“I think that the audio is clear,” Elav said, wincing. The tonality caused sonar harmonics that were stomach wrenching, spinning the sensory interior of the control compartment wildly.
“Can you filter out those harmonics?” Kond asked, wriggling his tentacles.
“I’m trying, Ship Master,” Elav said. “But I’m not sure what we’re losing.”
“I’m willing to lose some information to avoid having my weapons fired accidentally,” the ship master replied. “Greetings,” he continued, raising his tentacles. “We come in peace.”
“Ow!” Spectre snapped, sticking a finger in his ear and wriggling it around. “Was that feedback? I think that squeal would bend metal! Commo, can we put some sort of filter on that? The guys we’ve got in isolation don’t sound that bad.”
“I’ll try, Conn,” Commo replied. “Miss Moon said that she was having to bring out some high-frequency tonalities. I think that might be what’s causing that squeal. I’ve set the system to drop all the frequencies another octave.”
“We’re starting to get a translation,” Elav said, looking at his computers. “There are assumptions involved but I think we’re making headway, finally. We are picking up not only the words of the apparent commander, but of others in the compartment. The computer has used all of that and is assimilating their language.”
“Adjust my transmission to use their language,” Kond said. “Can you translate a standard greeting protocol?”
“I should be able to,” Elav said. “Go ahead, Ship Master.”
“Yo, again,” the main figure on the viewscreen said. “Our chips are changing my thoughts to those of dudes. I be Kond, Boss Dude of the big ship. Greetings and sweeties we are.”
“Whoa,” Weaver said. “I hope like hell that their computers are capable of retasking for language. Because I seriously don’t want them to sound like that when they meet major players.”
“I just hope I don’t sound that strange to them,” Spectre muttered. “Greeting, Kond. I am Spectre, Boss Dude of the Vorpal Blade.”
16
“Dreen,” Kond said, about an hour later. “Yes, we are fighting those ones. We are fleeing those ones. Our home world was lost. Fleet is finding safe world. We are last guards.”
“We have three survivors from the last battle on-board,” Spectre said. “We picked them up along with some wreckage for study. How can we transfer them over?”
“Lost are they,” Kond replied, waggling tentacles again. “Space is their home.”
“No, we picked them up,” the CO said, confused. “We can get them over to you easily enough.”
“Lost are they,” Kond repeated. “Source is not. Behind they are. Understanding?”
“Sir,” Miriam said, quietly. “I think what he’s saying is that the resources of their ships are so minimal that they can’t take them on. If they lost their ship, they have to be left behind.”
“Lost are they,” Kond agreed. “Is sorrow. Is must.”
“We can carry them,” Spectre said, his jaw firming. “Is that permitted? Is that okay?”
“Very okay,” Kond said. “But not for us. Little air, water, food we have. Food very little. Damages we carry from battle. Unable to squee!”
“I think that squeal was important,” Weaver interjected. “Unable to fly? Unable to warp? Unable to go faster than light?”
“Unable to be unreal,” Kond replied. “Unable to run.”
“They can’t get their FTL drive to work,” Spectre said, nodding. “Can we help?”
“Part is broken,” Kond said. “Squee! Is damaged before, damaged again. May not be fix.”
“Can you show us the part?” Spectre asked. “We have a way to get some parts from home. It’s possible we could get something that will work. If it’s not complicated.”
“Is only squee!” Kond said.
“He’s exasperated,” Miriam said. She had an earbud in and was apparently picking up the raw sounds from the alien. “I’ve heard that tone before. It goes very high, super ultrasonic. Frustration. I think it’s something simple but for some reason they can’t fix it.”
“And since he’s a sitting duck until they do…” Weaver said. “Kond, can you show us the part?”
“Wait,” Kond said.
“Elav, in my cabin, the model of the ship. Get it.”
“Yes, Ship Master.”
“This part,” Kond said, holding up a model of the ship. It was detailed but small. He might have been pointing at one of the pods or the nacelle-wing leading to it.
“The engine or the wing?” Spectre asked.
“The squee!” Kond replied, holding it up and pointing to it again. With the tip of one tentacle he lightly caressed the wing.
“Commander Weaver, what’s the size of one of those things?”
“Kond, we must send an active thing at your ship,” Weaver said. “Light. It is not dangerous.”
“Send,” Kond replied.
Weaver went over to his controls and brought up the laser rangefinding system used for inshore maneuvers. Sending a pulse at the distant ship, and finally getting a hard range return, he was able to determine sizes. The wing was thirty-seven feet long, the pod on the end about twenty long and ten wide at the widest point. Looking at the design he knew exactly what would fit, if there were no special requirements. And if they could somehow attach it.
“Kond,” he said, getting back up and walking over to the center of the conn. “Does it have to be special materials?”
“Not understood,” Kond said. “It can be any squee… It can be squee or squee or even squee. Anything. Must be strong.”
“If we can get back to Gamma and if we can convince the Prez, and if we can get one down to Antarctica fast, he should be able to use a wing off a transport plane,” Weaver said. “Figure they have to fly C-17s in to the area anyway to bring the gates. There’s an airfield. Fly in a C-17, cut off the win—” He stopped at the CO’s expression. “Or not. But I figured out a way to pick it up and attach it using the Wyverns and space ta — Or not.”
“Here’s an alternative thought,” Spectre said carefully. “Did we see any of those things floating around back at the battlefield? I seem to recall your last brainstorm involved high pressure hydrogen throughout my ship.”
“Yeah, heh,” Weaver said ruefully. “I’m glad nobody pointed out to you that it was explosive.”
“What?”
“I kept expecting us to blow sky high,” Weaver said. “Oxygen and hydrogen are not a good mix. One spark and… But, yeah, there are probably some parts back at the battlefield. Now if we can just explain that we want to take some of their people back there to check it out.”
“How about the three space cases in isolation?” the XO asked.
“Well, what we need are their version of machinist mates and for all we know we’ve got cooks,” the CO said, still trying to assimilate that the ship had nearly gone sky-h — Been blown to smithereens. “But if we can get it across to the Kond fellow, maybe it will work. It’s no worse than any of our other plans. Except the one that involved cutting off the wing of a billion dollar airplane.”
“They could repair it,” Weaver pointed out. “I mean, it would be pricey but we’re talking about high level diplomacy here. Seriously, they shove it through the gate fast and then we use the Marines to—” He looked at the CO’s face again and paused. “Or not.”