York who eventually pointed out that the runway directions seemed oriented more along prevailing wind directions than along the most likely orbital launch/land vectors. Further study had failed to come up with anything else that could possibly be a starfield, and Telek had elected to use the airport as the next best site.
For Pyre, it was the most unnerving part of the mission thus far. Strapped into an emergency crash chair near the main exit hatchway, far from any viewports or intercom displays, he felt more helpless than a Cobra had any business feeling.
If the Qasamans had any interest in shooting the Dewdrop down, the approach glide would be the ideal time to do so. More so than the aliens might think, in fact; they presumably had no way of knowing that the Dewdrop was a gravity-lift,
VTOL craft and that her crew had little experience with the emergency runway landing procedure Telek had insisted they use.
But no one opened fire, and with only the mildest of lurches the ship touched down. Heaving an unabashed sigh of relief, Pyre nevertheless kept one eye firmly on the hatch's inner door as he unstrapped and got once more to his feet. The plan was to wait a few minutes and then send Cerenkov outside to wait for whatever reception committee the Qasamans might send. Through all of that Pyre and one of his Cobras would be the Dewdrop's, only real defense.
His auditory enhancers, still set on high power from the landing, picked up
Nnamdi's gasp from down the hall in the lounge. "My God, Governor. Look!
It's-oh, my God!"
"Almo!" Cerenkov's voice boomed from the other direction an instant later. "Get up here!"
Pyre was already moving, his hands automatically curving into fingertip laser firing position as he sprinted for the bridge, where Cerenkov had been for the landing.
The small gray-tone room was alive with color when he arrived, as virtually every screen displayed views of the city and surrounding forest outside the ship. Pyre hadn't realized before then just how colorful the city itself actually was, its buildings painted with the same wide range of shades as the forest, as if in deliberate mimicry. But for the moment the "Qasamans" decorative sense was the last thing on his mind.
"What's up?" he snapped.
Cerenkov, standing behind F'ahl's command chair, pointed a none too steady finger at a telescopic view of the nearest buildings a couple of hundred meters away. "The Qasamans," he said simply.
Pyre stared at the screen. Six figures were indeed heading in the Dewdrop's direction, each with the bulge of a sidearm at one side and something that seemed to be a small bird perched on the opposite shoulder. Six figures-
As human as anyone aboard the Dewdrop.
Chapter 8
For a long minute Pyre just stood there, brain struggling mightily to reconcile what his eyes showed him with the sheer impossibility of it all. Humans here?-over a hundred and fifty light-years from the nearest world of the
Dominion of Man? And past the Troft Assemblage, to boot?
Back in the lounge, someone cleared his throat, a raspy sound in the bridge intercom speaker. "So you say we've all been thinking too anthropomorphically,
Governor?" Nnamdi said with exaggerated casualness.
For once, it seemed, Telek was at a loss for words. A moment later Nnamdi continued, "At least now we know for sure the Baliu demesne didn't have much to do with the Troft-Dominion War. They could hardly have failed to mention that the Qasamans were the same species as we were."
"This is impossible," York growled. "Humans can't be here. They just can't."
"All right, they can't," Christopher spoke up. "Shall we go out and tell them that?"
"Maybe they're an illusion of some kind," Joshua suggested from the twins' room.
"Controlled psychic hallucination or something."
"I don't believe in that sort of thing, either," York snapped.
"Besides," F'ahl added, touching some controls, "if they're an illusion they're a mighty substantial one. Short-radar's picking them up with no trouble and confirms shape."
"Maybe they're the slaves of the real Qasamans," Cerenkov suggested.
"Descendents of people kidnapped from Earth centuries ago. Regardless, Governor, we've got to go out there and meet them."
Telek hissed between her teeth, finally seeming to find her voice. "Captain, what's the analyzer showing?"
"Nothing inimical so far," F'ahl reported, running a finger down one of the few displays not showing an outside view. "Oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and other trace gasses in acceptable amounts. Uh... no evidence of unusual radioactive or heavy-metal contamination. Bacteria analysis has barely gotten started, but so far no problems-computer shows similar DNA and protein structures in the ones it's analyzed, but doesn't show any health hazards from them."
"Hmmm. Well, I'll want to check that data over myself later, but if the Aventine pattern holds here microbes probably won't be a big problem. All right, Yuri, I guess you can go out. But you'd better wear a filter bubble, to be on the safe side. The number two should be adequate unless Qasaman viruses come a lot smaller than ours."
"Right." Cerenkov hesitated. "Governor, as long as we've got a reception committee on its way, I'd like to take my whole team out with me."
The six Qasamans were almost to the ship now. Pyre watched the magnified view, his eyes shifting from the details of the faces to the silver-blue birds perched on each person's left shoulder to the pistols belted on each hip. "Governor, I'd recommend we let Yuri go alone first," he said.
"No, he's right-we ought to show good faith," Telek said with a sigh.
Cerenkov didn't wait any longer. "Marck, Decker, Joshua-meet me at the dock with full gear." He got three acknowledgments and hurried out of the bridge.
"Almo?" Telek called as Pyre turned to follow. "I want you back here for this."
Pyre grimaced, but there wasn't time to argue the order now. "Michael,
Dorjay-back up positions by the hatch," he called into the intercom. The two
Cobras acknowledged and Pyre once again headed aft.
He passed the furious activity near the hatch without actually colliding with anyone; and by the time he skidded to a stop beside Telek, the lounge displays showed Cerenkov just emerging from the airlock.
If the Qasamans had been a shock to the Dewdrop's passengers, the reverse was equally true. The welcoming committee jerked raggedly to a stop, and Pyre saw astonishment and disbelief sweep across their faces. He tensed; but the guns stayed firmly in their holsters. One of the birds squawked and flapped its wings, settling down only when its owner reached up to gently stroke its throat.
Pyre was aware of Telek leaning closer to him. "Do you buy Hersh's theory about the Baliuies?" she murmured.
"That ignorance was bliss?" he muttered back. "Not for a minute. The Baliuies knew we were the same species, all right-and if we were supposed to free human slaves from the Qasamans they sure as hell would have told us."
Telek grunted. Nnamdi and Christopher, Pyre noted, seemed to have missed the by-play. Shifting his own attention fully to the displays, the Cobra waited for the Qasamans to speak, wishing he knew what sort of game the Baliuies were playing.
The Qasaman delegation had shown a remarkably quick recovery to the contact team's appearance, a fact Cerenkov took to be a good sign. Whether the humans were slaves or masters, it was clear they weren't in the ignorant savage category. Which meant... what? Cerenkov wasn't sure, but he knew it was a good sign anyway.