“I hear you, Elspeth,” he said, his even, resonant voice filling the room. Leslie tilted his head backward, glancing around for the loudspeakers before he caught himself and shook his head, a little ruefully. Jeremy plainly jumped, and then frowned in chagrin when Patty Valens reached out absently and patted him on the arm. Like Jenny, she felt the AIs' voices in her head. “What are our items on the agenda today?”
Elspeth pressed the pad of her thumb to the interface plate, calling up her notes. “Let's see. Okay. It looks as if first, Dr. Forster is going to tell us why the Benefactors aren't biological, as we understand the term. And then Dr. Tjakamarra is going to tell us why they don't have a language, as we understand the term. And then Casey is going to explain to us why it's imperative we dress up in astronaut costumes and wander over to tap on their storm door and ask if we can borrow a cup of stardust. And then we discuss our options, after that.” She raised her eyes again, to appreciative laughter and the warm pressure of Jen's smile and Gabe's approval.
Hey, she thought. That wasn't so hard after all.
Leslie rested his chin on interlaced fingers and focused on the blond Canadian. Dr. Forster was pacing, a light pointer held in his hand, and every so often he turned to the hologram floating above the table and poked inside it with the pointer, changing magnification or bringing another aspect to prominence.
“As you can see,” Forster said, the pointer balanced like an extension of his forefinger, “the animate masses we have been assuming are the birdcage aliens have a number of very odd and interesting behaviors.” The pointer traced a glowing path fine as a hair through the center of the hologram, and Leslie leaned forward, his eyes on the described arc. “They appear to move comfortably in a vacuum. Their ship is designed to be open to space, and while it's possible that the seemingly fluid silver material is some sort of protective gear, it's — drat. Richard, rewind five seconds, please, and magnify 150 percent? Thank you. Please watch the path I've marked.”
Leslie dropped his hands from his face and sat straight as a tear-shape like a falling drop of mercury detached itself from one girder of the birdcage and drifted effortlessly across the open space in the center of the starship, splashing down on the opposite side of the structure. And splashing was the right word, he realized, as the creature—or object—flattened against the crystalline structure of the cage and then bobbed into three dimensions again. Another teardrop moved toward the flyer, and Leslie nodded, expecting a consultation, a brief friendly wave, some semiotic signal of dominance and submission, something.
The two teardrops flowed into and through each other like ripples crossing in a wave tank, passing without hesitation and reforming cleanly, moving apart without a pause.
“Bloody weird,” Leslie said, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. He met Forster's eyes and took in that single arched eyebrow, the pursed lips, the expectancy.
“Dr. — I mean, Leslie? Sorry.” A self-deprecating twist of the Canadian's head, which Leslie brushed aside.
“I said, that's bloody weird.”
“The great Australian adjective,” Jeremy muttered from Leslie's left, and Leslie gave him a self-consciously wry look. “Sorry. Carry on. What's bloody weird, Les?”
Leslie waved one hand. “There was no visible acknowledgment when they passed. And they moved through each other. That's… strange. Humans make eye contact, even passing a stranger on the street — or if they're uncomfortable, avoid it consciously. Cats sniff noses or hiss. Even flatworms and ants acknowledge each other. It makes me seriously question the social organization of these critters, if they have one. Well, there could be something electromagnetic—”
“Probes showed no such communication,” Charlie interrupted.
“They must communicate somehow,” Elspeth Dunsany said. “They obviously manage teamwork, assist each other.”
Leslie shook his head. “What if Charlie's right and they're not animals? What if they are machines, after all?”
“What if they are machines, Dr. Tjakamarra?” Richard's voice, disembodied and resonant.
Leslie spread his hands wide and allowed himself a nod. “Touché. But do you see my point, Dr. Feynman?”
“Yes.” A thoughtful pause, and Leslie noticed that Jen Casey looked amused by it. “How does this affect your theories about the language — or lack thereof — of the Benefactors?”
“I'll have to reconsider,” he said, trying to sound as if the admission didn't pain him. “I had suspected that our difficulties might be due to the aliens using a strictly visual system of communication, but this evidence tends to suggest that if there is such a thing, it takes place on a level that's invisible to humans. African elephants used to do something similar. Their vocalizations were mostly subsonic, as far as humans were concerned. It took bloody ages to unravel it.”
Elspeth smiled. It was meant to be commiserating, but Leslie thought it looked tired. “Well, we've been at it nine months. I don't suppose a ‘reconsider' is going to hurt us. We've trod our respective turf rather extensively; I can't deny you and Jeremy the same chance. Did you have anything else to add, Leslie?”
He shook his head. “My prepared speech just went by the wayside, I'm afraid. Why don't we move along?”
Elspeth fixed Forster with a look. “More, Charlie?”
“I could natter on for hours,” he answered, “but nobody would listen. I yield the floor.”
“Good.” Elspeth knocked on the table lightly, informally, with the hard surface of her knuckles. She turned toward Casey. “Jen? Let's hear about your crackpot EVA idea.”
“With an introduction like that,” Casey answered, standing, “I don't see how I can pass up the chance.”
Patricia Valens didn't understand why Jenny and Elspeth thought it was important for her to come to these staff meetings. But they did, and so she braved Captain Wainwright's unvoiced disapproval to do it.
Although she wasn't all that sure it was disapproval. Despite Patty's youth, the captain had never treated her as anything other than a valued crew member, one of the precious individuals reengineered to be capable of guiding the Montreal at hyperlight. But it was something—discomfort, perhaps?
“It's simple,” Jenny said as she took Dr. Forster's place at the head of the conference table. “We've tried waiting by the phone for nine months, and unless things change, we're going to be stuck without a date for prom. Time to see what a little forwardness gets us.”
Maybe the captain just doesn't like kids. Patty bit her lip to keep her careful smile from turning into a pout. She glanced down and picked up her light pen, centering her hip unit on the table in front of her and tapping it on. At least if she kept careful notes she'd look interested, and she might be able to go over them later and understand more of what the scientists, the captain, Mr. Castaign, and Jenny were planning. It was always frustrating to feel so at a loss in conversations, as if she was in over her head and wasn't really supposed to be a part of the gathering. And she really thought that Elspeth expected her to listen rather than ask too many questions, even if she could have come up with any intelligent ones.
Leah would have known what to say. Leah would have made a joke or an interesting comment, and put everyone at ease.
“—that's why we're going to go out there and get them to take notice of us, one way or another,” Jenny finished, and Patty's head came up.
“Outside?” she said, proud enough that it didn't come out a squeak that she almost forgot she was talking. “EVA?”