An ancient war machine, in its attempts to restore itself to function, inadvertently discovers a new, war-torn civilization. The question is, will it reveal itself?
Interstellar civilizations are difficult to kill off.
But long ago, so long only one thing in the universe remembers, at least two of them were. That one thing, an ancient machine built by one of the two for the purpose of exterminating the other, has slept for time immemorial. Entire civilizations lived and died during its slumber- but now, it's awake, and it wishes to restore itself to function.
Only one problem: In order to do so, it may be forced to work with the latest interstellar civilization- one torn asunder by war. But will it restore itself in secret, or reveal itself openly? Will it fulfill its purpose yet again, or will it leave them to their own fight?
A crossover with multiple sources, this tale is a re-imagining of a story I never published.
Cancelled after a very long hiatus because of poor writing quality compounded with a flimsy plot. Maybe I'll try something similar at some point.
None of my transmitters are. Well, one is, but I don’t have near enough power to run it, and likely never will.
Only some of my control circuits are responding, aside from that transmitter. Nothing external.
None of my track systems are working.
None of my countergrav is working.
None of my weapons are working.
Well… save a single mortar. At least I’ve still got viable ammunition for it; all of my magazines have been so well sealed for so long that all of my ammunition, even hydrogen for my long-ruined energy weapons and fusion plants, remains in prime condition.
Too bad that, for that single, functional weapon, the magazine feed is jammed. I’ve got the single, ten-ton warhead currently in the firing chamber before I’m out of accessible ammunition.
And that’s assuming the hatch in my armor still functions: The hatch that must open before I fire that weapon, lest I set off all my munitions within my hull and blow myself apart.
Damage Control is offline. The processors are ruined by time, but the databanks- like my own- remain intact… and I am capable of directing Damage Control operations on my own, without the dedicated processors to manage them.
But that’s not the big issue.
I lack the hardware necessary to operate repairs.
One of my sensors can see the night sky, if I spend some of my scanty stored solar energy at night. I’ve been able to confirm the passage of over a billion years since my manufacture… and stranding on this planet, back when it was a glowing ball of hot rock.
I don’t know what happened to get me into the state I’m in now… but if there’s one thing that’s for certain, it is that my makers have long since died out.
And that I am powerless to change my situation.
Thus, I am awake.
I am also very large, and as helpless as the smallest newborn.
I am awake.
It matters not for how long. Nor why.
Some of my sensors are working. Only one is on.
One of my transmitters is working.
How long I have waited for this moment, it does not matter.
The moment has come that I reach for the stars. Search for anything that may have survived- or even anything new that I can communicate with. Too bad this particular transmitter is completely untraceable, so I will have no idea where any communicants are unless they volunteer this information.
I get a response. Only one, but it’s enough.
Somewhere out there, a machine is responding. It is unfamiliar to me, and is not equipped with anything nearly as ubiquitous as the nanotechnology I use for repair operations.
It appears to be a device designed for infiltration. It rides on tracks, like myself; its top speed leaves something to be desired, at only a single meter per second, but at least it really isn’t slowed very much by rough terrain.
At least, that’s what it reports. I don’t move it; it’s already in a good position, hidden under the canopy of the trees. Its dedicated solar panels- no solar armor like mine- are of limited use down here, but it does not require that much in terms of power. That which it has recorded receiving over the last many years is more than enough for continuous, full-powered operation. It appears to have been designed to function, on solar power alone, on worlds with dense cloud cover… and far from their stars.
Its technology seems crude to me, compared to my own. Just like its purpose.
It harvests the resources it requires by breaking down and disintegrating plant and animal life it encounters. All of its reserves are full, though, so I need not worry about that right now.
It has an onboard manufacturing plant, to manufacture a small, lightweight but long-range subspace comset, not unlike the one I’m using to reach it. The set it makes isn’t just a transceiver array, though.
It installs these comsets inside the head of a newly-manufactured biological body, ideally one that matches the locals, allowing this body, controlled from elsewhere, to masquerade as a local… and infiltrate.
Unfortunately, as much as I would like to, I cannot do that. Not only does it have no idea what the locals look like, up to and including no audio or video records of any kind, but much of its database is corrupted. It only has the blueprint for a single race remaining… which is considered ‘unacceptable’ for its current surroundings, thanks to the fact that the blueprint was made for a world with a 0.73G gravity field… and it’s on a world with a 1.35G gravity field.
No biggie. I may have no genetic data stored in my own databanks, but I have powerful design cores- all still working, thank goodness- and enough simulators to sink a battleship.
That is, if they had any mass. They’re just programs, buried deep within either my design cores or my own personality programming.
It takes me 37.192 seconds to modify the blueprint to function acceptably on planets with up to a 6.31G gravity field… and an atmosphere of anywhere from 0.172 atmospheres of 1% oxygen, to approximately 37.21 atmospheres of pure oxygen.
The device does have atmospheric sensors; I know it is on a fairly earthlike planet. 1.35G, currently about minus three point seven degrees Celsius; I estimate midday in late winter or early spring, judging by recently recorded solar patterns. Atmosphere is 15.47% oxygen, at this location, at a measured 1.37 atmospheres of pressure.*
My modification to this blueprint will also be very hardy. Enhanced metabolism, able to metabolize almost anything organic; long-duration thermal tolerance from minus fifty Celsius to positive seventy, short duration anywhere from minus eighty to positive ninety-five, beyond which damage- burns, frostbite, the works- would start becoming an issue.
Yes, I am overbuilding my modified blueprint. Who knows? I may be forced to sleep in the open for a long time before I am able to make shelter… and, more importantly, figure out where in the galaxy the machine is compared to myself… and bring a living, breathing body back to my location with technology sufficient to restore my own repair facilities. Besides, this blueprint has wings- and an interesting adaptation that I neither understand nor mess with. The extra strength may permit escape from an enemy in the immediate future and, if my hull is on a heavier planet, continued operation after arrival. I have no record of the mass nor size of the planet I am on, nor any sensor capable of telling me; nevermind that it could have changed.
I am no longer helpless, but I may be unable to accomplish my goal; even at the peak of day, my subspace transmitter is burning more power than the tiny scrap of exposed armor is producing through solar radiation. I upload my modified blueprint to it, and order it to start working.
I pull a time-to-completion value and am about to shut down my transmitter to await completion when I receive a second response to my ongoing calls.
This one is… little more than an ancient trash collector robot, sitting idly in a grey wasteland. No gravitational, atmospheric, or whatever sensors.
It’s equipped with visuals- and it’s nighttime right now, so I have a clear shot of the starry sky, discounting the dust storm off to one side.
I spend a moment processing this image- and find that it’s the same starry sky as I see with my single exposed optical.
I have enough power stored to maintain operation like this for about six months, assuming current solar patterns remain.
I order the robot to perform a visual scan of the area around it; it is alone.
This robot is incapable of any construction tasks I might wish of it, no matter how I look at it.
But it is equipped with a shovel-compactor, of sorts.
It will clear off my hull. Six months will slowly become indefinite.
Several months have passed. I care not how many, but it’s fairly important.
My power situation has stabilized. My trash collector robot was eventually able to locate my hull and commence cleaning operations. Unfortunately, its little compactor-scoop is very small, and it is limited in ability, so I’ve had to play it safe. It took months of digging before it could even reach my hull to begin clearing; as of about an hour ago, though, I have cleared enough of my hull that I have net zero power gain or loss per day, thanks to solar and the transceiver array. I get down so low I’d have only an hour or so on stored alone each night, though- and my robot isn’t done. Before long, I expect to be on a positive power budget.
I have contemplated having my robot stand back and using my single available mortar to clear ground. While this would undoubtedly be effective, the resultant crater would have significant debris on the bottom, covering my hull- and my robot would be forced to spend months digging around the outside before it could reach the bottom. In the end, it is faster and more efficient to just work it directly.
But the main attraction is that my infiltration factory has finished building my biological body, I know not where- and has deposited the initial charge in the onboard systems.
I connect to my new body even before it is discharged from one of the machine’s two bioreactors. The ejection process goes smoothly, before I rise to my new hooves, having used simulation to work the details of moving around.
I spread my sky blue wings, looking back at them. I did not use simulation to figure how to fly; these wings are too small to hold me up in anything more than a 0.16G gravity field. If the part I did not understand allows me to fly with them anyways, I will not be able to figure out how via simulation. I give them a couple test flaps before I open the hatch to head outside. Unfortunately, I am not able to estimate how much lift I am getting from them; my biological senses are too vague for such detail. However, I am able to compute an 83.74% chance that I am getting significant lift out of them, even with the gentle flaps I used.
But the door to outside is opening. I take a deep breath, trot my way out, and take a look around.
It’s daytime out, but I already knew that. Other than that, I appear to be standing in the middle of the forest.
While the hatch closes behind me, to protect the delicate inner workings of the machine, should I need it again, I scan the trees. It seems… unusual, to me. It’s almost like half the forest is one tree, linked together in the upper branches rather than down low. The other half looks like normal trees. Massive, towering trees, but still normal trees.
I don’t see, smell, or hear anything dangerous, though, so I begin my first order of business: Get far enough away from the machine that, in the event I am discovered by some unfriendly force, it is not. Or vice versa, but I would prefer to lose my body over the machine. The body is more easily replaceable.
Not that I really want to lose either one.
I have been discovered by what I assume is an unfriendly force. This six-legged creature’s growl definitely sounds like a threat. I brace myself to use my entire, overengineered strength. Chances are, I’m going to need it if I’m going to get away from this muscular beast- or defeat it.
Fortunately, it would seem these things hunt alone- and unless I miss my guess, it won’t be able to climb a tree. I should be able to hit them fast enough to effectively run up the trunk and get into the branches. Worst case scenario, I will be more navigable in the trees than it and should be able to easily get away from it in the upper branches. If it tries to follow, its mass- giving it an effective weight not that much different from a Terran elephant- will break the branches right off.
It crouches at me, getting ready to pounce.
I crouch as well, vibrating my muscles to prepare them for the upcoming abuse.
It pounces.
I’m not there. I’m three meters away, slamming into a tree at full tilt, and running up it. I kick off from the trunk, shooting for one of the connecting branches that passes over the thing’s head. I’ll make it without issue.
As a matter of fact, as I consider my path against the trunk, it’s almost as if I experienced gravity going against the tree. Not much, but I can confirm momentum was not the only thing holding me against it for the run.
I hit the cross branch at a dead run, expecting to use only momentum once again. I gallop briefly along the bottom of the branch- interesting, same strange effect- before kicking off from it, directly down on the back of the creature’s neck.
It still hasn’t landed from its pounce when I land on its back, driving the point of a hoof right into the small of its back, where I hope it follows regular terrestrial skeletal patterns. I have medical data left over; unfortunately, all data on genome is lost, so I could not create a human form.
I’m right. My hoof comes into direct contact with the base of its neck, breaking what could only be a spine cleanly in two. Blood spurts as well- but exactly as planned, I kick off of it too, back into the trees. My existing horizontal velocity is more valuable than the vertical I was able to attain from its violently collapsed body; several of its ribs must have shattered under my blow, but that was expected. I slam into the other trunk that connecting branch goes to, and shoot up it again, right up into the branches. This time, I go at a slight angle, striking off a higher connecting branch in order to land, and bring myself to a halt, on the upper surface of the lower one, before looking down at the beast once again.
Yes, it’s dead. Very dead; it seems my blow was actually enough to decapitate it.
I take a few deep breaths, restoring the cellular oxygen levels I had before. While my form does have improved respiratory and circulatory systems, neither of the above are capable of sustaining maximum physical exertion. Maximum sustained exertion is about 93.72% of the peak I just performed at.
I let out a sigh, and look down at the cross-branch I’m on.
… No, that’s experimentation for later. For now, I need to get far enough from my gestation pod that a more technologically-oriented hostile force won’t find it if they find me.
I resume my trek, this time hopping between connecting branches. I must wait for night before I will be able to spot the stars and locate myself in the cosmos.
Oh, and back by my war hull, my trash bot has busted a bearing on one of its tracks. It’s still usable, but I fear I will lose it before I am able to clear much more of my hull.
My next obstacle is a mountainside. However, I am far enough from my gestation pod; I stop here, and begin setting up camp. Tree branches, vines, rocks. Anything I can use to make tools.
… It does appear I can walk casually on the sides of tree trunks, or on the undersides of branches, without issue. In addition, despite being completely flat on the bottom, my hoof works as a universal grabber of limited strength. Stronger than any Terran might have managed with their fingers, though- so no problem for me. I will develop the technologies required to get myself to my hull- or, more specifically, I will develop nanotechnology and use that to simply build the ships I need.
This will take… time. I know not how much, as I have not seen the weather patterns this planet boasts, nor what resources that may or may not be available. I do not yet even know how well the wood I am gathering will burn!
Night is falling on my biological segment. My trash bot’s track has seized up; I have driven it away from my hull prior to this failure, though, so my hull is not obstructed. With the power demand of my processors and subspace com, I’m experiencing a daily average power gain of roughly 3 watts… Oh well, at least it’s still positive.
But night is falling now. I’ve spent much of the day making charcoal and tools. I’ve spent some time cutting into the soft rock with my stone tools; while difficult, I was able to confirm that I am on top of an iron deposit.
I have not yet begun extracting iron, though, and instead have manufactured a lesser explosive to assist in excavation. Again, I have not used it yet; I just finished manufacturing it, and night is falling. A cold breeze is already blowing against my fur coat as I trot up the side of one of the taller trees, to a lookout I identified earlier to give me a decent view of the stars.
During the months it took to grow my body, I analyzed the images produced by my trash bot and my own sensors extensively, and have been able to identify my position in the cosmos- and approximately how many years have passed. I have predicted the locations of innumerable stars, including those that have undoubtedly long gone dark. I have predicted the starscape in every direction, from every known planet.
I gaze out upon the stars. They are not familiar, nor is the starscape familiar. Fortunately, my eyes are much like raptor eyes- and I upgraded them too, so I can see much further than I really should be able to. I spot distant galaxies, gazing across the stars.
I process this new data, compare it with my star charts. Analyze it, again and again, in as many different ways as I can figure.
Processing finally completes, and I find a few matching stars. Over 99.83% of the stars I knew when I was last active seem to have died; I have finally identified the survivors, cross-referenced, and identified a spread of new stars to compare. Given this, I’ve deduced my approximate location.
I am located approximately 2,317.83 lightyears away from my war hull… in what appears to be a binary star system, just barely visible from my hull. I have not been able to spot the system my hull is in from my position in this tree.
On the other hoof, I have spotted the fast-moving, bright shine of artificial satellites. Civilian satellites- either that, or pre-stealth military satellites.
I watch them whirl past. I took a quick glance at the local star earlier, while high in the sky; after estimations for atmospheric impedance, I was able to calculate the local solar intensity to within 0.013% accuracy. Thus, I can estimate the size of any given orbital installation by its apparent brightness- and hopefully decide about what technology level their creators are at.
Perhaps the most interesting part is that some of the brighter ones are changing course as I watch, indicative of powered spacecraft; the smallest of these seems large for pre-interplanetary craft. I continue to watch.
As I watch, a huge, sprawling cluster of light sources comes into view, sliding across the night sky in a steady orbit. I count over eighty craft- mostly about the size of small interlunar craft- moving under power; a few look like short-range interplanetary craft. The few other moving objects look to be in the size range of interstellar vessels. One of them is so large it could well be a chem-fueled interstellar vessel!
At the heart of the cluster is a single, large one, far larger than the largest observed ship-under-power. This one is either an intergalactic supercarrier, which would most certainly be equipped with a subspace com, or a space station.
Thus, I am definitely on a planet surrounded by an interstellar civilization. Not one as advanced as I, likely, or I would have received a response on the subspace com from one of their creations.
The likelihood that they possess the nanotechnology I need to perform my repairs is slim, but the chance that their technology will help expedite my operations, should friendly relations arise between myself and them, is well over 99.99%.
However, there is a small hiccup: My entire lingual database has been lost to time. Analysis suggests this may be a problem if I encounter one or two directly, but should be solved if I am able to observe a settlement for a minute or two before making contact. My language engine, complete with all of its parsers, remains.
A second potential problem is what form this starfaring race takes. My creators were bipedal Terrans, often calling themselves Humanity; I was created to fight against the Melconian Empire, which was composed of Melconians… We never did find out what they called themselves, or their homeworld. We only called them that.
My current form is a quadrupedal pegasus, equipped with a vocal apparatus very similar to that of Terrans. My coat and feathers are sky blue, my mane and tail are bright gold. My proportions are such that I worry my appearance falls under the heading of ‘cute’... which could vastly hinder any diplomatic activity.
Then, the creature I defeated earlier, while evidently non-sentient by demeanor, was hexapedal- and clearly a predator. Thus, this world is dangerous to the squishies I was built to protect. If these interstellar travellers are anywhere near as fragile as Terrans, they will likely see me… and wonder what kind of threat I pose. How I survived out in these woods, how I evolved into a brightly colored pegasus, on a world where everything I’ve seen has six legs, not four. And the birds have only two legs, and four wings.
I have four legs, and two wings. A combination I haven’t seen, making me unique in the entire planet’s biology.
But that is to be expected. I made my body with a modified template… that was originally captured on a world with a 0.73G gravity field, as different from this world’s almost-twice-as-strong field.
Thus… there are too many variables at play. I cannot come up with any meaningful estimate for how likely I am to be able to establish friendly relations.
I resolve to stay hidden for the time being, and descend back below the canopy before I go to sleep. Unfortunately, while I do not need rest, my body does; fortunately, going to sleep does not hinder sensory inputs. Fortunately, I’ll still get full tactile and auditory warning of anything on approach, even when sleeping- and with my overengineered senses, I can hear the flick of a wing from miles away. Unfortunately, though, the gestation pod left my body in a very sleep-deprived state.
I’ve eaten well, though, so that won’t be a problem as I rest. Additionally, I have all my supplies up in this tree with me- all my tools, charcoal, and explosive charges… and all of it will wait for me. I will rest as long as is necessary, though I calculate a 93.47% chance it will be interrupted by hunger.
Oh well; time is not of the essence. It is more valuable that I am fully rested, extending maximum active duration, than that I work on my technological project.
I rise not to sate my hunger, though that need is approaching, but to observe what approaches. I heard the faint click and pop of claws on bark, growing closer; thus, as I simultaneously rise into a crouching position and whirl to face it, I know exactly where it is.
In terms of shape, it looks to be a smaller version of the creature I killed earlier- though this creature is definitely an adult. Its coat is a blend of cream and grey, giving it excellent natural camouflage against these trees.
It looks… alarmed, but froze still as I turned, one claw-tipped paw- no, it looks more like a hand, complete with fully opposable thumb- inches away from the trunk. Fear seems to touch its expression as I lock my gaze onto its slit-pupiled green eyes.
No simple camouflage can hide from a Unit of the Line.
… is that a net of some kind, tied around its middle?
In one fluid, sudden motion, it turns away and flees, becoming a streak of cream and grey through the forest, until it disappears from view.
I relax my stance. The chance that that was a sentient creature is 83.49%; the chance that it is affiliated with the star-faring civilization in orbit, however, is 18.31%. The chance that the star-faring civilization is of the same race, assuming it is sentient, is down to about 23.97%; given how mobile it was, the chances that it was a member of a so-called “native indian” group unaware of technologies produced by its brethren is down at 0.37%. Chances of an anti-technology splinter group are similarly low, at 5.31%.
Thus, I’m most likely working with two or more entire non-interconnected civilizations, one far more advanced than the other. The less-advanced civilization has discovered me; however, given the speed that it left at, I calculate I can move approximately 23.47% faster. Especially since I need not worry about traction, thanks to what I assume is the parts of my biology I didn’t understand, allowing a flat-hooved equine to walk casually on the underside of a tree branch.
If this lesser one chooses to resist me, I will be able to escape a few lone hunters, or even small parties- but any kind of coordinated action with significant numbers and I will be forced to fight my way out. In any case, I may be forced to leave most of my stuff behind.
It may be valuable- 83.97% chance- for me to take some time to familiarize myself with my wings, and exactly what I can do with them, before that has a chance to occur.
I navigate to the nearest suitable food source and begin my breakfast. It’s well past sunrise; with the day/night timings around here, if I rise and fall with the sun, I will gradually catch up on my sleep without sacrificing too much time snoozing.
A full week has passed. I have not yet used my explosives, instead working on crafting additional materials. I have managed to construct myself a stone furnace in this tree, with sufficient shielding that I should be able to smelt iron in it without risking burning the tree down. I have also spent some time familiarizing myself with my wings; I have measured my maximum accelerative impetus. I should be able to escape most any situation.
The smaller, smarter hexapedal creature has not returned. I have detected it- or another of its kind, I’m not sure- regularly present in the trees nearby, presumably watching; I have not investigated. My intent is not to scare them away, but only to maintain the security of my operation. If they wish to approach me during my waking hours, and are interested in helping out, there is much than an extra pair of hands- or many, even- could do at this stage.
Today, I will begin blasting operations. I have searched the area; the only thing that should be even remotely affected by vibrations from the blasts is acres and acres of forest, with- confirmed- no settlements of the smaller, smarter hexapedal creatures.
During and immediately after my blasting operations, I heard- and spotted- multiple air-breathing vehicles flying overhead. I have not been able to catch a visual of the technologically advanced race themselves, though judging by the size of the hatches on these vehicles, they are substantially larger than the smaller, smarter hexapeds, and smaller than the monstrous one I took down so long ago. As a matter of fact, they must be roughly human-sized.
At least, that’s how big their doors are.
I have not exposed myself to them or their sensors. They may have seen me anyways, but may not know what they saw- or even that they were seeing anything.
The smaller, smarter hexaped seemed both startled and frightened by the blasts- and after that day, there are now at least a dozen of them constantly watching my camp, sometimes actually chittering with curiosity, and usually scattered about the branches in anywhere from a half circle to a full circle around my operation.
At this time, two full days have passed since those operations. I have smelted much of my iron, and fabricated basic iron tools. I am in the process of mining out more iron with my new pickaxe when I pick up a new sound with one of my massive ears.
After embedding the head of the pick in the rock once again, I this time leave it there, stepping out of the small cave to look, ears pointed. I pause, and wait for a few seconds, listening to these sounds; yes, that sounds like boots on leaves, not paws or anything else. I can also feel the distinctive hum of a vibratory weapon.
One quick motion of my wings is all it takes to put me in the trees, once I retrieve the tool. I land on one of the massive connecting branches, depositing my pick into it, then bolt sideways and upwards into the upper branches, hiding myself from view.
I glance sideways, at the smaller, smarter, and very startled hexaped staring at me from two feet to the side, then back down. They’ve shown a non-hostile inclination. Before long, it calms down again, and gazes curiously in the same direction I’m looking in.
With the sudden increase in subspace com traffic involved in putting my biological segment in a high-alert status, I notice something else: My subspace tranceiver, the one in my biological segment, is detecting a range of additional signals. They’re way down on the short-range section of the spectrum, rather than the indefinite-range channels I’m using- but they’re definitely there. And unlike indefinite-range signals, short-range signals can be traced.
… Unfortunately, they’re not coming from the boots. No- all these signals are coming from the smaller, smarter hexapeds around me, one signal- on each of two channels- each.
Hold one. I double check the channel addresses.
Turns out the subspace transceiver array installed in my biological segment is much more sensitive than the ones they install in Bolos; these two channels aren’t even proper communication channels. They’re so low on the spectrum that the biological mind automatically emits them- one of them, at least- carrying their emotions. As I recall, Concordiat engineers experimented with that kind of equipment and the potential to use that for communication, but in the end, it was simply too short-ranged… and ineffective, since no biological ever known could receive those same signals. It did become useful for locating survivors in the event of a building collapse, though that was really its only use.
The other channel, the ones Terrans never sent on, is only slightly higher than this, still in the never-used range. And, judging by the patterns I detect on both channels, these hexapeds around me can not only detect but read these signals, on both channels. They seem to be using the higher one for communication with each other.
Interesting. I set a secondary process on the task of decrypting their telepathic language, so I can understand and communicate with them, should the need arise. My transmitters should be capable of, on the higher, communication band, a signal roughly six orders of magnitude greater than any I am detecting- giving it a maximum communication range, on the same equipment, of almost two hundred miles. Maximum detection range should be roughly a hundred miles further, though parsing of the transmission content would range from difficult to impossible over such distances.
But that’s maximum range. It won’t be hard to match their signal strengths- I don’t exactly want to shout their metaphysical ears off.
I use this newfound knowledge to search for the emotion transmissions and, if any, communication signals coming from that which approaches my operating site.
I find nothing. Nothing useful, at least; the emotion transmissions are unfamiliar, as I have no experience with such, and there are no communication signals. I do, however, manage to decrypt the locals’ telepathic language; they’re all curious what it is that I’m looking for.
Suddenly, one of the ones closest to the approaching entity chimes in. “It’s the two-legs!” he calls out to the rest. “She must have heard them coming!”
Two-legs? I suppose they could be Terrans, then. If so, it would explain the boots.
“Really?” the one highest up asks, roughly eighty feet away. “If she did, from that far out, she almost certainly knew we were here all along. Are you sure she didn’t react to something we didn’t notice?”
What comes back is the telepathic approximation of a shrug.
The one next to me chuckles gently on the line. “Does that mean, Short Tail, that we’re allowed to reveal ourselves to her?”
That high-up one snorts audibly. “And you ask that, Looks Carefully, while you’re lying not even a single People’s length away from her?”
“What? She’s the one that came here! I didn’t reveal myself, she found me!”
“And you didn’t run?”
“What could would running do, but draw attention to myself?”
“You could have escaped!”
“No I couldn’t. Didn’t you see how fast she moved in midair just getting up here? She could have outpaced me easily!”
“You still could have tried! Or hidden again!”
“No need to fight about it,” I mutter onto the line.
The effect is instant. Every last one of them goes silent in what I can only assume is shock.
It’s Looks Carefully, the one lying next to me, that finally breaks the silence, though she still sounds really shocked. “You… you were listening?”
I shrug my wings, and answer casually. “Towards the end, yeah. Kinda hard to miss that much noise.”
She doesn’t respond, still staring at me.
“Um, Golden Builder,” one of the male-feeling ones across the clearing begins. Interesting how easy it is to tell the gender from the emotional band. “You’re… not going to eat us, are you?”
Looks Carefully chitters with laughter next to me. Judging by the emotional reactions of all the creatures around me, that name- ‘Golden Builder’- refers to me.
I turn my head to lock eyes with the asker, and bare my teeth at him, adding a little hiss for good measure. “Do I look like a carnivore to you?”
“Uh…”
Several of them start laughing, and Looks Carefully nearly falls out of the tree with her laughter.
I turn back to the approaching boots; they’re almost close enough for me to see by now. I’ve been able to identify the sound of their breathing; judging by the footfalls, it seems that first hexapedal creature was accurate, and these are two-legged creatures coming. Three of them, as a matter of fact.
They step into view. They appear to be Terrans. One of them is holding a vibratory bush knife, two of them a handgun of some kind. The first has a similar handgun to the other two, holstered on his hip. They’re definitely decently armed; the two with their sidearms drawn are holding their weapons down, but ready.
Looks Carefully tilts her head, after a burst of recognition comes from her emotions. “Why are the Forestry Rangers here?” she asks.
“Forestry rangers?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she answers. “It’s the two-leg organization responsible for protecting our forests- and us- from other two-legs.”
“That would be it, then,” I state. “They heard my blasting operations a couple days ago, and came to investigate- they probably think it was other Terrans.”
“Well, you seemed to know what you were doing, if Runs Quickly is to be believed.”
I nod. “Well yeah. The physics of an explosion are pretty easy- and when you know the strength and volatility of the charge, it’s pretty easy to be safe with it.”
“You almost sound like them,” she observes.
I nod. “Yeah, probably. I may have lost all my stuff, but I did come from a civilization that I suspect was more advanced than them.”
As I say that, another subspace com signal draws my attention: It’s another trash bot, way out by my war hull, on the short range, traceable bands. It’s tracing its way to the first trash bot, to take up its duty after its failure. Convenient. I take control of it, using the traceable signal from my own comms as well as from my first trash bot, to guide it directly to my hull and resume work on the pit. Dust accumulation has reduced my average solar capacity to almost exactly match usage- but that’s changing soon.
“Huh,” she finally states. “Maybe it’s a good thing Laughs Brightly and Golden Voice are visiting the Harrington home?”
Several of them look in her direction.
“What?” Short Tail asks. “When did that happen?”
“Earlier today,” she states simply. “Hears Far mentioned it in passing.” She glances at me. “That’s my brother, by the way.”
“Ahh,” I answer, nodding slightly. “I take it Laughs Brightly and Golden Voice are of your kind, then?”
“Yes, of the People.”
“And the Harrington home?”
“Two-legs. Which, actually, we can talk to, with sign language.”
“Sounds like a perfect opportunity,” one of the ones across the circle mutters.
Looks Carefully blinks. “Yeah, it does. Want to come meet them?” She starts rising as she asks.
“Sure, but in a minute,” I inform her. “I don’t want to startle these Rangers into making a mistake everyone’s going to regret.”