Starship Summer (6 page)

She looked up at me. “What I wish is that I could help them, David. I’ve come into physical contact with them, accidentally, and experienced a little of their pain, and more than anything I want to help them.”

Lamely, I said, “I can tell that they think very highly of you, Maddie. Your friendship helps them.”

She smiled. “Thank you, David. You’re a good person, you know that? I’m glad you decided to move to Magenta Bay.”

I smiled. “I’m glad, too.” I gestured to our empty beers. “Another one?”

“That’d be great.”

I fetched two more bottles and changed the subject. “Dinner Friday evening, is there anything you can’t eat? And do you know what Matt and Hawk like?”

“They’ll eat anything. I like spicy food, myself.”

“Great. I was thinking I’d cook Thai. What about friends of Hawk and Matt—I remember Hawk saying that Matt wasn’t with anyone at the moment. What about Hawk himself?”

“He has someone. She lives with him at the scrapyard.” Her tone struck me as odd, censorious. I knew that Maddie had felt a lot for Hawk at one time, and I took this as jealousy.

I said awkwardly, “Perhaps I should invite her?”

“It would be a mistake, David. She…well, it wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t know how to take part.”

“She’s young?” I asked, thinking that could be the only explanation.

Maddie looked up at me and nodded. “She’s young,” she said, and left it at that.

SIX

The following morning I drove under the arch bearing the legend Hawksworth and Co, braked and climbed out, staring about me with a renewal of the wonder I had first experienced on seeing this place a week ago. The sight of so many derelict ships, and dismembered sections of them, silhouetted against the bright blue sky and the mountains, gave me a jolt of joy and sadness. I wonder if every example of a supplanted technology is regarded with the same nostalgia, as the mnemonic of an earlier time when everything was better, much simpler—if only because we recall the innocent children we were back then.

I remembered the reason for my visit and called Hawk’s name. My voice echoed around the stark metal canyons but was not answered.

I tried to find the ship that Hawk used as his office-cum-home, but I was confused by so many vessels that looked alike. Then I saw movement on the observation deck of an old scoutship across the yard—the quick appearance of someone in the hatch—and I recognised the ship from my first visit.

The figure ducked back inside as I approached, and I recalled what Maddie had told me about the girl who lived with Hawk.

I climbed the steps to the platform and said, “Hello? Is Hawk around?”

Silence from within the ship. “Hello? Is anyone—?”

A figure emerged, and I received the first shock of the day.

For an instant, a fleeting second, she reminded me of my daughter.

She was small and slight and fair and ineffably beautiful, but she wasn’t human.

The Ashentay were humanoid, and might conceivably have passed for human—but a faerie strain of humanity, slim-limbed, fey, with small, broad faces that, while almost human, were also undeniably other.

The more I looked at her, the less she resembled Carrie, for which I was grateful.

Timorous, she peered out at me from around the frame of the hatch, one small hand to her mouth, the other fingering the perished rubber seal of the doorway. She was dressed in a simple brown smock and was barefoot.

“Hello?” The sound was barely audible, a faint breath.

I smiled, reassuringly. “Hi. I’m a friend of Hawk’s. Is he around?”

“A friend of Hawk’s. Is he around?” She seemed to contemplate the meaning of my words as she repeated them.

She stared at me with large blue eyes and said, “He is around, yes.”

“Right. Good. In that case can I see him?”

“See him?” she repeated. She thought about this, then said, “No, you cannot see him.”

I smiled. I realised, then, that this was my very first encounter with an alien being. Sometimes, on Earth, my dealings with different races had been difficult, fraught with misunderstandings due to language and cultural differences. How much harder might it be to successfully communicate with true aliens?

I tried again. “Will you tell Hawk that David is here? I’d like to talk to him.”

“David is here… Like to talk to him.” She stared at me, and I found her inscrutable gaze disconcerting. She went on, “No, I cannot tell Hawk. You will have to wait.”

I nodded. “But he’s here?” I persisted.

She gave a slight nod, as if the gesture had been learned and she was still unsure how to use it. “He is here.”

I smiled, trying not to laugh. “Then… look, will you take me to him?”

“Take you to him…”

Quickly, with a swiftness and grace that surprised me, she hurried from the hatch, slipped past me and danced down the steps. “Please come with me,” she said, turning at the foot of the steps and pointing to her chest.

I hurried after her. We crossed the scrapyard. She took long, barefoot strides, a strange gait that was almost a run—yet another alien aspect of this strange extraterrestrial child.

We came to a range of sectioned engine cowls, and before them stood a blue pod perhaps three metres square. Set flush into its facing flank was a sealed hatch. The alien squatted in the dust and pointed at the pod. “Hawk, he is in here.”

I looked from the girl to the pod, then stepped forward and knocked on the hatch. “Hawk? You in there?”

“Hawk, he cannot hear you,” said the girl. He can’t?”

She blinked up at me from where she was squatting.

Why can’t he hear me?”

She stood quickly and skipped around the pod. A second later her blonde head reappeared and she said, “You follow me.”

I stepped around the side of the pod and found the girl standing on tip-toe, peering through a small observation panel in the flank, her face pressed comically to the glass.

She turned to look at me. “Hawk, there he is.”

Unsure what to expect, I joined her and ducked to look through the panel. The interior of the pod was dim, but I could see Hawk stretched out on a flight couch, leads snaking from his upper-arm and neck. He wore a flight visor and was twisting this way and that on the couch, as if in the throes of a bad dream.

Hawk was in a flight simulator, reliving his past…

I didn’t know whether to be gladdened that he had recourse to this recreation, or saddened by his need.

The girl was beside me, peering in and smiling.

I said, “How often does Hawk use this?”

“How often?” She thought about it and nodded. “Every day he comes here.”

“Do you know how long he might be in there?”

She looked up, at the sun, and said, “Nearly over. Out soon.”

I nodded and moved from the window, the girl following me. I sat on the projecting fin of an old tug. The girl leaned against the flank, watching me silently.

I found her alien gaze discomforting. “How long have you known Hawk?” I asked to break the silence.

“Known Hawk?” She considered this. “Two years.”

“You’ve lived with him that long?” I think I sounded surprised, the prude in me shocked.

She repeated my question and nodded.

“How did you meet?”

“Meet?” She smiled suddenly, as if at the recollection, then said, “Hawk, he found me.”

“Found you?” I couldn’t help laughing.

She nodded. “My hive mother, she leave me in jungle for koah tree. Three days later Hawk, he finds me, brings me here, feeds me.”

I tried to make sense of her first sentence. “And your mother, she doesn’t come back for you?”

“Come back for me? Of course not. She left me for koah tree.” I nodded, feigning comprehension. “And you like it here, living with Hawk?”

“Hawk, he is a kind, good man.”

“He looks after you well?”

She stared at me, then said, “No. I look after him. I make his life worth living. He tells me this.”

“You don’t miss your people?”

“Miss my people?” she repeated, then shook her head. “My hive mother,” she explained with what might have been infinite patience, “she give me to koah tree.”

“Right,” I said. “I see.”

She looked at me, and then asked her first question. “You are David Conway, yes? Hawk’s new friend?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Hawk says you are a good man.”

I smiled. “I’m pleased he thinks so. I think Hawk’s a good man, too.”

As if on cue, to put an end to the vicarious compliment session, the hatch cracked with a pressurised sigh and Hawk ducked from the simulator and straightened in the sunlight, stretching as if to ease aches from his tall frame.

Then he saw me and smiled—a little uncomfortably, I thought. The girl pushed herself from the flank of the tug and danced across to Hawk, standing on tip-toe and whispering something in his ear. He smiled, then limped across to where I sat, the girl beside him.

“She wants me to tell you her name,” he said. “You see, it’s impolite for the Ashentay to tell a stranger their name, until the stranger asks. Only then can they become friends.” He shrugged and smiled. “When in Rome… David, this is Kee. Kee, David Conway.”

She smiled and inclined her head.

Hawk pulled her to him, kissed her forehead and said, “We’d love a couple of beers.”

She hurried off and Hawk hitched himself onto the fin beside me. I watched her go. “Strange child,” I said.

“She’s alien,” he said. “What do you expect? And don’t be deceived by appearances. Kee’s no child.”

I glanced at him. “No? I had her down as around twelve.”

“She’s thirty Earth years old,” Hawk said. “A mature Ashentay adult. What do you think I am, Conway?” he laughed.

“Kee said you found her. Something about her hive mother giving her away to a koah tree?”

“Many humans would call the Ashentay primitive.” He shook his head. “I’d rather say they’re just very different. Alien. They live in hive tribes, with a single mother spawning as many as twenty children in a litter. They have a ritual—the twentieth child of every birthing, when they reach maturity, is left with the koah tree. A kind of gift to the gods of the jungle.”

“But they die?”

“Well, that depends what you believe. The Ashentay believe the spirit of the twentieth child is special, and blessed. It’s an honour to be left with the koah tree. Their spirit is absorbed into the tree, and they enjoy extended life.”

“So your finding her and bringing her back here…?”

Hawk smiled. “The koah tree was dying. I effectively saved her life.”

“She wouldn’t have left the dying tree, sought her people?”

“Her destiny was with the tree. I had to show her that it was dying. Only then would she come with me—she couldn’t return to her people, according to ritual. Her destiny is with me, now.”

“Some responsibility, Hawk,” I said.

He shrugged. “I love her, Conway.”

Kee came back a minute later, carrying three beers. She passed two to Hawk, then climbed onto the fin and stretched herself out behind us, the bottle resting on her chest. She closed her eyes and basked in the sun.

Hawk passed me a beer. “Social visit?”

“The ship you sold me,” I said. “It’s haunted.”

He gave me a look. “Haunted?”

I told him about the apparitions. “I went through the ship yesterday, looking for what might be causing it. I found nothing, no projectors, nothing like that.”

“It’s an alien ship. They might have had different systems we don’t recognise.”

“That’s another thing,” I said. “As far as I could tell, the ship didn’t belong to any of the known space-faring races.”

“That’s impossible.”

I shrugged. “So maybe I’m wrong. But the projection didn’t resemble any of the known races, and the dimensions of the ship don’t correspond with the sizes of the space-faring aliens, as far as I could tell.”

Hawk thought about this. “Let’s go over to the office. I have a com system there, records that might tell us something.”

We slipped from the fin and left Kee sleeping in the sun, the beer still standing on her chest. As I glanced back at her, I was reminded, fleetingly and with a sudden pang, of my daughter sun-bathing on the beach at Vancouver.

It was cool in the dim interior of the scoutship where Hawk had his office. The room was big, but he had managed to stuff it full of com-terminals and unidentifiable chunks of machinery, and the walls were hung with plasma graphics of starscapes and alien vistas.

We sat in comfortable swivel chairs before a big screen and Hawk tapped a series of commands into the touchpad.

“These are the specs of all the types of alien ships in existence,” he said, “belonging to the Qlax, the Mathan and the Zexu.”

The screen filled with glowing columns. “I did wonder if it might have been a Zexu exploration vessel,” he said.

I handed Hawk a sheet of paper scribbled with measurements I’d made yesterday. “It’s not Zexu,” I said. “They’re way too tall for the ship.”

“And the Mathan and Qlax are too small,” he said.

“So… maybe it belonged to a race so far undiscovered?”

He stared at me. “And I gave it away for five grand!” he laughed, shutting down the screen.

“Hey, I wouldn’t claim all the glory. We’ll split everything fiftyfifty.”

Hawk finished his beer and said, “Look, the best thing would be for me to come over to the ship and go through it inch by inch. If it’s projecting alien images, then there’s some mechanism doing that, maybe some data system we can access.”

“Come over tomorrow afternoon, before dinner with Matt and Maddie.”

“How about another beer?” He fetched two ice-cold bottles from a cooler and we moved out onto the observation deck and sat on the command couches.

I stared across the yard, towards the blue flight simulation pod. Nearby, Kee was still flat out on the fin, soaking up the light of Delta Pavonis.

“Kee said you used the pod every day.”

Hawk smiled. “We all have our vices, David.”

“I thought your jacks were sealed?”

He looked uncomfortable. “My spinal ports are well and truly,” he said. “But the left bicep and occipitals are fine. I use these and go spinning round the Expansion.” He smiled like a schoolboy. “Got to get my kicks someplace.”