Alicia volunteered to help him pack up Henri’s stuff, but Rob told her he could do it himself. “It’s easier for one person in these tiny cabins,” he said. “And I promise I won’t slit my wrists in some outburst of delayed grief.”
Nevertheless, it was weird going through Henri’s things. All the items that had seemed so affected and annoying were sad and kind of pathetic now. The ankh pendant that Henri claimed he’d found in the harbor of Alexandria. The French navy diver’s shirt he wore when he wanted to look macho. The flight suit with mission patches for Titan, Europa, and Ilmatar. Rob tried to be reverent, folding things up and packing them neatly into the Betacloth bags. He found himself wondering: if someone had to pack up Robert Freeman’s gear, what would they find? Some faded T-shirts with the names of bands or brands of beer on them. Some imaging software manuals.
A Caltech class ring. Two crew shirts from feature films he’d worked on.
Henri had been an egotistical pain in the ass, but people would at least remember him after he died. If Rob got lost in Ilmatar’s ocean and never went home to Earth, who would notice? Five relatives, maybe a dozen acquaintances, and whoever was in charge of cutting names into the astronaut memorial at Kennedy Space Center.
When Henri’s room was empty, Rob spent another couple of hours doing general clean-up, getting rid of the mildew in the bathroom nearest the aliens’ rooms.
The sad truth, as Rob looked about the station with a critical visitor’s eye, was that space explorers were terrible slobs. They might be fanatics about putting things away properly, but nobody had the time or inclination to do the boring daily chores like scrubbing walls or sweeping corners. The Japanese Space Agency designers had done their best, packing Hitode with self-cleaning toilets and smart plastic walls laced with antifungal chemicals, but ultimately one simply tuned out the stains and smells, lumping them together with the low gravity and constant chill as just another feature of life on Ilmatar. With only four hours to go, he made the mistake of lying down for just a few minutes of rest, and didn’t wake up until ten minutes before the aliens were due to arrive.
He dressed in his one clean set of coveralls and hurried through the connecting tunnel to Hab 4, where most of the twenty-eight inhabitants of Hitode Station were packed into the common room. Dr. Sen was waiting by the airlock door, dressed in an immaculate white silk outfit that was certainly the most comfortable and elegant-looking thing on the planet. Not a very handsome group otherwise, Rob thought as he looked around the room. Most of the crew were all pale and pasty-looking after so long without sunlight, and even the naturally dark-skinned ones had acquired a weird grayish tint.
The only ones who looked at all healthy were the Ishikawas, who spent all their time in the farm section under the grow lamps. All of them were squeezed into their astronaut flight suits, many of which were getting quite tight across the shoulders and chests as the crew bulked up with swimming muscles.
They had insignia from half-a-dozen space agencies, but all had the United Nations Interstellar Cooperation Agency patch prominently displayed on the right shoulder. One big, happy space-going family.
“I can see the elevator,” Una Karlssen called from the docking module. “It’s just at the last safety stop now. Three minutes!”
It was odd how excited they all were. The elevator had been making its way down the cable from the surface for thirty-six hours, but everyone was counting down the seconds until it docked. To fill the anxious silence, Dr. Sen cleared his throat and spoke. “Let us all try to make sure this visit goes smoothly.
If the Sholen do not find anything to complain about, there is less chance of their trying this kind of surprise inspection again.”
“I still think we should file some complaints of our own,” said Maria Husquavara. “They’ve got no right to keep coming in here and interfering with our work.”
Sen smiled tolerantly. “I have already prepared a message to UNICA addressing that subject at length, but we can hardly turn them away now.”
“Besides, the designers forgot to put a lock on the front door,” said Pierre Adler in a stage whisper.
There was another nervous pause, and then Una called out “One minute!”
From outside came the sound of scraping metal as the elevator caught the guide rails and began to slide down to mate snugly with the docking hatch. It landed on the support brackets with a heavy thump, and then the docking latches clanged shut one after another. There was a pause while the pumps forced air into the space between the two hatches. Una swung the inner door open and checked the pressure gauge on the elevator hatch. The difference was minor, so she turned the equalizing valve set in the hatch. When it stopped hissing she opened the door to let the aliens out of the elevator. There were two of them. The Sholen were bigger than humans, covered with sleek dark-gray skin, and wore no clothes other than belts with storage pouches. In the cramped station they walked on their four rear legs, peering about nearsightedly and flicking out their purple tongues to taste the air. The horizontal posture and curiously mammalian faces made them look like giant hairless otters.
“Welcome to Hitode Station. I am Vikram Sen, the director of the facility.”
“I call myself Gishora; I present Tizhos,” said the leader, indicating his companion. Gishora was a male, with wicked-looking claws on his forelimbs and brightly colored genitalia.
The female, Tizhos, was bigger and had a pouch barely visible on her chest.
Among themselves the Sholen gesture of greeting was an embrace that verged on foreplay; with humans they contented themselves with a hug and a few tongue flicks to pick up the scent. Dr. Sen submitted to the process with tolerant grace, like a man who doesn’t really like dogs putting up with having his face licked.
Rob hadn’t seen any Sholen in the flesh before, and he found himself studying the way they moved. The body could never be mistaken for a Terran vertebrate’s, even if you ignored the extra pair of limbs. When the aliens turned, Rob got a glimpse of their segmented spines, a series of jointed bones like femurs. Dr. Sen was still playing host. “Why don’t I show you to the rooms I have selected for your use? We can make sure that all of your belongings are stowed away properly and then perhaps discuss your plans for how to proceed with this investigation.”
“I agree,” said Gishora.
“Then please follow me this way,” said Dr. Sen. He motioned to Rob, who helped carry the Sholen luggage—mostly food and dive equipment, since they didn’t wear clothes. Sen put them in Hab One, right next to his own room.
A small group of Hitode staffers followed along. Rob could see some unhappy looks. Simeon Fouchard was the one who broke the silence as they reached the aliens’ quarters. “We would like to know the purpose of your visit,” he said. “This is a serious interruption of our work and we want to know why you are here.”
Gishora turned and looked at Fouchard, then at Sen. “We came because of the incident involving the death of a human.
He violated the contact rules.”
“I know that! Kerlerec was foolish and died for it. It is sad and a nuisance, but it is done. Why are you here? What can you do that we cannot?”
“We must investigate how the violation came to happen, and what effect it had on the inhabitants of this world.”
“That is intolerable! Dr. Sen is preparing a full report, and you will get a copy. Do you think we will not tell the truth about the Kerlerec incident?”
“Please, Dr. Fouchard,” said Sen. “This is not at all a good time to be having this sort of argument. I am sure our guests are quite tired from their journey and would like some time to rest and unpack their belongings.”