"We'll figure it out, Moyshe. Don't worry about the details that way. Don't be so negative all the time. Instead of saying, ‘It's impossible,' say, ‘How can we do it?' Figure a way, then organize to fit it. Let's get back in there before they get too suspicious."
They exchanged a couple of moves. Moyshe said, "I yield. I would've had you this time except for that one stupid move."
"It was a bad opening. I deserved to get stomped. Another game?"
"Just one. Then I'd better turn in. Amy's sneaking me out for a look at their xeno-archaeological project tomorrow."
"Wish I could go. But Jarl will have fits enough about you."
The main research station was awesome.
"What they did," Amy explained, "was take over one of the drydock asteroids. So they could study the ships inside."
The planetoid was smaller than the one that had engulfed Danion, but still was vast. At least a hundred ships floated in its interior. Some were so alien their lines almost hurt the eye.
Around the inner face of the asteroid lay an office and laboratory level. It was roofed by a layer of glassteel. The researchers and their staffs could look up at the ships floating overhead. People in the bay could see what was going on in the offices and labs. The asteroid had been given spin along its longitudinal axis instead of using artificial gravity generators, which would have been in continuous imbalance by facing inward.
Moyshe and Amy entered through a lock in the asteroid's end, and observed briefly from a lookout there. Moyshe was impressed. The line of ships marched on till it vanished in the distance.
"They bring them in this end," Amy said. "They look them over, study them, and the ones that aren't useful they move up the line." She indicated a remote vessel. Tugs were guiding it away. "The far end is industrialized. The ships the scientists don't want they break up for raw materials or refit for us to use. Let's see if we can find a scooter."
An hour later Amy introduced him to a woman named Consuela el-Sanga. "Consuela is an old friend, Moyshe. Consuela, Moyshe might be able to give you an idea or two."
Consuela el-Sanga was a small, dusky woman in her early fifties. She bore the stamp of the preoccupied researcher, of a person who had devoted a lifetime to her curiosity. Moyshe liked her immediately, and as quickly felt a kinship. She was a shy, diffident individual in matters outside her expertise.
"Are you a xeno-archaeologist, Mister benRabi?"
"No. Amy's exaggerating. I'm not even a gifted amateur. My only claim is that I followed the Lunar digs close till a year ago. I had a friend on the project."
Darkness hit him. It had the impact of a physical blow. A woman's face floated before him. He had not seen that face in years. Alyce. Academy love. The girl who had worked at the Lunar digs...
"Moyshe!" Amy sounded frightened. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"
He held up a hand, patted at the air. "Okay. Okay. I'm okay." He shook his head violently. "Just a delayed reaction to the spin here," he lied. "I've never been in centrifugal gravity."
Inside, panic. What the hell was this? It had not happened for months. He realized he was talking, and talking fast. "I was at the digs a year and a half ago. They'd just opened a new chamber, in almost perfect condition. They thought some of the machinery might still work."
Amy and Consuela watched him carefully. "You sure you're all right?" Amy asked.
"Sure. Sure. Miss el-Sanga, what could I do to help?"
"I really don't know. We could walk you through one of the ships we think relates to the Lunar base, for a layman's opinion. We're sure there was a connection, but, because of politics, we can't work with the people there."
"It's a pity, too."
"Come along. We'll start with artifacts recovered from the ships. So you're married now, Amy."
BenRabi caught an odd note in what could have been either statement or question. He gave the women a closer look. There was a slight tenseness between them, as if there had been more to their relationship than friendship and shared interests. He filed it in the back of his mind.
"Took me long enough, didn't it?" Amy tried to sound light. She failed.
The moment of disorientation had turned something on inside Moyshe. His mind went to work agent-wise. The cameras rolled. The cross-reference computer clicked. His surroundings took on more depth, more meaning. They became brighter and more interesting. His movements became quicker and more assured.
"This is what we laughingly call the museum," Consuela el-Sanga said, pausing before opening a door. "It's not, really. It's just a storage room. Whoever those people were, they didn't leave much behind. Mostly just trash. But that's all archaeologists ever have to work with. Broken points, potsherds, and whatever else the ancients threw out behind their huts."
Moyshe moved up and down rows of metal shelves. They contained hundreds of items, each tagged with a date, ship number, inventory number, and brief guess as to what the object might be. Some were referenced to other inventory numbers.
Twice he paused, reexamined an item, said, "I saw something like this at the Lunar digs. I'd say there's a definite connection."
The second time, Consuela el-Sanga responded, "Not necessarily. Parallel function. Say a comb. Any creature with hair would invent a comb. Wouldn't you say? So the existence of a comb wouldn't prove anything but a common physical trait." And when Moyshe finished with the racks and shelves, she said, "Now into my office. I'll show you our two real treasures."
Moyshe and Amy followed her through another door.
"You haven't seen these either, Amy. We found them while you were out. They were both part of the same find."
Consuela El-Sanga took two plastic cases from her desk. She handled them with loving care.
Moyshe accepted one, Amy the other. The item benRabi held was a piece of paper that had been torn into small fragments. A very few faded marks were visible.
"Is it a photograph?" Amy asked.
"Good guess," Consuela said. "We had a hell of a time with them." Moyshe traded with Amy. The second object was an extremely faded, flat, two-dimensional photo. It had been torn in two.
Consuela continued, "First we pieced all the tears together. Then we did scans with low-intensity lasers and computer enhancements. We came up with these." The woman glowed with pride as she handed over reproductions of the items.
The photo, in color, was of a creature very similar to the Lunar dig reconstructions. BenRabi said as much. The other object appeared to be a hand-written letter.
"Any luck interpreting this?" Moyshe asked.
"No. We haven't even determined which direction it's supposed to be read."
"You haven't found any technical manuals or anything?"
"Not a speck. Just a few characters on nameplates, stuff like you'd find around instrumentation and doors on any ship. Any time there's more than three characters, they're arranged in matrices like these."
"Maybe they had a holographic system for reading."
"No. Doesn't go with a two-d photo. We don't think."
"Very interesting," Moyshe said, studying the picture again. "A Dear John letter? And the guy, or gal, gets mad and tears up the lover's letter and picture, but then can't bear to part with the pieces?"
"That's one of our hypotheses."
Moyshe scanned the letter. "Thirty-four different characters here. Some punctuation?"
"Don't try to figure it out in your head. Even the computers can't get a handle on it. Just think how hard it would be to break our language without a starting clue. Big letters, little letters, script, punctuation, spelling variations by dialect, different type faces, all the stylized lettering and special symbols we use for technical stuff... You see? We'd need a whole ship full of old letters, novels, and newspapers to break it. Not just a few plaques on an instrument panel."