“There’s the lake,” said Jon.
It didn’t much fit the description, but it was the only lake in sight. And there was a single cluster of lights. Otherwise, the entire region was dark.
The lodge had two stories and was made of logs. Smoke drifted out of a chimney, and lights were on in every window. An outside lamp illuminated the deck. Their first impression was that it would not have been out of place in Minnesota. But as they drew closer, they saw it would have been too small, the deck too confined, the ceilings too low to be comfortable for human beings.
“It has a dock,” said Jon. And a shed with a boat rack, holding something that looked like a small canoe.
There was no place to set down except at the lakefront. Matt would have preferred something a bit less exposed, but he saw no option unless they were prepared to walk two or three kilometers. That wasn’t a good idea. Better to keep the lander nearby in case they had to leave in a hurry.
He descended directly in front of the lodge. Lights were on inside, but curtains had been drawn across the windows. He could see movement inside.
Matt slipped a laser into his belt, and they activated their e-suits.
Hutch’s voice came from the Preston: “Everything looks quiet in the area, Matt.”
The front door opened. Something stood in the light, peering out.
Hutch’s hobgoblin. She had it exactly right. It squinted in the lander’s lights, and Matt shut them down. Its head was bald, and the features were scrunched as if someone had squeezed them from forehead to chin. But that was an exaggeration because it didn’t really have a chin. It was there, but not so much that you’d notice.
The thing wore dark baggy pants and a loose-fitting jacket. A triangular cap was folded over its skull. Altogether, it was a ridiculous-looking creature, save that it bore itself with a casual demeanor that suggested a few aliens on the lawn was not something to get excited about.
“Hutch,” he said into his commlink. “We’re down. And we have someone waiting for us.”
“I see him, Matt. Okay. You’re tied into Phyl.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
He ran a check with the AI. Phyl would listen on his channel for Matt’s comments, would translate the comments for the alien, and would then translate the alien’s response. Simple enough.
He opened the hatch, climbed onto the ladder, and watched the creature’s eyes go wide as it took him in. It backed off a step or two.
Matt spoke into his commlink. “Mr. Smith?”
Phyl said something that Matt couldn’t make out. The creature responded with a hiss and some gurgles. Phyl translated: “Yes, I am Mr. Smith. Are you Priscilla?”
The open door behind the creature revealed a room that appeared to be empty. But he saw immediately they would have trouble using the furniture or standing up straight.
“No. My name is Matt. These are Jon, Rudy, and Antonio.”
The hobgoblin closed its eyes and inclined its head. “I am fortunate to meet you.” It stepped out onto the deck.
“And it is good,” said Matt, “to meet you.” The language had no rhythm. It consisted of grunts and clacks and hisses. He could see the creature was reluctant to get too close to them, yet its mouth hung open in a very humanlike response.
Mr. Smith’s eyes had gone very wide. It stared at Matt. And at the lander. And at Jon. Then at the sky. And at Rudy and Antonio. And finally, it turned its attention back to Matt. It made a gurgling sound that Phyl could not translate. Then, in a sudden burst, it moved past them and hurried to the lander.
It touched the vehicle, making more unintelligible sounds, and drew its finger across the hull. (Matt noticed it had six digits.) “Beautiful,” it said finally. “You have a remarkable aesthetic.”
“Thank you,” said Rudy.
When it had finished admiring the vehicle, it asked to be taken for a ride. There wasn’t room for five and Matt didn’t want to leave anyone alone on the shoreline, so he said it could be arranged at a future time.
Mr. Smith inclined its head again. “May I ask where is Priscilla Hutchins?”
“She remained behind.”
“I am sorry I offended her.”
“I think there’s a misunderstanding. You did not offend her.”
“Why else would she not come?”
“We couldn’t all come.”
“Please convey my apologies.”
Matt decided there was no point debating the issue. “I will tell her you were concerned. She will be pleased to hear it.”
“Very good. Who is speaking for you?” It would of course have been impossible for the creature not to notice that the dialogue and the lip movements weren’t synchronized.
“An artificial intelligence,” said Matt.
“Explain, please.”
He did. As best he could.
“Remarkable. I have heard of such things, in theory. But I have never believed they were actually possible.” It stroked the lander’s tread one final time, then led the way back to the front door, standing aside so they could enter. “I am sorry about the accommodations.”
“It’s okay.” Matt ducked his head and entered.
“Your machine,” it said, “what sustains it?”
“How do you mean?”
“It floats in the air. It negates gravity.”
“Yes. In a way.”
“How do you do that?”
Matt looked at Jon. Did he want to elaborate? Jon shrugged. “Not my field.”
“I have no idea,” Matt said. “We push a button, the gravity goes away.”
“It is hard to believe.”
“You don’t have the capability?”
“No. Our experts say it can’t be done.” Inside, only Rudy and Antonio could stand up straight. Antonio’s skull brushed the ceiling. “Where are you from?” it asked.
How to explain? Mr. Smith might know about the speed of light, but what would a year mean? “Far away,” Rudy said, taking charge. “We live out close to the rim of the galaxy. Relatively speaking.”
Phyl broke in: “Try to keep it simple, Rudy.”
“Yes. That would be quite far. I’m surprised anyone would undertake a journey of that nature. Why have you done it?”
Rudy exchanged puzzled glances with Matt. “You mean why did we come here?”
“I mean why would you agree to sit in the interior of a closed space for”—Phyllis hesitated, trying to find the right term—“eons?”
“Eons?” Rudy cleared his throat. Chuckled. “The flight lasted only a few weeks.”
“Rudy,” said Phyl, “I have no equivalent for weeks. No way to render the time.”
“Damn it, Phyl. Tell him the sun rose twenty-three times, his sun—have I got that right?—how long is the day out here?—well what the hell, make it twenty-three.”
Phyl relayed the question and Mr. Smith looked at Rudy. Its eyes grew larger, and its nose caught the light and seemed to glisten.