“At least not immediately,” Charles said. The Royal Marines had a multitude of roles when they weren't actually serving as ground or space troopers. One of them was conducting the preliminary post-battle search for intelligence. Marines, in theory, were trained to recognise danger, something that couldn't always be said of civilian researchers. “The ship was smashed to rubble.”
He shrugged. There were no shortage of stories where a piece of alien technology was captured the first day, reverse-engineered the second and then used to produce a vastly-improved human version the third. It had never struck him as particularly realistic. He knew it could take months to reverse-engineer something produced by the Russians or Chinese — and they were human. How long might it take to deduce the operating principles of a piece of completely alien technology?
Maybe not that long, he told himself. Their technology can't be that different from ours. The laws of science will work the same for them, won’t they?
He glanced down at the scanner as the tiny shuttle nosed its way through the debris cloud. Automated systems were already picking up samples of alien metal, although the first sweeps suggested that alien hullmetal wasn't anything uncommon. The researchers might speculate endlessly on new elements or previously undiscovered composites, but that was rather less than likely. Or so Charles assumed. If they started believing that there was something about alien technology that would be forever beyond humanity’s reach, they would always accept their own inferiority.
There was a ping from the console. “Picking up traces of biological matter,” Henderson said. “Sir?”
“Get it swept up by the drones,” Charles ordered, forcing down the surge of excitement he felt. Despite himself, he desperately wanted to know what the aliens looked like — and what they called themselves. Humanity had no name for them. But while he had seen bodies survive seemingly devastating explosions, he didn't want to raise false hopes. They might have found nothing more than blood and ashes. “Then send them into quarantine.”
“Yes, sir,” Henderson said. He looked up, suddenly. “Will they catch colds and die?”
Charles shrugged. The human race had discovered thirty Earth-like worlds — and seventy worlds that could be terraformed, although it was such a colossal investment that few were prepared to make the effort — but none of them had possessed a viral life form that was actually dangerous to humanity. As far as anyone knew, Earth was the only world that had produced an intelligent race… well, as far as anyone had known. Unless the aliens were actually humans from a prehistoric space-based civilisation — and that seemed absurd — it was clear that there was more than one world that had given birth to an intelligent race.
“I doubt it,” he said, finally. “Chances are that their biology will be so different from ours that our diseases will do little to them — and vice versa.”
Unless someone deliberately engineers a killing disease, he thought, grimly. The Royal Marines had been involved in the suppression of genetically-engineered diseases — there had been several attempts to commit genocide using tailored viruses — and, despite all the international treaties, the world had come alarmingly close to disaster more than once. Maybe we will take the gloves off when the aliens push us to the wall.
He looked down at Henderson, realising — not for the first time — just how young the Corporal actually was. Charles had fifteen years in the Royal Marines, Henderson was barely out of training. He’d never seen any real action, not down on the ground. And Royal Marines rarely won plaudits for serving on starships that went into combat. They were tasked to serve as groundpounders or space troopers, not starship officers.
The console pinged again. “Got something else, sir,” Henderson said. “This one’s a bit bigger.”
Charles nodded. “Send the drones after it,” he ordered. “Then run the live feed through the screens here.”
He looked over at the console as the drones closed in on their target, reporting a steady increase in the density of biological material as they made their way through space. Slowly, something humanoid came into view, illuminated by the lights mounted on the drones. It was damaged, perhaps badly, but it was definitely far from human. Charles felt a chill running down his spine as he gazed into the face of an alien.
There had been no shortage of speculation, he knew, about what the aliens might actually be like. The general assumption had been that the aliens were too alien to realise that war was unnecessary; after all, everyone in academia knew that cooperation was the way forward, not wasteful war. Charles had read speculation that ranged from giant spiders, complete with insect mentalities, to robots that had killed their creators and gone on a rampage across the universe, but the academics had been wrong. The proof was drifting right in front of him.
The alien was humanoid, as far as he could tell, although it — he, perhaps — had clearly lost a leg. His skin was thick and leathery, almost like a humanoid elephant; his eyes were dark and shadowy. There were no clothes, although with skin like that, he realised, the alien wouldn't really need protection from the elements. The remainder of the alien body was damaged, broken and bleeding in a dozen places. It was very clearly dead.
Charles swallowed, then spoke. “Contact the ship,” he ordered. “We’ve found a body.”
He watched as the drones pulled back, waiting for the EVA specialists to arrive. The body would be bagged up, then transported back to the carrier and placed on ice. No one would be allowed to see it, let alone touch it, until they’d taken it safely back to Earth, where it would be examined in a sealed facility. He was fairly sure that alien bugs wouldn't be lethal to humanity, but there was no point in taking chances. Besides, everyone and his aunt would want to see the body.
“It doesn't look friendly,” Henderson commented. The normally bouncy young man — there were a handful of sharp remarks about the need for discipline in his file — sounded subdued, almost terrified. “Do you think they’re all helplessly evil?”
Charles looked down at the screen. The alien did look unfriendly, he had to admit; his jaws were filled with sharp teeth, set in a permanent grimace. But that meant nothing, he knew; the alien might easily be smiling instead, or merely screaming in agony as his body froze to death. Besides, he’d seen plenty of humans who had looked dangerous — or merely unpleasant — only to discover that looks could be deceiving.
“I think you shouldn’t judge someone by their looks,” he said, dryly. “Unless they’re pointing a gun at you, of course.”
He wondered, briefly, what the various human-alien friendship protest groups would make of it. There had been no shortage of idiots willing to believe that the human race had started the war, perhaps by settling a world the aliens had already claimed… although, if that was the case, why hadn't they made contact rather than simply opened fire? Somehow, he doubted the human race would have been stubborn if the aliens explained that they’d gotten to Vera Cruz first. And, even if they had removed the humans by force, why carry on to attack New Russia? And then start an advance on Earth?
There was no way to know. Human morality might mean nothing to the aliens — and there were dozens of human groups with their own versions of morality. Maybe the aliens thought that exterminating every other form of life was a holy duty or maybe they considered themselves the masters of the universe, with everyone else battered into slavery. Charles could imagine a dozen motives for the attack that were heartless and cruel, but not unprecedented. Hell, maybe there was an alien emperor who wanted to start a war in the hopes it would distract attention from problems at home.