Alien Caller (65 page)

Wordlessly the
technician handed her a microphone and everyone held their
breath.

“This is Ayn
Cyrea. Can anyone here me?” Of course she didn't say that exactly.
Not in English. But David was slowly familiarising himself with
Leinian and he understood most of what she was saying. He
understood too that the silence on the other end of the line wasn't
good.

Cyrea repeated
herself, giving everything she had to remain calm as she waited for
a reply and the silence stretched. Then, when there was still
nothing she tried a third and a fourth time. Still nothing.

Of course there
had never been a guarantee that they would get an answer. There
might not be a ship in range, and the range itself was limited.
Eight to ten light years at best the technicians had said. And the
transmitter might not work. It was cobbled together from so many
different bits of alien equipment, some of it ancient and none of
it designed to work with Leinian and Mentan technology, that it had
always been a gamble. And who knew? Maybe it was working. Maybe the
message was getting out. Maybe it was only that they couldn't hear
the response for some reason.

Of course there
was always the other possibility. The one that none of them wanted
to think about. That the ship following them had already been
captured. That their pirate friend was even now listening to their
broadcast and planning on making his return to them as soon as
possible.

“Should we try
another frequency?” It was the obvious question. But even as Cyrea
shook her head David knew she was right to reject the idea. This
was a security channel. One only used by the security people of her
own world, and only monitored by them. More than that it was the
only security channel she knew. To switch to other frequencies was
to reach a wider audience and maybe find someone else out there,
but also to risk their transmission being picked up by the Mentan.
The only way he could pick up this one was if he was actually on
board the chasing ship. They had to give this channel every chance
before they risked another one.

“We keep
trying.” It was the only thing to do. And so they did just that.
For hour after hour Cyrea stood at the post, broadcasting her
simple message, while the other end remained stubbornly quiet.

Hours passed
and the sun fell down and she kept broadcasting. The stars and the
moons came out and she continued sending. Speaking into the
microphone every half hour or so, sitting in silence with him most
of the rest of the time. Growing more and more tired as the night
wore on. Growing more and more depressed as well. But refusing to
allow anyone else to take her place.

And then, just
when the sky was starting to brighten once more, they got the first
hint that someone was out there. It wasn't much. Just a crackle of
static. But that was so much more than the silence they'd listened
to all night.

Cyrea was on it
immediately, repeating her message over and over again into the
microphone, while the technicians who'd fallen asleep were suddenly
completely awake and hovering over the equipment, playing with it,
adjusting things, tuning things, doing anything they could to make
the static into words.

For a good two
hours she kept repeating her message, and while they didn't get an
answer the static did grow slowly louder. And with it their hopes
grew.

Then, just when
they were sitting on the metaphorical edges of their seats, the
technicians gave them the bad news. The transmitter was dying.
Little by little it was burning out. And every message Cyrea sent
was killing it a little bit more.

It was a body
blow to them. By then of course the word had spread and everyone
was there. All of them hoping and praying. But if the machine was
dying then their hopes and prayers were dying with it.

They quickly
came up with a plan of course, not much of one but the best they
could do. The transmitter was dying, damaged by every message that
was sent, but also slowly burning out even when nothing was done.
But the static, the noise that they could hope was an approaching
ship, was getting louder. So they wrote a quick message. Five lines
long and Cyrea sent it every half hour.

It wasn't much
of a message. Just who they were, what had happened to them, and
that there was a dangerous Mentan out there targeting Leinian ships
leaving Earth. Thirty five words. As he sat there, listening to the
mother of his daughter repeating those thirty five words every half
hour, David couldn't help but think that it was a lot they were
asking of those words. An awful lot. In another time and another
place he would have given up. He would have looked for a different
way. But this was the time and the place, and there was no other
way. This was their only lifeline.

Then, somewhere
before the sun had reached its full height, they reached the end.
Cyrea sent her message as she had so many times before, and
suddenly there was smoke. Lots of smoke. Something was burning. The
technicians began running around frantically, trying desperately to
put out the fire. But the fire was having none of it, and the one
thing they couldn't do was pour water on it. That would end their
transmission even faster than the fire.

So they busied
themselves trying alternately to blow the fire out by waving
jackets and shirts and whatever other pieces of clothing they could
find at it, or to suffocate it by covering the smouldering bits of
equipment with those same items of clothing. It wasn't enough and
soon he could see flames leaping from several of the piles of junk
masquerading as a transmitter. Flames that quickly spread to the
rest of it.

And then it was
over. The end came suddenly, as something went bang and pieces of
transmitter went flying in all directions. After that they knew it
was dead. And they knew that with it they had sent their last call
for help.

It was a
difficult moment for them all. They were torn between hope and
despair, as they had no idea what if any of their message had got
out. No idea if rescue was coming or just more victims. And yet as
David gathered up his woman and slowly led her away from the
smouldering remains of their transmitter, he couldn't help but
think that whatever they'd achieved, they'd still done something.
Something that their captor hadn't planned on.

If they could
do it once they could do it again. Maybe.

Chapter
Thirty Three

The entire
community was on tenterhooks in the days following the
transmission. All of them were walking around nervously, snapping
at one another for no reason, apologising too. Work, anything but
the essential jobs was forgotten or ignored. Meals were eaten only
when people grew hungry. But most of them were too anxious to have
an appetite. And the routines they'd developed over the previous
month on the planet were forgotten. There was no discipline. No
order. And no one particularly wanted it.

David knew that
was a mistake. Discipline and routine were what kept an expedition
going. Whether it was into enemy lands or simple survival training,
they were vital. But he also understood what the people were going
through, and he knew that there was nothing he could do. One way or
another, this thing would simply have to be ridden out.

So they waited
anxiously for the next two days, wondering if their warning had
been successful, but with no way of knowing. The same questions
were on everyone's mind. Had they got their message across? If so
had it been in time? Could the transport have managed to hide from
or evade the Mentan’s ship? It seemed unlikely considering that his
vessel was more advanced, but at least they had had a brief
warning. Or alternatively had the other ship been able to get out a
message before they’d been caught?

Unspoken though
in everyone’s thoughts was the very real worry that the Mentan had
caught the others, and either they’d be arriving here shortly, or
that they’d resisted too strongly, and he’d shot them down. Such a
thing would be unthinkable for a Mentan or any civilized being, but
then most of what he had already done was unthinkable. And he
himself had said that he was desperate.

Then, late in
the afternoon of the second day, they saw rocket trails and knew
that at least one question had been answered. The trails were from
pods descending high in the atmosphere, and seeing them they knew
that the battle was over. The Mentan had captured the transport.
But at least they also knew that they were alive. They might not
have escaped, but they had survived. That was something. The orange
trails of fire slowly became larger, and they knew the others were
getting closer. David did a quick count and saw twenty four fire
trails. Another forty eight more members to add to their tiny
community.

“Only twenty
four. There should be another five,” Cyrea whispered. She was
right. They were two man pods, like the ones on their own ship, and
they had had fifty eight people on board if they were fully loaded.
All the transports were identical in that. Did that mean there were
ten casualties? Or had the transport been light on passengers?
Their own ship had been six light after all. David squeezed her
hand but said nothing. There was nothing he could say and soon
enough they’d know anyway.

As a group they
gathered near the depot and waited, watching the orange fire trails
slowly fading as the pods slowed down, letting them cool. Soon the
fiery trails had given way to silver spheres growing in size as
they approached. As Cyrea explained, the antigravity systems had
started slowing them, reducing the heat from friction, and
cushioning their occupants against the buffeting. But that same
slowing down, made it take longer and longer for the pods to
arrive. From a free falling meteorite to perhaps the same speed as
a gently falling leaf, it was another quarter hour before the first
of the pods touched down. A very long quarter hour.

But one by one
they did, dotting the valley with more silvery pods, and when they
landed the various members of their community went to greet each
pod, and help the occupants out. David and Cyrea however
didn’t.

Cyrea was
becoming more tired as her pregnancy advanced, and David still
didn’t know enough about the operation of the pods to help. Instead
they just sat and waited at the meeting place they'd established
just out of sight of the depot as the locals greeted the newest
residents of the planet and brought them back to them.

At first it was
a somewhat depressing affair, as one after another of the newcomers
arrived, said hello and took a seat nearby. David and Cyrea wanted
to ask the important questions, but somehow couldn’t find the
courage, while the newcomers apparently didn’t want to share
either. But then some familiar faces came walking up the hill, and
both he and Cyrea were jolted back into life.

First of the
couples to arrive were Ayer and Becky, and they both noted how her
belly was just beginning to bulge nicely. As a couple they greeted
them, and David noticed traces of a few tears forming in Cyreas’
eyes. Finally, she wasn’t alone, and she quickly hustled Rebecca
off for a woman’s talk, leaving him and Ayer looking on and feeling
left out. But at least they’d get to compare notes about life as
expectant fathers.

David was
surprised by how well Ayer seemed to be adapting to his new life.
The kid was becoming a man and it looked good on him, even if
things weren't easy. But when were they ever?

Despite her
bulge Becky was only three months along, and in Ayer’s own words,
the next six might well finish him off. But David knew he was only
being dramatic. The arguing had for the most part disappeared, for
which Ayer was grateful, but the fear had begun. That was something
he could relate to. The youngsters had spent their days and nights
worrying, not just about the baby’s health, but about their life
afterwards. How would they live, where, and above all how would
they cope with a baby? Becky was stressed out, terrified she wasn’t
up to the job of being a mother, while Ayer was scared witless she
might try to kill herself again. But the one thing David was
pleased to see was that he was coping with it.

When Ayer had
found out about the first time, it had been a nightmare for the
young man. He had never even considered the concept, and then
suddenly he had to deal with the reality that Becky had actually
tried to do something he couldn’t even imagine. David was certain
his greatest fear was that if she could try it once, she could try
it again. The upshot of it all was that they were both in
counselling. They had been since the very beginning, and as time
went by, it just carried on. But at least in Ayer’s case it seemed
to be working. He might be scared, he might have many worries, but
he was learning to deal with them. More importantly he was learning
to deal with hers.

From what he
told him Ayer seemed to be taking a more assertive role in the
relationship, hence the reason he seemed more secure, more adult.
Such a thing might be relatively alien to Leinians as if anything
the women seemed to rule the roost, but in Becky’s case it was a
good thing. A very good thing. She didn’t need someone to share her
fears. She needed someone to tell her they were groundless. And it
spoke strongly about the strength of their relationship, of her
trust in him, that she had already allowed herself to get pregnant,
though he had to remember they were both little more than
teenagers. When the mood came upon them they probably didn’t think
about such things as they couldn’t help themselves. There was a
good chance he figured that the pregnancy was actually
accidental.