inconveniently vanished. This resulted in some heated exchanges and recriminations aboard the command ship. A couple of vociferous plotters were summarily executed before the alien craft was located in lunar orbit, subsequent to which discovery the Chaka commander noted his regrets at having ordered the executions.

  The shift in spatial position was to be applauded. It meant that if offensive action became necessary, it could now take place more than four planetary diameters out from Earth, thereby avoiding potentially awkward violations of the Sol Charter. Delicate sensibilities on Earth and elsewhere would not be offended.

  The delighted commander issued orders, knowing that the powerful alliances had to have ships of their own on the way. The Chakans would have to hurry if they hoped to exploit their early arrival. They blasted out of Earth orbit, ignoring the annoyed queries of the orbital flight controller in Nairobi who demanded to know how many tourists they had on board, what their itinerary was, and just when might she expect them to file the standard environmental impact brief, if they didn’t mind?

  The Chakans did not respond. They had no time for Homeworld politesse. It had taken all the resources of the Chakan government to mount the hasty expedition, and the commander of the military quadratic knew that results would be expected of him, and fast. Otherwise he could expect to go the way of his unfortunate plotters.

  “It’s even larger than the initial reports claimed.” The technostat was young for his position, as proud of his achievements as was his clan. He’d risen through the ranks through study, hard work, and fearlessness.

  Now he observed via his instruments the looming proximate mass of the alien vessel. “Much larger.”

  The commander sat in his seat and pressed his thumbs together until the bones complained. It was a useful, stress-relieving exercise.

  “It is only a machine.”

  The technostat turned from his instruments. “Naturally, sir.”

  “Think of this,” the commander went on, “as planning an assault on a city. According to the reports, it hasn’t made a single hostile move. Mere size is nothing to be afraid of. Nor are the five seniors purportedly aboard. And having now seen it in person, I’m willing to vouch that it’s for real. This is no scam of the FFF or the Keiretsu.”

  “I’m not afraid, sir.”

  “Of course you’re not. You’re Chaka. This will be a straightforward and glorious operation.” He swiveled in his chair to face his communications chief. “Open one of the hailing channels that were used to contact the artifact from Earth. It is time to deliver the ultimatum.”

  The Autothor blazed briefly as it addressed the contented humans who lay on the shore of the artificial ocean, basking in the warm heat of an artificial sun. Piscean shapes with multiple gossamer wings flitted back and forth across the wave tops, snapping at tiny, electrically hued ballooning coelenterates. It was impossible to tell if any of the oceanic life-forms were real or simulated, nor did it matter to the beachcombers.

  “Excuse me, but there are now four small vessels lying close to my sunward side. The occupants are desirous of establishing communication. In fact, they are quite insistent.”

  “Really?” Gelmann sat up and pushed up onto her forehead the new sunshades the Autothor had recently synthesized for them all. “Let’s have a look at them.”

  Instantly a spherical holo appeared to the right of the Autothor. The surface of the moon showed clearly within, as did a portion of the Drex ship’s mass and four slim, business-like craft.

  “Can you enhance the image?” Iranaputra was peering with interest at the semi-translucent imago. “I can’t make out their markings.”

  “Don’t ring a bell with me,” said Hawkins.

  Follingston-Heath waited until everyone else had expressed their ignorance before harrumphing importantly. “They’re Chakan. A member of the LFN. Traditionally belligerent and, I am led to understand, a generally unpleasant lot.”

  “Never heard of ’em.” Hawkins belched warily.

  “They have a warlike history that dates back to Old Earth days.” Follingston-Heath used a handkerchief to clean salt from his monocle. “I wonder what they’re doing here?”

  “Let’s hear what they have to say,” Gelmann informed the Autothor.

  The image in the holo was replaced by the face of a heavy-set, dark-skinned, middle-aged man with a deep, rasping voice. His proportions were similar to Shimoda’s, though even in the face he was obviously more muscular.

  “To those aboard the alien vessel: This is Commander Chief Muthezi of the Chakan quadratic Knobkerrie. We have recordings of all communications that have taken place between you and the Homeworld authorities. You five will not be hurt if you will agree to assist us in boarding and taking control of the craft on which you find yourselves. I assure you that this is the best course of action for all concerned.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Follingston-Heath regarded the speaker uneasily.

  “What you think doesn’t matter,” came the blunt reply. “Four warships of the Chaka now have you within range. We are neither strangers to nor afraid of combat. We demand that you immediately direct the alien AI, or whatever intermediary you are using to communicate with the ship, to open a port to allow us entry, either with our ship or if a port of suitable dimensions is not available, in individual suits, so that we may officially take control.”

  “You can’t just come barging in here and ‘take control,’” Gelmann scolded the commander. “Where do you think you are? Where are your manners? Shame on you!”

  “Uh, Mina,” Shimoda whispered to her, “this isn’t your pushy cousin Murray come visiting from Florida.”

  Iranaputra took a hurried step toward the ellipse. “You do not understand, sir. This vessel is not something you can just board and take over. I am afraid you do not appreciate the scale of things. Having dealt with logistical matters all my life, I can assure you …”

  “We will decide what is possible and what is not.” The Chakan cut him off brusquely. “It is our intention to assume control of the alien artifact. By peaceful means if possible, by whatever means if not. We claim possession by right of discovery.”

  “I hate to point this out to you chaps,” said Follingston-Heath in his best military-polite manner, “but if anyone has the prerogative to claim possession through right of discovery, it’s the five of us, what?”

  “I have no time for jokes.” The Chakan did not smile. “You represent no world or league, you do not function in any recognizable official capacity. I remind you: We have monitored all your transmissions. We know who and what you are. The tide of time has passed you by.” As if aware that his gruff words were availing him nothing, he softened his tone.

  “We don’t want anyone to get hurt. Your presence aboard the artifact is an accident, and we will take that into account. But I want you to understand my position clearly. I have information that substantial forces from the FFF, the Keiretsu, and elsewhere are on their way to the Sol system even as we speak.

  “The Chakans have always struck boldly. I cannot waste any more time.”

  The Autothor flared briefly, a delicate pale blue. “A portion of my exterior has just been damaged due to the impact of destructive energies. Steps are being taken to preserve atmospheric pressure and systems integrity.”

  Hawkins looked around nervously. “Damn! They aren’t kidding.”

  Shimoda blinked. “I didn’t feel anything. They must have hit the ship somewhere far away from our location.”

  “Next time they might not.” Follingston-Heath, too, looked troubled.

  “That was just a warning strike.” Now the Chakan allowed himself a slight smirk. “Our ships may be far smaller than the artifact itself, but size means nothing in these matters. The quadratic is quite capable of reducing a modest-sized city to ash. You can see that if necessary we can make our own entrance. I’d rather not do that. It could destroy valuable artifacts and information.

  “Don’t think to run. Our predictors are locked onto you and will activate suitable weapons accordingly. Please provide us with an entry port immediately. If you do not cooperate, then when we have finally made our way aboard, I assure you your unplanned sojourn will come to an abrupt and unpleasant end.”

  “What am I to do?” The Autothor was whirling rapidly and there was agitation in its voice. “This is so confusing.” In addition to spinning, it began to bounce off the floor like a ball on the end of a rubber band. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “Can you slip into tachyspace and lose them?” Gelmann wondered.

  “Not if they’re locked on with predictors, old boy,” Follingston-Heath said bleakly.

  “There must be something we can do.” Iranaputra confronted the bobbing, dancing ellipse. “Search your memory. Look for analogies. Try.”

  “I have tried. Perhaps if my cortex was completely restored … at this point I don’t even know what I am, so I can hardly decide how to respond.”

  “Well, we can’t just let them in.” Gelmann sounded decisive.

  “Why not?” Hawkins eyed them all wonderingly. “What do you all think you’re doing? What are we doing here? Look at us! We’re a bunch of decrepit old loons. We should be sitting on the porch at Lake Woneapenigong, playing checkers and discussing last night’s triball game or vidcom. We’re not marines.” He noticed that Follingston-Heath was eying him reprovingly. “That includes you too, Wesley. So don’t give me any of that supercilious lip of yours.” He approached the ellipse.

  “Hey you, Chakans! We don’t want any trouble neither. Gimme a minute to talk to this thing and we’ll find a way to let you and your people … mmph!”

  “Very sorry, Wal.” Shimoda had placed a massive hand over the much smaller man’s mouth. Hawkins squirmed like an electrified wire but even as a young man he couldn’t have freed himself from the sumo enthusiast’s grasp. “I feel your declaration of our surrender is premature.”

  “That might be all it is.” Shimoda looked at Follingston-Heath in surprise. The Colonel shrugged helplessly. “Much as I hate to agree with Wal, there really isn’t anything we can do, chaps.”

  “They are directing destructive fire at me again!” The Autothor was panicky. “What should I do?”

  Hawkins finally freed his mouth, if not his body. “Let go of me, rice-ass! This is crazy! You’re only gonna get us all hurt, or worse!” He glared wildly at his companions, then at the Autothor. “For God’s sake, let ’em aboard before they blow their way in here and we lose pressure! I don’t wanna end my retirement as a lunar satellite.”

  “You’re a nasty, evil man,” Mina Gelmann informed the Chakan, “you should only go color-blind and mistake cockroach pellets for strawberries!”

  “And you are a senile old woman. What is the matter with you people? Don’t any of you have any sense? This is not a vid entertainment.”

  Follingston-Heath looked distinctly skittish. “Really, I think we should give it up. Wal’s right. We’ve gotten ourselves involved in something way beyond us. I don’t know about the rest of you but I … I’d like to get back to the Village. Back to my apartment.”

  Gelmann was staring at him. “Wesley, this isn’t like you.”

  “Mina, we could get killed.”

  Hawkins’s gaze had narrowed. He glared back at Shimoda, who reluctantly let him go. The smaller man straightened his clothes and gazed thoughtfully at his tall nemesis of many years and arguments. They’d never been worse than friendly enemies.

  “Wesley, you’re not a soldier.”

  Follingston-Heath looked at him sharply. “Whatever do you mean, Wal?”

  “I mean,” said Hawkins, striding across the sand to confront the other man, “that you’re not retired from the Victoria League military forces. I bet you were never in the Victoria League military forces. The kind of officer you’ve always claimed to be wouldn’t be talking like you’re talking now.” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “We’re all your friends here, Wes, no matter who you are or what you were. This is a good time for a little truth. Might be the last time.”

  Looking around, Follingston-Heath saw that his best friends in the world were staring at him expectantly. He maintained the pose a moment longer, loath even at the last to give it up. Then he slumped. “Okay. It’s true. Oh, I’m from Hampstead V all right. But Wal’s got it. My name is Wesley, but just plain Wesley Heath. No Follingston. And I was in the military.” He seemed to straighten a little. “I just never rose higher than corporal.

  “It wasn’t what you’d call a distinguished field career. I worked in information storage, basic retrieval and cleaning. Got to read a lot of military history, strategy, like that. The one thing I wanted was to retire to Earth someday. But I couldn’t do that as a … a librarian’s assistant. So I invented the Right Honorable Colonel Wesley Follingston-Heath and managed to annex some appropriate credentials and records. Wasn’t easy, believe me.

  “Once I slipped into the persona, well, it was simple enough to keep it going. I’ve enjoyed being Colonel Wesley Follingston-Heath. It’s a lot better than being plain old Wes Heath.” He looked beaten. “I’m sorry. If you’d seen what my life was like, you might understand better.”

  “That’s all right, Wesley.” Gelmann came over and put an arm around him, squeezing comfortingly. “You shouldn’t worry, we like you just fine for who you are, not what you weren’t.”

  “I may even like you better,” said Shimoda.

  “The same thoughts here.” Iranaputra walked over and shook Heath’s hand firmly. Behind them gentle wavelets continued to caress the glaucescent beach.

  “I don’t mean to bring this touching tableau to a crashing halt,” said Hawkins steadily, “but nobody’s gonna get the opportunity to expand on this heartrending rendezvous of truth if we don’t decide to do the sensible thing pretty quick.”

  Gelmann kept her arm around Heath. He ventured a faltering smile, his gaze traveling from Shimoda, to Iranaputra, and eventually to Hawkins.