Part One

Prologue

One would think that the systems would have broken down after three thousand years, but they droned on, processing fuel, evacuating waste, gathering data. Vanguard pushed on through space toward Epsilon Psi, a dark dot in infinity, a speck of life in a lifeless void.

Most of the suspended animation units had shut down centuries earlier. LARNA, the Living Artificial Reasoning Nested Array, had sensed the deaths within the tubes. Tiny imperfections in each crewmember's makeup, given thousands of years to develop, had claimed them: some to cancers, genetic dysfunction, progressive heart disease. Too small to detect at the beginning of the mission, the illnesses ran their courses unchallenged. LARNA was programmed to waken the medical staff in case of emergency, but the progress of each disorder was so slow LARNA did not recognize them as meeting the criteria of "emergency". She noted each SA unit’s shutdown time, the category of the expired crewmember, and compared it to the minimal requirements for completion of the mission. She dutifully logged this information into her mission database for eventual analysis by the mission commander.

LARNA’s designers would have been horrified to know how dispassionately she watched the demise of so many crewmembers. Being themselves immensely concerned with the survival of the human race, it never occurred to them that an artificial intelligence such as LARNA could allow the deaths of so many without so much as a twinge of concern. They had concentrated with such discipline on ensuring LARNA would accomplish everything necessary to foster the human cargo in the belly of Vanguard through the unknown perils of deep space travel that they neglected to examine LARNA’s own sense of urgency for each crewperson individually. LARNA’s main directive was to allow nothing to prevent accomplishment of the mission. Nothing had been embedded in her ethical programming concerning individual importance to the mission.

There were 16 survivors of the 320 original crew when the explorer ship Vanguard began deceleration. LARNA set about the task of waking the remnant.

 

-- 1 --

Communications Engineer Kade Mellon rubbed his eyes, stretched and yawned. He felt like he had a mouthful of cotton and all his teeth wore sweaters. The tang of metal hung in his sinuses and clung to the back of his throat. A slight throbbing at the back of his head responded well to stretching his neck and working his jaw.

He pushed himself up away from the SA unit to hover, weightless and anchored by a line that still fed his vitals to LARNA, a few feet over the unit. He looked grimly at the dark SA units, lined up like tiers of sleeping soldiers against the walls of the chamber connected through a bewildering complex of tubes and cabling to a central column that ran from the deck to the ceiling nearly eighty feet overhead.

They had been told to expect casualties, but this---

The click and hiss of another unit opening caught his attention. He watched the lithe form of Hydroponics Technician Sala Shenez rise and stretch cat-like before catching his eye and nodding her recognition. Even after the long sleep, the sight of her made him catch his breath. The brief sleep garment barely covered her muscular physique, the slim lines and soft curves causing a stirring inside him. Damn, he wasn’t even three minutes awake, and already his libido was cranking up.

In quickening succession, the rest of the survivors were released from their slumber. Mellon recognized only two of the other 14. There was Logistics Technician Adrian Gannett, a man who should be only in his mid twenties, prematurely balding and near-sighted, and Security Officer James Arthur Fields, or "Jafa", a bucolic 30 year-old built like a concrete column but with the personality of a joker.

"Hey, Kade! You made it!" Jafa shouted, his voice ringing in the hush of the sleeping chamber. A few of the others shot him annoyed looks, then went about their business. Jafa went through a series of stretching exercises as he made his way toward Mellon.

"Unbelievable," Gannett said. "Look how many---" He shook his head at the darkened SA units. "Will we have enough left?"

Mellon took in the rest. "Depends on whether any of the admin groups survived. I think we have at least one from each branch here."

"LARNA," Gannett said to the air. "Are you still on line?"

"On line and ready," a neutral female voice spoke to them through the subcutaneous receivers in their skulls.

"What's our status?" Gannett asked.

"Life support and all other vital systems are nominal," LARNA reported.

"Summarize crew casualties," Mellon ordered.

"Less than one percent of crew complement is now viable," LARNA stated. "Mission objectives obtainable at minimal criterion."

"Is that why she woke us?" a man Mellon recognized as a mechanical engineer asked.

"Negative," LARNA answered. "Minimal crew required for first contact protocol."

The hush settled back over them as LARNA's words sank in. Then there was a general chaos.

"LARNA," Mellon shouted, hurrying toward the control deck, "relay all known data on alien contact."

He made his way out of the dormitory and into the passageways connected to the rest of the ship. The SA chamber was centrally located, the only truly weightless environment on Vanguard, so the farther he traveled the more he felt the press of Vanguard’s rotation. As LARNA briefed him, he at first traveled quickly, passing storage areas and life support equipment, then more slowly as the weight of his own body began to press down on him. Within minutes of reaching the section of Vanguard where gravity was one-tenth Earth normal, he was winded and had to stop to rest.

"Alien ship first scanned 36 hours ago. Ship was not on intercept course. LARNA evaluated current situation and determined best course of action was observation before contact. "

Shenez and Gannett fell in beside him, as they hopped into a transport. The little vehicle’s wheels squealed as he twisted the controls toward a hatch marked "5B." The door popped open seconds before they tore through it at nearly 40 miles an hour.

"Keep your head down," Gannett mumbled, grabbing the edge of his seat as Mellon swung hard around a tight turn in a heavily lit corridor filled with colonization material. "You never know. "

"Quiet," Mellon snapped.

"---less than ten hours ago," LARNA was saying. "New course projection indicates alien vessel will intercept within forty-eight hours. "

"Forty-eight hours?" Shenez griped. "Two days to prepare for the most momentous event in human history?"

"What were you planning to do? Greet them with a brass band?" Mellon quipped, pushing harder on the accelerator.

The transport screeched to a halt in front of the control deck access hatch. LARNA cycled it open as the three piled out of the vehicle.

They stared in disbelief at the control deck. Its instruments were wrecked, in total disarray. Whole modules were missing. Gaping holes in control banks told where equipment had been ripped out.

"What the---?"

Mellon nodded. "Really," he agreed. "LARNA, explain. "

There was silence from LARNA.

"LARNA?" Shenez called.

"LARNA, respond," Gannett shouted.

It came from between the consoles, thin at first, then wider. It was silver and green, with protrusions at irregular intervals along its length.

"What’s that?" Gannett yelled.

The thing flowed quickly, like a metallic river, around the base of one of the control panels and disappeared under another. They looked at each other in shock and bewilderment.

 "LARNA!" Mellon cried, alarmed.

 “On line and ready," LARNA’s calm voice came back.

 "What happened to you?" Shenez interjected. "Why didn’t you respond?"

 "LARNA was unable to respond due to momentary malfunction."

 "What the hell was that thing we just saw crawling around in here?" Gannett demanded.

 "Uncataloged lifeform."

 "We know that!" Gannet complained. "What’s it doing on board?"

 "Lifeform originated on Vanguard."

 Mellon stepped in. "It was born here?"

 "Affirmative."

 "That’s ridiculous," Gannett said. "Impossible. That was like no lifeform I’ve ever seen."

 "Have you scanned this lifeform, LARNA?" Shenez asked.

 "Affirmative."

 "Give specifics."

 "Lifeform is carbon based, average life span of eight years. Reproduction via ova. Structure is similar to mollusk Gastropoda Pulmonata."

 "A common slug?" Shenez muttered.

 "A slug? That damn thing was nearly twelve feet long!" Gannett said, pointing to where it had disappeared.

 "We have been shut up in here for 3000 years, Adrian," she reminded him.

 "What’s it been living on?" Mellon wondered.

 "Lifeform processes certain metallic compounds into digestible material," LARNA responded.

 "It eats metal?" Gannett blurted.

 "Not directly, I’m sure," Shenez assured him. "It probably produces an acid that ---"

 "That would explain the damaged equipment," Mellon broke in. "LARNA, have you rerouted helm and comm units?"

 "Affirmative. Helm and Communications available from Communications Laboratory."

 They sped through the cluttered corridors on the transport, in their haste scattering some of the boxes that had shifted over the years. Gannett clutched the side of the vehicle and cursed at each hard turn until Shenez glared him into silence. Finally they stopped at the comm lab door. The portal cycled open as they approached it.

Consisting mainly of eight working stations the comm lab was designed as a workshop for the maintenance of communications equipment. There were three flat workbenches between Stations 3 and 4, separating the room in half. The lab was nearly as bad as Main Control. If LARNA was routing helm through this shambles, it was a wonder the Vanguard stayed on course. Stations 5 and 6 were beyond repair. Several dull gray streaks wound from them and disappeared under the flat tops.

"They've been here, too," Shenez observed. She rubbed a dried trail of mucous with her boot. "Not recently, though. Wonder why?"

Gannett leaned over to take a closer look at one of the trails and bumped against a workbench. A container of some red dust fell off to splash against the deck.

There was a hum and a click followed by the sudden appearance of a squat, wheeled machine. The little gadget rolled quickly to the dust and began to vacuum the debris into a container on its back.

"Of course," Shenez said, smiling. "The lab has its own maintenance system for contamination control. Foreign substances, like the slug's eggs, wouldn't survive."

Gannett watched the robot as it went about its business. "How come these little fellows didn't take out the slugs in Control?"

"I didn't say they got rid of the slugs, just their eggs. Besides the lab's status as a clean environment is critical. The designers of Vanguard might not have seen the need to be so meticulous in Control," Shenez explained. She peered under the workbenches and then stood and shrugged at them. "There's nothing there now."

Gannett prodded at a loose piece of metal experimentally. The robot ignored him.

Mellon had settled into Communications Station 3 and initiated diagnostic checks. He watched the green lights as they popped up until, within a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction. "Well, we have communications. Shenez, check Station 2. LARNA's indicating that one as Helm. "

Shenez worked over the indicated board for a few moments. "All set and active," she pronounced.

"Let's take a look at our visitor," Mellon said. He tapped buttons on the console before him until the screen on Station 1 lit up.

A series of wire frame images flashed briefly across the screen, intertwined with numbers and symbols Mellon recognized as spatial coordinates, until it settled on a single image. The Vanguard, represented by a white square tagged with a continually updated coordinates flag, moved slowly across the center of the screen. In the upper left quadrant, a blue square tagged "Unknown" above it coordinates readout, advanced toward Vanguard on an intercept course.

"Can we get a visual on the alien?" Mellon asked.

"Standby."

In a few seconds, the tactical display was replaced by real-time image of a star field. Mellon guessed LARNA was using the astronomy lab cameras. He caught motion in the center of the screen.

“Magnify," he said.

The screen flickered. The moving star resolved itself into an object roughly cubical in shape. "Maximum magnification," LARNA stated.

They watched the two targets merge for a few moments. Mellon watched the blue square in growing fascination. It was really happening. After 3,000 years, they were going to re-enter the waking world, and on top of that, they were making first contact.

He looked at Shenez, noted the curves of her face. He began to have mixed feelings about the situation. Would they be friendly? The Vanguard’s crew was down to its minimum. After all this time, to fail at their original mission would make the sacrifice of those others meaningless. Did they have the right to risk that? For all they knew, they were the only survivors of the human race. So much would have happened back on Earth, so many generations, so many crises. They hadn’t even had time to go through LARNA’s logs, to readout her records on communications with base.

"Time to intercept?" he asked.

"Forty-six hours, eighteen minutes, thirty-five seconds."

"Method of propulsion?" Mellon asked.

"Unknown," LARNA responded. "Probable gravometric manipulation."

"Outside a solar system?" Gannett said, puzzled.

"Didn’t you get any physics training?" Shenez sneered.

"I’m a bean counter, not a physicist," Gannett snapped back at her.

"Once the ship has gained enough speed, it exits its home system," Mellon stepped in. "After that, only course changes affect its speed."

"So it could fly on forever with practically no fuel?"

"Right."

"Amazing." Gannett peered at the screen. "So, there’s really no way of telling where this ship originated."

"Right again," Shenez said. "It could be local, could be tourist."

"Not that we care," a voice came from behind them.

They turned to find Jafa and six large men in security uniforms craning their necks at the equipment.

"Hey, Jafa," Mellon smiled. "I see you found some colleagues."

Jafa stepped into the room and looked around. "What happened?" he asked. "We just came from Main Control. It’s trashed, too. So is Security and Medical."

"There’s a new life form aboard that digests metal," Shenez explained.

The security men tensed, their eyes darting. "Alien?" Jafa inquired.

Mellon shook his head. "It seems to be a mutant form of a terrestrial slug. Large, fast, mobile."

"How many?"

Mellon looked at Shenez and Gannett. "We don’t know."

Jafa turned to his men. "Sims, Johnson, you check the Engineering decks. Kranston, Clark: Logistics. Martin, Edwards: Rec and Crew decks. Reports on the quarter hour. Any evidence to be coordinated with me. Go!" The six men scattered in couples. Jafa turned back to Mellon. "Well, I have good news and I have bad news."

"What’s the bad news?"

"None of the Admin staff survived. Captain Helleran and Commander Mitchell appear to have been dead for over a thousand years. That means we’re into secondary command structure."

They gave that a moment to sink in. Mellon had personally known several of the administrative staff. When he had last seen them (had it really been three millennia ago?) they were enthusiastically discussing their plans for the future. Mellon closed his eyes and tried to remember what each of them looked like. It bothered him a little that their faces didn’t come to mind as quickly as he would have liked.

"The good news is," Jafa went on, "Communications Officer Mellon is next in line for command."

Mellon’s eyes popped open in shock. "What?" was all he could get out.

"Congratulations, ol’ buddy," Jafa grinned, thumping Mellon soundly on the back. "We’re all yours."

"But, I’ve got no training in command," Mellon protested.

"Nothing like a little On-The-Job," Jafa said. "Besides," he grinned again, "there’s only sixteen of us. How hard can that be?"

Mellon rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.

 

-- 2 --

The Vanguard was a deep-space colonization ship, built in orbit around Mars. Approximately twenty-two miles long, six miles wide and seven miles deep, it was intended to provide for a crew of 320 for ten years while terra-forming the target planet. It was designed to contain all the supplies and equipment needed for this purpose, first in a series of ships that would eventually number in the hundreds.

Kade Mellon stood in the forward observation turret, gazing at the stars that slowly slid by. Below him stretched the Vanguard like a cluttered metal landscape, the horizon barely discernable in the surrounding dark. Maintenance work lights flickered along its length, false stars that flared and died as the ‘bots went about their endless chores. Over his shoulder, the Vanguard’s dormant engines loomed like massive spires, blocking the starlight, forming black silouhettes.

"Are you all right?"

Shenez slipped up to stand beside him in the turret. He smiled wanly at her and turned back to the panorama.

"I guess I should feel lucky," she said.

Mellon looked at her quizzically.

"Only five women survived," she told him. "That means each of us get to pick two husbands."

Mellon nodded quietly. "That’ll leave a guy out, though, won’t it?"

She smiled wickedly. "Yeah, the ugly one."

He had to chuckle in spite of himself.

"Jafa’s men have counted over 300 of the new lifeform on board," she continued. "He calls them ‘speed slugs’." They both laughed at that. "Yeah, well, one of the men found out they don’t take well to cold, so we should be able to contain them using portable icing units and temperature regulation."

"Good."

"I’ve asked them to bring me some of the eggs for study. Hydroponics isn’t as bad off as some of the other parts of the ship, so I’ll use it as Medical Lab for now, until we can make repairs."

"Okay."

They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the stars.

"So much is happening at once," Mellon said at last. He looked at her. "What if…" He choked off the question and evaded her eyes.

"You’ll do just fine, Kade," she said softly, placing a warm hand on his arm. "We’ll all help. You’re not alone."

He nodded and gave her a quick smile. "Thanks."

She seemed about to say something more, then just tightened her grip on his arm momentarily, returning the smile. "Come on," she said. "There are a thousand things need doing."

 

-- 3 --

LARNA’s logs were extensive: 3000 years of telemetry, scans, and communications data. Mellon gave Jafa and his men the responsibility of damage assessment and control. Shenez and one assistant took over Medical, as she had the prerequisite degrees and training. Gannett and the remaining five survivors were given the unenviable job of inventory control. For the next twenty-four hours, this kept everyone busy. Mellon coordinated their efforts and fed the pertinent data into LARNA. There was a brief excitement when Jafa’s detail found a huge speed slug nest on one of the engineering decks, but that soon calmed. A routine of checks and reports began to develop. Mellon marveled at the adaptability of the human animal: taking enormous odds and reducing them to routine chores.

Nineteen hours from intercept, LARNA sounded an alarm. Mellon swung around from his data entry and slapped the response key.

"Vanguard is being scanned," LARNA reported.

"Nature of scan?"

"Passive spectral analysis via laser-similar device. Possible thermal and ultrasound probes."

"They’re looking for life signs," Mellon mumbled to himself.

"Probability high," LARNA agreed.

"When will we be able to scan them?"

"Standby --- Scans indicate no lifeforms aboard the alien vessel," LARNA said.

Mellon frowned. "No lifeforms?"

"Correct."

"A deep space probe, maybe? Like the old Pioneer or Voyager?"

"Probability high," LARNA judged.

"But, it changed course to intercept. Why would a deep space probe do that?"

"Insufficient data."

Mellon grimaced at LARNA’s console. He flipped on the ship intercom.

"Attention. All personnel report to Communications. We have some new information on our visitor."

 

 

-- 4 --

"Maybe it’s a weapon."

Mellon glared at Jafa’s lieutenant; the beefy redhead named Harold Johnson. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, maybe it’s programmed to find and destroy alien ships," Johnson said.

"Why would it scan for life signs?"

"Could be looking for a particular signature," the security man insisted.

"I don’t believe it’s a weapon," Shenez said. "LARNA would have scanned explosives or other destructive agents. Any evidence of that, LARNA?"

"None," the computer replied.

Mellon scanned the gathering. Twelve men and four women: all that remained of the Vanguard complement. Again the weight of his responsibility hit him. He shrugged off his anxiety with an effort. "I think it’s imperative we try to communicate with them," he told them and watched for reactions. They looked at each other for a few moments before several tried to speak at once.

"I’d like to examine the data further before…"

"Do they realize we’re here yet? Maybe…"

"What if they’re hostile? We might…"

"Maybe we could change course…"

Mellon held up a hand for silence. Jafa stepped up beside him and glared at the rest. Quiet settled over the group.

"We’re all nervous about this," Mellon admitted. "It’s normal fear of the unknown. But we can’t put this off." He tried to put as much confidence in his voice as he could. "They’re scanning us now. We have to assume they know Vanguard is manned. They’ve changed course in the past to intercept. They would probably do so again. Turning to run could be misunderstood. We need to be sure they comprehend who and what we are, just as we need to know about them. That requires communication."

There were still a few questions in some of their faces, but he sensed they were following him, albeit reluctantly. They knew he was supposed to be the new commander, but they also knew him as Kade, the glorified telephone operator, who used to route their calls back home before they left Earth’s system and went into their long sleep. This was the first time they’d had to recognize his authority, and for some it was more difficult than for others. Two security men, Johnson and the swarthy fellow named Kranston, looked at Jafa for confirmation. Jafa glowered at them until they looked away.

"LARNA," Mellon went on, "initiate first contact communcations protocol. Hail the alien vessel."

"Stand by," LARNA replied.

"LARNA will broadcast on all frequencies in the radio spectrum first. The message is a simple mathematic progression followed by a more complex friendship message. She will broadcast in strings at various speeds. If she gets no decipherable response, she will then try the higher frequencies, then lower frequencies," Mellon explained.

"And if we get no response at all?" Johnson asked.

Mellon looked at each of them as he spoke, trying to imprint on them the importance of what he had to say by force of will. "No response could mean any number of things. We must remember, we are dealing with non-human minds. This is unprecedented. There are no guarantees anything we do will work. If we receive no response to LARNA’s calls, we will try visual signals."

"That means waiting until they’re very close before we find out whether or not they’re friendly," Johnson said. There was a general murmur of ill ease.

"That they will get closer is a given right now, anyway," Shenez reminded the crowd, "whether we’re able to communicate with them or not."

Johnson glumly lapsed back into silence.

"How long will this take?" asked a blonde girl standing close to Gannett. She clutched his arm anxiously and he patted her hand softly.

 Mellon gave the girl, who he believed was named Melanie, what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Not long, I would think. LARNA should have a report within the hour."

Jafa stepped forward. "I think we should get back to work until LARNA comes back with the results."

"Good idea," Shenez agreed. "No use brooding over something we can’t help."

"I’ll announce LARNA’s progress on the hour," Mellon promised. He paused to consider his next words. He had to send them back to their routine with a sense of purpose and a modicum of security if things were to remain under control. Johnson and Kranston had looks of sullen uncertainty. Gannett was chewing his lower lip and the girl slipped her arm around his with a frown on her face. Jafa watched the others with a cool self-assurance Mellon was certain was staged for their benefit. Shenez and her assistant, a youngish man named Sender, were speaking in hushed tones. She briefly caught his eye and smiled an encouragement to him. He felt a wave of gratitude for that. "We’re all in this together," he said at last. "I don’t intend to keep anybody in the dark about anything. Nor do I intend to make decisions unilaterally. We have the rest of our lives to work out any differences we may have now," this directed at Johnson and Kranston, "so let’s work together for the next few days until this is settled."

Johnson exchanged looks with him and Jafa, then nodded slightly and turned to leave with Kranston in tow. Mellon saw them talking quietly as the Comm Lab portal shut.

"I don’t know, Jafa," he said as the others wandered away singly and in groups. "Johnson may be trouble."

"He was supposed to be promoted to command just before departure," Jafa revealed. "Somehow the paperwork got delayed."

Mellon nodded. It figured that a 3000-year-old bureaucratic screw-up would put a nasty wrinkle on a touchy situation.

"Still," Jafa went on, "I wouldn’t worry. He has enough sense to know when to pick his time to move."

Mellon eyed his friend, who grinned and winked at him.

"Just kidding," Jafa said.

"Yeah," Mellon grunted.

After what seemed an eternity, LARNA signaled she had completed her attempts at contacting the alien. There had been no response. The ships continued to close toward intercept. If the aliens had received any of LARNA’s messages, they gave no indication.

Mellon gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he reread LARNA’s report. He wiped his hand across his face and blinked at the screen, hoping against hope he was misreading it, but there it was. No response to radio, no response to infrared, no response to ultraviolet, no response to X-ray, no response, no response, no response!

He had to work in the dark now. There were so many unknowns. While LARNA had been busy, so had he. He had gone through the ship’s library, researching anything that might help the situation. He’d reviewed the first contact protocols, checked the library’s records of initial contact between human civilizations, researched and sought out information on speculative contacts with alien life, non-fiction and fiction.

The overall result was not promising. Almost without exception, initial contact had resulted in one or both parties suffering appalling losses, either physical or cultural. The Vanguard could afford neither. But, if one or the other of the parties had to suffer, Mellon finally determined the Vanguard crew would not be that party. No matter what he personally believed, he had a responsibility to protect those other fifteen crewmen. Even so, it was nearly half an hour before he thumbed the ship’s intercom open.

"Attention. LARNA has just reported that the alien does not respond to her hails. She estimates intercept in a little over six hours. Jafa, please come to Comm Lab."

He flicked the switch off and passed a hand across his face again. He had hoped it would not come to this, but now he had to consider the possibility the alien was hostile. They might not be malicious, not in the human sense, but their very presence could jeopardize the Vanguard’s crew. Uncontained contact with an alien specie could spell disaster for the little group. He had to quickly provide for a worst case scenario, and, if he knew Jafa, the security chief would already have at least one plan ready.

As it turned out, Jafa had indeed considered a worst case scenario. Not only had he considered it, he had a plan for preliminary actions. When Mellon questioned his requests for some of the ship’s supplies and fuel, Jafa shook his head and smiled.

"You want to be prepared, right?" Jafa said. "We need to insure our survival against hostile action by superior forces. These supplies will do that. Only after we’ve secured our presence can we consider a counter action."

"You really believe we’ll be beaten and have to go into hiding?" Mellon asked.

"What do you think? We’re talking about a worst case here. Where could we go but into hiding somewhere on board? It’s too late to abandon ship, not that we’d want to do that anyway."

Mellon stared at the plan report and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Look, Kade," Jafa said, "this is my job. I have over 3,000 years experience. Trust me."

Mellon sighed and agreed to the assignment of the supplies. Jafa promptly sent one of his men to see to their disposition.

"Receiving transmission from the alien vessel," LARNA announced suddenly.

Mellon and Jafa spun to look at the tactical display. Aside from the fact that the symbols denoting the two ships were closer together, nothing had changed.

"Nature of transmission?" Mellon asked.

"Nanosecond bursts across one hundred gigahertz to three hundred fifty gigahertz containing discrete binary packets."

Mellon and Jafa exchanged frowns. "Sounds like some kind of machine code," Mellon ventured.

"Probability high," LARNA agreed.

"Can you decode it?"

"Stand by."

There was a seemingly interminable silence while the ship’s clock ticked away four seconds.

"Binary packets contain mathematical progressions correlating to frequency wavelength of transmissions."

Mellon slapped the console before him and grinned at Jafa. "It’s more than just machine code! They’ve recognized something out of the ordinary and are attempting to establish communication."

"But," Jafa puzzled, "why are they using machine code?"

Mellon shook his head. "It just seems like machine code, because our machines are the only ones who use it. It’s the simplest form of communication. On, off. State of charge, state of discharge, all in a definite, repetitive pattern denoting intelligent design. We have no other way of dealing directly with them without knowing their language, their culture, their anatomy, a thousand other variables."

Jafa eyed him warily and let the matter drop. Mellon was too excited by the news to notice his security officer’s nervousness. All he could think of was that it might not be necessary to assume the aliens were hostile, to prepare for that worst case scenario as if it were fait accompli.

"Alien continues to broadcast," LARNA reported.

"Right," Mellon said, settling into the task at hand. "We have to respond in kind first, to let them know we receive and recognize their message. LARNA, rebroadcast their message, but tack on the binary code for the atomic weight of each natural element."

"Broadcasting."

Another few seconds dragged by.

"Broadcast complete. Alien is responding." Another pause. "Response is previous messages repeated followed by new binary packets. Decoding."

"Kade," Jafa said quietly.

"Yeah?" Mellon was watching the communications board closely for indications of anomalies.

"Kade, the helm station just alarmed."

Mellon felt a heavy chill settle over him as he swung around to face the helm. LARNA had not announced any malfunction, yet there was the evidence: the Vanguard was slowing, using precious fuel to stop its own forward motion.

"What the --- ?" Mellon passed his hands over the diagnostics board at helm. Everything came back green except the mission parameter for course heading and speed.

"LARNA!" Mellon shouted in spite of himself.

"Ready and on line."

"Why has the ship slowed?"

"Directive accepted from authorized source."

Mellon stared at the board as if it had just crawled out of the wall and dropped in his lap. "What? Repeat that."

"Directive accepted from authorized source."

"Damned machine!" Jafa huffed. "It says it’s only following orders."

"Whose orders?" Mellon asked, frustrated. "LARNA, whose orders? Identify source of orders."

There was a series of clicks, squeals, hisses and snaps from LARNA, followed by silence. Mellon went back to the communications panel and tweaked some knobs. That had sounded like interference.

"Say again, LARNA."

Again there was a series of odd noises.

"I got a really bad feeling about this," Jafa said.

A sudden, horrible insight struck Mellon. "LARNA," he asked, already knowing the answer, but dreading to hear it confirmed, "are you relating the identity codes for the alien ship?"

"Affirmative."

Mellon hung his head and closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Had he allowed LARNA to be manipulated by ordering her to communicate with the alien? How had the alien broken their security codes? They were supposed to be humanly impossible to break.

Humanly impossible. Damn!

"What does that mean, Kade?" Jafa was asking, becoming increasingly alarmed. "Is LARNA saying the alien ordered her to stop the ship and she did? Kade?"

Mellon clenched his teeth. "Settle down," he told Jafa. "Don’t lose your head. We’re not certain we actually have a problem. It could just be miscommunication."

Jafa put an iron hand on Mellon’s shoulder and turned him around to face him. "Miscommunication? I may not know much, but I do know that this ship doesn’t have enough fuel for stop and go driving, Kade. We need all we have to get where we’re going, to stay alive."

"I know that, too, Jafa---"

"Tell LARNA to disconnect from---" Jafa turned to the helm panel. "LARNA, release helm control to manual."

"Unable to comply."

Jafa glared at Mellon. "Why are you unable to comply, LARNA?" he asked, still scowling at Mellon.

"Helm is committed to intercept. New course correction already accomplished. Interference with course correction will prevent intercept."

"Damned right it would!" Jafa shouted, finally turning away from Mellon to bellow at LARNA. "Release this ship to manual control immediately!"

"Unable to comply," LARNA replied impassively.

Jafa leaned over the helm controls and pounded on them furiously. Mellon let him vent. There was really very little else to do. LARNA had control of the ship, and they were now bent on an earlier intercept with the alien. Just from looking at the tactical display, he could tell it would be less than three hours. Jafa took one last look at Mellon, a look that said volumes about who he blamed for this turn of events, and left the room without another word.

Mellon realized at that moment that the destiny of the Vanguard’s crew had just changed, and not necessarily for the better.