“I understand you’re going to wake some Pav and put the question to them,” Will said.
“Mm, yeah. Jacques has an unreasonable attachment to the idea of
recolonizing DP-4, in my opinion. But he’s rational enough to see it.”
Will returned one of his rare full-on smiles. “Well, Bob, right?”
We laughed together, and I continued, “So we’ll give them the choice—
attempt to recolonize DP-4, or head for a new world with an already-established ecosystem. And a compatible one, as seems to be the norm.” I chuckled. “I sure wish I could go back and talk to Dr. Carlisle. I bet he’d be tickled that his theories have been so emphatically vindicated.”
Will nodded but didn’t comment. I sat back, and we sipped our coffees in silence, simply enjoying the company and the momentary pause in existence.
* * *
The Pav huddled in a corner, whimpering. I’d expected a certain level of fear, but the Pav’s reaction bordered on xenophobia.
But I doubted the, uh, recruitment had involved a lot of discussion and consent. Kidnapping was a pretty accurate description. The specimen in front of us was probably still traumatized.
At that moment, the door to the chamber opened and three more Pav staggered in. They were still suffering from post-stasis confusion, but they reacted in instinctive Pav pack fashion, by huddling in a pile with our first candidate. The presence of company seemed to calm her significantly.
Over the next few hours, we brought in several more Pav, until we had eight of them in the room. The number was arbitrary, but Jacques’
investigation of the species had indicated a general maximum of eight adults to a family group. We hoped that it was a significant number for them.
When they appeared outwardly calm and had started to compare notes with each other, I decided it was time for official first contact.
“Hello.”
All eight Pav went into alert posture. The resemblance to meerkats was even more pronounced than usual, and in better circumstances I would have chuckled at the tableau.
“Who are you? Where are we?”
This was not going to be easy. “My name is Bill. I’m part of BobNet.” The translation routine rendered proper names phonetically, but the sounds wouldn’t mean anything to them. “Who we are is a very long story. Where you are and why, is a shorter and very unpleasant story.”
I described the Others to them, and explained their habit of raiding
systems and killing off planets. A monitor on one wall displayed images of Others, the aftermath of Zeta Tucanae, and finally the destruction of Delta Pavonis 4.
As the images of dead cities, oceans and forests flashed on the screen, the Pav began to keen. Sitting through that was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but I had a moral obligation to stick with it.
It took a few hours, but we finally got through the whole story. The group seemed perplexed.
“You want us to decide? To return to Aszjan or settle a different world?”
“That is correct.”
The Pac huddled and argued in low voices for several minutes.
Hazjiar, who seemed to have taken on the role of spokesperson, said,
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know you well enough to know what would work best for you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we haven’t been studying you for long enough.”
“Why not?”
Oh, holy… “That’s not important. We will make the decision if you don’t want to, but we wanted to give you the option first.”
“And there are twenty thousand of us? Why not more?”
“That’s how many will fit into the two ships that we were able to build.”
“Why?”
What’re you, a four-year-old? I would have to nip this in the bud, before I blew a transistor or something. “Again, not important now. Are you willing and able to make that decision? If not, let us know and we’ll take care of it.”
“We will discuss this. Is there food?”
“You mean at the new planet? Oh, you mean now. Sorry. I’ll get some.”
Fortunately, Jacques had thought of stocking up on standard Pav food and drink. I decanted a small supply and delivered it. The Pav laid in as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.
I stared in shock at the free-for-all. So far no one seemed to have lost a limb, but that could just be luck.
Jacques chuckled at the expression on my face. “No, that’s pretty much normal feeding behavior. Miss Manners would never catch on with these people.”
I shook my head. “Count them after they’re done, okay? Make sure there are still eight.”
* * *
At Hazjiar’s request, we provided images of the proposed colony planet. It possessed a marginally heavier gravity, with correspondingly thicker atmosphere, but was similar enough to Aszjan that adaptation wouldn’t be an issue. The flora and fauna would be completely unfamiliar to them, of course, but it didn’t include anything too large to deal with.
We promised the Pav any help they needed, regardless of their decision.
They seemed heartened by that, and I privately sighed in exasperation. Again, we were going to be responsible for another client race. If Jacques wanted to be involved, fine, but I resolved to keep my distance.
* * *
“We will choose the new world.” Hazjiar stood tall and spoke with confidence. I knew that the decision hadn’t been easy, or unanimous, but I was impressed at their willingness to even make a decision.
She looked down, then continued in a softer voice. “We do not like the idea of all resources being supplied by you. No offence, but we do not know you.”
I grinned at Jacques, who smiled back and shrugged.
“That’s fine, Hazjiar. We’ll get started right away. It will be necessary to put you back to sleep. But we’ll be gentler, this time.”
Hazjiar nodded. By coincidence, a nod meant the same thing to the Pav as it did to us. “When we awake, we will be there?”
“That’s correct. And we will have set up an encampment for you to live in until you can build something for yourselves.”
Hazjiar cocked her head slightly. “I am curious. Why do you do this? Who is paying you? Or do you expect us to pay you?”
I chuckled, which the translation routine converted to the Pav expression of humor. And a good thing—who knew how a human chuckle would come across.
“We don’t use money, Hazjiar. We have no need for it.”
This statement produced a look of shock. Apparently capitalism was alive and well in Pav culture. After staring at the monitor for a few more seconds, Hazjiar turned away, while muttering something that sounded like
“Dozhagriyl. ” The routine translated it as “critters with broken brains.”
The Pav seemed reluctant to return to the stasis chambers, and generally acted like a bunch of kids trying to delay bedtime. Eventually, though, we managed to cajole them all through the door and into the prep room. Within an hour, they were all squared away.
“Well, Bill, I guess this is it.”
“Not quite yet, Jacques. A couple of the guys did some scavenging. We’ve managed to retrieve enough resources to put together a couple of version-3’s for you and the other Bobs who are bodiless right now. It’ll take few months, but at least then you’ll be able to ride escort instead of supercargo.”
Jacques nodded. “Thanks, Bill. Let’s do that.”
* * *
Finally, departure day. The two refugee ships, officially named REFUGE-1
and -2, brought their SURGE drives up to full power and turned their bows to aim for HIP 84051. I watched their departure from the forward camera of one of the Bobs that was still in-system.