We had safety tethers attached to the air lock. After the piton was secured, Paul jetted across first, unreeling the guideline behind him. I followed him hand over hand, trying not to tangle the three lines.
The air lock on the starfish-shaped craft was a barely visible lip. Paul drilled and hammered a piton right in front of it. He secured the guideline to give it about three or four feet of slack; if you held on to it, you could walk, after a fashion, from one air lock to the other.
We returned to our own ship to relax for a few minutes and ensure we’d be going over with full air tanks and empty bladders. There was no strategy to discuss; we’d just keep our eyes and minds open.
Fly-in-Amber went over between us, moving with characteristic caution. I didn’t mind going slowly. It was a long way down.
When we got to the air-lock lip, Paul opened the radio circuit—I heard a slight click—but before he could say anything, Spy’s voice said, “Come in,” too loud and too clear. The lips parted to reveal a red glow.
“Returning to the womb,” I said. We went in, and the lips closed behind us. The small red light inside my helmet, an air warning, glowed green.
“Is this safe to breathe?” Paul asked on the radio.
“If I wanted to kill you,” Spy said, “I wouldn’t have to go to this much trouble. This is exactly the same pressure and composition as you breathe over there.” He stepped in out of the gloom and made a circle with one hand. “Paul, get your feet under you. I’m going to turn on some gravity.” As the light increased, so did the feeling of weight. It was very feeble, though; much less than Mars.
“What kind of gravity?” Paul asked.
“Triton. About one-twelfth Earth’s gravity; less than a third that of Mars.”
The room was organic in a mildly disgusting way. I had to take a colonoscopy before they would let me go to Mars, but they did let me watch, and the walls here looked like the inside of my large intestine then, pink and slippery. That gave me a whole new attitude toward the air lock. There was no furniture in the room, no windows except for two portholes, one on each side of the air-lock lips. Not a sound.
“I will introduce you to the Other- prime, though of course it cannot respond directly.” He touched the wall, and a dark oval appeared, like wet glass. We stepped forward.
I’m afraid I made a little noise of alarm. It was, in a word, a monster. A word that shouldn’t be in a xenobiologist’s vocabulary, but there you have it.
The creature was all chitin and claws, hard shiny brown with yellow streaks and blobs. Six smaller claws, about the size of human arms, circled the thorax. A seventh one, twice as big, curled over the top like a scorpion’s tail. A powerful serrated vise.
The biologist in me immediately wondered what was in its environment that required such armor and strength. “How big is it?”
“About twice human size,” Spy said. “It won’t hurt you, though. Too warm out here for it to survive.
“It is looking at you through me and wants to say something. I will relay the message in a few minutes.”
I studied the creature while we waited. It looked more like a huge crab than any other terrestrial animal. No crabs on Earth were that big, I thought, except maybe the long spindly ones that live on the bottom of the ocean, spider crabs. This guy could eat them alive.
Which again raises the question, why? None of our speculations about its environment, living in liquid nitrogen, considered the possibility of strong, fast predators.
Of course, it couldn’t react fast, which would explain the armor.
Maybe our assumptions about body chemistry were wrong. Temperature chauvinism. The fact that this species is slow doesn’t mean that all nitrogen-based cryogenic life-forms are slow.
So that’s the next question. If the environment has swift, strong predators, what did the Others evolve from, when a snail could run circles around them? Well, just because they’re smart doesn’t mean they’re at the top of the food chain. There are plenty of environments on Earth where the crown of creation would be lunch.
It would be fascinating to investigate the Others’ planet and see whether it was biologically as complex as Earth. Mars never had been, or at least we’ve never found any fossils you could see without a magnifying glass.
Maybe the Others’ planet had a whole phylum of smaller and less complex crablike creatures, culminating in this beautiful example.
It was beautiful, in its way.
“It wants to congratulate you,” Spy said, “on having made it halfway. The odds are good you will continue on to Wolf 25 and arrive intact.
“It currently has no interest in destroying you. It reminds you of the obvious, though: this ship you are in has an autonomous intelligence that thinks faster than you can and won’t hesitate to destroy you, and us, whenever that might be necessary for the protection of our home planet.
“You are here on our sufferance. We are curious about you and wish to study you.”
“Why should you let us live?” Namir said. “You’ve already tried to destroy us once—why should we expect you will let us survive now?”
“Is that a question you wish me to ask Other-prime?”
“Yes,” Namir and Paul said simultaneously.
I wasn’t sure about that, and started to say, “Wait.” But it was too late when my lips formed the word.
What if it said, “You’re right,” and we all were simply doomed? It could flick us away like a speck.
Fly-in-Amber expressed my misgivings: “Perhaps that was not wise. We should preserve our options and not compel it to make a decision.”
“Now or later,” Namir said. “It will be easier to work with it if we know we have a chance of surviving.”
It occurred to me that the room had no smell of its own. Standing next to Paul, I could smell the peanuts on his breath. But there was nothing from the ambient environment. Martian rooms had a characteristic smell, like damp earth; nothing like that here. It was like a VR background with the smell turned off.
Other-prime answered in less than a minute. Probably a prepared response; the question was no surprise. “That is fair. We do not think the same way as you, but let me try to put this in human terms.
“You averted worldwide catastrophe by moving our device to where it could not harm you. There were other things that you could have done, but that was sufficient. If you wish, you may think of that as a test that your species has passed. Contacting me here would be the second test.
“How many tests might be necessary for your assurance, I cannot say. The home planet does not yet know anything, of course; it will be more than a decade before my last communication from your solar system reaches them.
“I can say that other races have attained this degree of rapport with us, and many of them were allowed to go on their way. Some were not.
“None who resorted to aggression were allowed to survive. You must have deduced this already.”
“That’s all?” Paul said after a few seconds.
“Yes.”
“I showed you around our facilities,” Fly-in-Amber said. “Will you reciprocate?”
“Not now. I will discuss this with Other-prime. Right now it is resting.”
“It takes a lot of energy for it to communicate with us?” I said.
“That is not something you need to know at this time. Be careful when you leave. There is no gravity on the other side of the air lock.”
Paul snorted. “ ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’ ”
“It will not do that,” Spy said. Fly-in-Amber nodded. Two species with but a single sense of humor.