To distract myself, I went to the bicycle machine and took a VR ride through downtown Paris, trying to hit every man with a mustache.
At about five minutes to the hour, I joined the others in the compromise lounge. Everyone had filled squeeze bottles with water and other things to drink in zero gee, good idea. I went to the storeroom and drew six liters of water in a plastic cow, and concentrate for two liters of wine, which made a red light blink next to my name. Paul’s light wasn’t blinking, so I drew a couple of liters for him, too. He must have been too busy, hovering over the OFF switch.
I returned to the lounge with my armloads of water and wine. “You are ready for a party,” Snowbird said. I croaked out a catchphrase that meant something like “I wish the same state for you.” She clapped lightly with her small hands.
We were all sort of braced for it when 2200 came, but of course it wasn’t like slamming on the brakes. Gravity just stopped. I pushed off gently and floated toward the ceiling. Namir and Snowbird followed.
“I guess nothing went wrong,” Meryl said, rotating by in a slow somersault.
Moonboy hadn’t moved. He took off the earphones and listened intently for a couple of seconds. “Still there.” He put them back on, hovering a foot off the couch.
Elza floated up to join Namir, clasping him with her arms and legs. Well, he wouldn’t be able to shoot pool; have to do something for two days.
Paul came out of the control room walking on the floor with his gecko slippers. He had a strange expression. My stomach fell as he spoke: “Something’s screwy.” He shook his head. “The proximity—”
There was a faint metallic sound. Then three more.
“The air lock,” Namir said.
Surprise, then terror. Inappropriately, I laughed, and so did Meryl.
“Has to be the Others,” Paul said.
“Might as well let them in,” Namir said, “before they just blow it open.”
The people who designed the ship should have put a camera out there. But we hadn’t expected callers.
We all followed Paul, all of us but Moonboy, floating various trajectories toward the air lock. Paul opened the control box and pushed the OPEN SEQUENCE button. A pump hammered for less than a minute, fading as the air was sucked out of the lock.
The outer door opened onto total darkness. There was a moment of terrible suspense. Then a man in a conventional white space suit used a navigating jet to float in and stopped by touching the inner door window.
“I’ll be damned,” Dustin said. “They caught up with us this soon?” We’d talked about the possibility of Earth’s inventing a speedier spacecraft, which would catch up with us. Turnaround would be a logical place to meet, when our engine was turned off.
“No,” Paul said, “if they were from Earth, they would have radioed.” He pushed the CLOSE SEQUENCE button, and the outer door closed and air sighed back into the little sealed room. The inner door opened and the stranger floated out toward us.
He or she or it undid the helmet clasps and let the helmet float away. A male in his twenties or thirties, no obvious ethnicity.
“Good for you. You didn’t try to kill me.”
“You’re an Other?” Paul said.
“No, of course not.” It wasn’t looking at Paul, just studying each of us in turn. “They couldn’t speak to you in real time. Your lives are trivially short and swift. I’m an artificial biological construct, like you two Martians, created to mimic a human rate of perception and reaction.
“I’m a tool made by a tool. The one who communicated with you from Triton—”
“Who tried to destroy the Earth,” Paul said.
“Only the life on Earth, yes. I was made in case you survived that. As I believe you know, the one who made me lives slower and longer than humans or Martians, but is still a mayfly compared to the Others.”
“It left Triton, though,” Paul said, “just before the explosion.”
“Yes. It is here now, in a small habitat near your air lock. Fastened to the iceberg by now. We’ve been nearby for some time, within a few million miles, but of course did not physically connect until your engine stopped.”
“Why are you here?” I asked. “To keep an eye on us?”
“That, yes. And to help decide whether you should be allowed near the Others’ home planet.”
“Then you’re set up to destroy us, as Red was?”
“Not at all. It’s not necessary.” His expression revealed nothing. It was not neutral, exactly, but more controlled than the serving robots at McDonald’s.
“Because the Others themselves won’t let us get close enough to hurt them,” Namir said.
“That’s correct. We have already begun sending them information. I think the more you let me know, the better your chances will be.”
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“No. You may call me whatever you please.”
“Spy,” Namir said.
“Considering the source,” it said, “I am honored.”
“You know a lot about us?” I said.
“Only what has been public knowledge on Earth. Namir, Elza, Paul, Carmen, Dustin, Meryl, Snowbird, Fly- in-Amber.” It pointed. “That would be Moonboy.”
He was facing away from us, floating halfway to the kitchen, listening to music. “Yes,” Meryl said. “He’s not feeling well.”
“Perhaps none of you are.” It looked around. “I will be as small a burden as possible. I will spend most of my time in my quarters, with the Other. Conversation necessarily takes a long time. Once we have deceleration, I can walk back and forth at will. The external air-lock control is simple; I didn’t use it this time because I didn’t want to frighten you with an alarm.”
“That was neighborly,” I said. “Can I offer you something to eat or drink?”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to burden your life support; I can take care of that in my own ship. Like the Martians, I consume very little.”
“We were made by intelligent design,” Snowbird said, “not haphazard evolution.” She had been studying the history of human science. But it was correct; Martians needed only a third of the life-support mass humans required. (Being indifferent to what you eat or drink is a factor, too—if we were willing to live on hardtack biscuits and water, we could save a lot of reaction mass.)
“You took a chance coming over here,” Paul said. “One course correction, and you’d be adrift.”
“I’m replaceable. How often do you do that?”
“Every few days.” Enough to keep us from going outside.
“A reasonable risk.” It looked around. “I would like to have a tour of your ship, if you don’t mind. Then you may tour ours.”
Paul nodded slowly. “We have nothing to hide.”
“I can speak consensus Martian,” it said, turning to Fly- in-Amber. “Would you guide me?”
Fly-in-Amber trilled a “yes” sound, and they headed off toward the Martian rooms. A logical starting place, but both Paul and Namir looked unhappy. “Wish it had chosen you,” Paul said to Snowbird.
“I wish that as well,” she said. “I’m curious.”
And more communicative, I didn’t bother to add. Fly-in-Amber might remember every detail, but we’d have to drag it out of him if he didn’t feel like talking.
“Well… come into the control room,” Paul said. “We’ll see what their ship looks like.”
I put on my gecko slippers and followed him. We waited at the door for the others.
“General,” he said as he walked in, and the control surfaces morphed to that configuration, a lot more dials and knobs and switches than the set he’d been using. He strapped himself into the swivel seat, and said, “Outside view.”