Brad slithered on his belly down below the ridgeline, then got to his feet and marched back to his shelter. Time for breakfast, he told himself. Two tablets of condensed proteins and vegetable products, plus a vitamin pill, washed down with my recycled piss.
At least the meal didn’t take long. Brad listened to the computer’s translation of the Gammans’ talk, straining to make sense of it. There were still huge gaps in the translation, stretches where he heard nothing but its pitiful buzzing, like a tiny insect trapped in a bottle.
But the computer understood one phrase that had been repeated several times: “Death time coming.”
Could they know about the death wave? he asked himself. And answered, No. Impossible. They don’t even have telescopes, let alone modern astronomical equipment.
Death time must refer to the coming flyby of planet Beta, he concluded. Death time.
Suddenly the computer’s speaker erupted with the rumbling of several deep voices. Gammans. Excited. And not far away.
He pulled on his helmet, fastened it to the neck ring of his biosuit, and ducked out the shelter’s air lock.
And there were four Gammans, not more than fifty meters away, gaping at him. They all carried short, sharpened hunting sticks.
Contact!
Fighting the urge to go back inside the shelter and find his pistol, Brad instead took two full steps beyond the air lock and spread his arms, palms outward.
“Hello,” he said, hoping that the computer’s low growl of translation was correct.
Emcee’s voice came through the earphones inside Brad’s helmet. “I have notified Professor Kosoff of your contact.” Brad thought that even the computer sounded excited. You’re projecting your own emotions onto Emcee, he told himself.
Still …
The four aliens looked uneasily at one another, then the tallest of them rumbled like a lion’s deep-chested cough.
The computer said in Brad’s earphones, “Who … you?”
“I’m a visitor,” said Brad, taking another tentative step toward them. The computer made a grumbling translation, although Brad wondered if it knew the Gamman term for “visitor.”
The Gammans backed away from Brad slightly, talking among themselves. No translation from the computer. All Brad heard was their deeply sonorous voices. It’s like listening to a Russian opera, he thought inanely. All bassos.
Brad was accustomed to being the tallest in any group, but every one of the Gammans towered over him by half a dozen centimeters. Brad told himself it didn’t matter, he was tall enough to seem like them, yet he found that he felt uneasy, self-conscious.
He realized that they had turned slightly sideways to look at him. Those bulbous, oversized eyes on the sides of their bullet-shaped heads could not see directly ahead. They’re descended from grazers, he thought, not carnivores. I hope.
Kosoff’s voice came through his earphones. “Don’t get any closer to them! If they attack, get back into the shelter. It’s strong enough to stop their hunting sticks.”
“They’re the ones backing away,” Brad said, almost in a whisper.
The leader of the aliens spoke up again, sounding like distant rumbling thunder. The computer picked up a few words: “… where … village.… why … here…”
Brad stretched out one arm, pointing toward the distant mountains. “My village is far, far away.”
Another of the Gammans took a step toward him, making a sound like a low-pitched buzz saw. He touched his chest with his free hand and repeated the sound several times.
It sounded to Brad like “Mnnx.”
His name? Brad wondered.
“Mnnx.”
Assuming that the alien was giving his name, Brad touched the chest of his biosuit and said, “Brad.”
The aliens glanced at one another.
Brad repeated, “Brad. My name is Brad.”
The leader made a very humanlike shrug and rumbled, “Brrd.”
Smiling inside his helmet, Brad said, “Close enough.” Then he pointed to the one who had introduced himself and tried to repeat the name he had given: “Mnnx.”
“Mnnx!” the alien said, raising his stick aloft.
Another one of them said, “Lnng.”
All four of the aliens advanced toward Brad, then stopped a respectful few paces in front of him.
“Village?” asked the leader.
Again Brad pointed toward the mountains, shimmering blue in the hazy distance.
“Far away,” he repeated.
“Frr wy,” said Lnng. Their faces were incapable of expressions, but Brad got the feeling they were all satisfied.
Lnng pointed uphill with his hunting stick. “Village,” he said, pointing with his free hand to himself and his companions. “Go … village.”
Brad nodded inside his helmet, then realized that the aliens could not see the gesture, and even if they could, they wouldn’t understand it. So he pointed up to the ridgeline and said, “To your village.”
Kosoff’s voice came through his earphones again. “Let’s hope they have a tradition of hospitality to strangers.”
“Looks that way,” Brad whispered. Then he marveled to himself, I’ve done it! I’ve made contact with the aliens!