Birds of Prey Bisexual EditionChapter 12 Vanguard
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“I can’t believe it, it’s unprecedented,” Doctor Evans said as she sat cross-legged on the deck across from one of the aliens. “Their mimicry was one thing, that’s not unheard of, but the rate at which they’re learning and applying the language is incredible. It’s like they have photographic memories, they don’t even need to practice. You give them information and they just ... retain it.”
She set her tablet down, running her fingers through her dark hair and giving Jaeger a wide-eyed glance. Their guests were milling about nearby, perched on crates like birds, or sitting with their two-toed feet dangling off the edge of a nearby fighter. They seemed to like being high up, and after the initial burst of excitement and activity, they had appeared to tire. Their leader seemed to want to stay close to Jaeger, and so he had remained in the hangar, assisting Evans in her work. He was still on call, but it wasn’t like he’d have to go far if he had to rush to his Beewolf. A few hours had passed, and much of the initial novelty had worn off. The flight crews and engineers were going about their usual business, the familiar sounds of the hangar bay echoing throughout the space. Even Baker had run out of steam after a while and had returned to his quarters to sleep.
“Why is that so unusual?” Jaeger asked.
“Well, learning a language can take years,” she explained. “Granted, I’m no linguist, but I know enough about neurology to know that this is highly unusual. Young children, for example, are very adept at learning new languages. It generally gets harder as one grows older, due to a reduction in neuroplasticity. Young minds are more malleable, they form new connections between neurons at a far higher rate. You see the phenomenon a lot in expat families, where the children become fluent in the language very rapidly, and the parents tend to struggle. The neuroplasticity in these aliens is higher than anything I’ve ever seen, and their memories are flawless. Those factors combined result in an ability to learn at a pace that has no precedent. They aced the memory puzzles, they only needed to see a complex series of shapes and patterns once in order to reproduce it, even half an hour later.”
“They don’t sound so smart to me,” Jaeger muttered, nodding at the nearest alien to get its attention. “Hey you, what’s your name?”
“Shoes,” it replied.
“What you fail to understand, Lieutenant, is that although they appear to be talking at the level of an infant, they’ve achieved that after only a few hours. Most human babies don’t even start speaking until they’re around six months old, and it usually takes two years before they start forming simple sentences. At this rate, they might be fluent in our language within only a few days.”
“What we need to do is get them to tell us where they came from,” he replied, watching as one of the bird-like reptiles bowed its head and appeared to fall asleep inside its camouflaged suit. It was perched on top of a miscellaneous crate, maybe six feet off the deck, like a pigeon sitting on a telephone pole with its long tail held out straight for balance.
“We need to build up to that,” Evans said, “we don’t want to confuse them by bombarding them with information too quickly.”
“Why not just show them a map of the system and get them to point to their base?”
“They might not even be native to this system, and besides, they wouldn’t know what we were asking them. We have to take things slow.”
“So far they’ve only been repeating the words that they hear,” Jaeger said, glancing down at the alien that was sitting beside him on the floor. “How can we be sure that they even know what they mean?”
“I’m certain that they’ve understood the contextual use of certain words,” Evans replied. “Here, watch this.” She held up the tablet computer and pointed to it, getting the attention of the nearest alien. “What is this?”
“Tablet,” the alien chirped.
“What is this?” Evans repeated, pointing to the fighter that was resting on the deck beside them.
“Beewolf,” the alien said in its strange, high pitched voice.
“They’re even picking up human gestures too,” Evans concluded as she turned her eyes back to her tablet and took some more notes. “Remarkable...”
“And what do we know about their language?”
“Not much,” Evans admitted. “If I had to guess, I’d say that they lack the vocal cords that humans and Borealans have. They likely have a syrinx, it’s a vocal organ used by birds, located at the base of the trachea where it joins to the lungs. Mammals have a larynx,” she said as she gestured to her throat. “It’s an organ at the top of the neck that houses the vocal folds, mucous membranes that are stretched across the windpipe and which vibrate to modulate the flow of air being expelled. A syrinx, on the other hand, has vibrating membranes that are controlled by minute muscles that line the entire structure. They can even control the left and right valves of the syrinx independently to produce two distinct sounds at the same time.”
“So that’s why they sound like parrots?”
“Possibly, yes. As for the color displays ... I can’t guess. It must have more basis in culture than biology.”
“They remind me of a cuttlefish,” Jaeger mused. “You know, those squid-like creatures that have flashing colors along their bodies?”
“Chromatophores? You may be onto something there, perhaps they have bioluminescent cells beneath their suits that they use to communicate, and these panels are a technological solution to having to conceal them beneath a space suit. Chameleons can change the color of their scales to match their environments or to express emotion, after all. It’s not unheard of in reptile species...”
“We could just ask one of them to take its helmet off,” Jaeger suggested. He turned to his tiny companion and nodded to the creature, then mimed taking off a helmet. It cocked its head at him, and he repeated the gesture. “Take your helmet off, little guy.”
“Little guy,” it repeated, followed by a whistle. It seemed to understand his request, placing its hands to either side of its helmet and tugging it off. Evans and Jaeger watched as the alien pulled off the space helmet, revealing a head as round and as smooth as it had first appeared. There was no hair, no quills, just more flush scales. As it raised the helmet above its head, Jaeger noticed that the ‘pigtails’ that dangled from the back of the helmet were filled with what looked like a pair of scaly tentacles, the same color and texture as the rest of its skin. They were prehensile, like twin tubes of muscle, flopping out of the recesses and flexing.
“Tentacles on the back of its head?” Evans wondered, clearly as surprised as Jaeger was. “For what purpose?”
The two tubes suddenly became firm, the muscles within tensing, the dangling tentacles pointing straight out from the skull like long horns. There was an explosion of color, a rainbow halo appearing around the alien’s head, at once alarming and hypnotic.
They were feathers! It looked as if the alien was now wearing a giant feather headdress, like something that you might see at a Brazilian carnivale or on a peacock’s tail. The two muscular tubes had been concealing vibrant and colorful plumes, layered one on top of the other so that when they shifted, different shades were exposed. It must have such fine control over them, a wave of indigo and violet passing through the magnificent crown in a fluttering wave, much like what he had seen on their LCD panels. They caught the light beautifully, shimmering and iridescent, Jaeger unable to tear his eyes away from the display.
It seemed that the creature had only been stretching, because a second later, the feathers collapsed back into their fleshy sheaths, invisible now as the tentacle-like appendages went limp and dangled down the back of its suit. It held its helmet in its hands, glancing between the two humans.
“Not chromatophores, feathers!” Evans gasped. “Of course, more avian features, I should have guessed. They can’t flex their feathers inside the suits, and so they use these panels to mimic the color patterns. It must have some social function, like expressing emotion, or perhaps signaling prospective mates.”
“They were using them on their fighters too,” Jaeger added, “maybe they have a tactical purpose?”
“Perhaps.”
They were eventually forced to take a break, Jaeger returning to his quarters to eat and rest. He didn’t stay in his bunk for long, there were too many questions running through his mind, so many possibilities that made sleep nigh impossible. He caught four or five hours of shut-eye, and then stopped by a vending machine on his way back down to the hangar, picking up a shrink-wrapped sandwich and a bottle of fruit juice.
When he returned to Evans, she was still sat in the same spot, dark circles under her eyes as she leaned against a crate amidst the flock of aliens. She looked like she had been working all night, as much as there was a ‘night’ on a carrier.
“You should get some rest,” he suggested, “it doesn’t look like these guys are going anywhere.” The aliens were all perched nearby like camouflaged gargoyles, one of them chewing on what looked like a candy bar in a silver wrapper.
“While you were gone, they returned to their ship and came out with food packets,” she said as she suppressed a yawn. “It seems that they’ve brought supplies with them, they must expect to be here for a while.”
“They must want the same things that we want,” Jaeger said as he tore open the packaging on his sandwich and took a bite, talking through the mouthful of food. “They want to communicate with us, they want to know where we’re from, and they probably want to know what we can do to help one another. It can’t have escaped their attention that we came here to fight Bugs.”
“It all seems so ... informal,” Evans complained. “Here we are, making first contact with an alien species, and we’re housing them in a busy hangar while a handful of unqualified people try to communicate with them? There should be diplomats here, xenolinguists, this should be a historic event broadcast for all the worlds to see. Yet everything continues on as normal, even the engineers have stopped gawking at them by now.”
“This is a Navy vessel,” Jaeger replied with a shrug, “this is just the way that the Navy does things. We don’t have any diplomats or linguists, we have to make do with what we brought with us. It’d take months to reach the nearest Coalition planet and get a message back to Earth.”
“I just wish that I could do more,” she sighed, looking up at the nearest alien as it gnawed on its meal with its needle-like teeth.
Jaeger heard footsteps on the deck, and he turned to see Captain Fielding approaching them, the engineers along his path stopping to salute him as he passed them. He didn’t have his Borealan guards with him this time, but Campbell was trailing after him.
“Doctor Evans, Lieutenant Jaeger,” he said as the pilot snapped to attention. “At ease. Have you made any progress with the aliens?”
“Some,” Evans said, “they’re learning our language remarkably quickly. I estimate that they’ll be able to form coherent sentences far sooner than I could have hoped. Days at the most.”
“Excellent. Their mothership seems to be holding position, it hasn’t moved an inch since they sent over the dropship. It appears that they won’t be leaving until they get what they want from us, probably the same information that we’re trying to get out of them.”
“Sir, if I may?” Jaeger began. “Is there any word on the missing pilots yet?”
“Scratcher was recovered safely. He’s currently undergoing a routine assessment in sickbay, but he’ll make a full recovery,” the Captain replied. “We’re still searching for Boomer in the asteroid field. The possibility of encountering more Bugs is slowing down the search effort, as the rescue ships need to be escorted. That and the Oort cloud is a nightmare to navigate, even without the Bugs.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he said. He was relieved to hear that Scratcher had been recovered safely, but every hour that passed reduced Boomer’s chances of survival. If he had survived the crash with his suit intact, it could only support him for the better part of a day at most. The deadline was rapidly approaching. “Captain,” he added, “requesting permission to join the search effort.”
“Request denied,” Fielding replied. “I understand that you’re worried about your wingman, but right now, you can do more good here. I don’t know why these aliens have taken such a liking to you, but keep doing whatever it is that you’re doing. Once you get them talking coherently, let me know immediately.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“I thought that I’d come down to check on our guests,” Fielding continued, “and Campbell has completed his analysis of their ship. I thought that it might help you and Doctor Evans in some way.”
“Oh yes,” Evans chimed in, “their level of technology could reveal aspects of their cultural development.”
Fielding nodded to Campbell, and the engineer produced a tablet computer, beginning to read from it.
“Here are my observations,” he began. “Firstly, this vessel is obviously a spaceplane. Looking at the shape of the hull and the prevalence of heat shielding tiles, we can infer that this is an atmospheric glider, which suggests that the chemical engines that this vessel uses are weaker and less efficient than our own. I estimate that it should be able to break orbit under its own power, but that fuel economy would be an issue. Our own dropships are very efficient, they’re able to enter and leave the gravitational well of a planet under their own power several times in succession before they need to be refueled. Not so for this craft. It’s also covered in traces of helium-3, and judging by the large thermal output of their carrier, I think it’s safe to say that they’re using it as reactor fuel. Their shielding isn’t very efficient, but fortunately, helium-3 is not radioactive.”
“Is that different from what we use?” Evans asked.
“Yes. Their method uses nuclear fusion, which is cleaner and safer than fission, but we use more primitive fission reactors for a very specific reason. This very carrier, for example, houses six nuclear generators whose job it is both to power the ship and to charge the superlight drive. We use simple water to cool those reactors, and they burn at a high enough temperature that the water undergoes a process known as ‘thermochemical cracking’. The oxygen and hydrogen molecules are separated, and we can then harvest those molecules to be used for life support in the case of oxygen, and chemical propellant in the case of hydrogen. In this sense, as long as the carrier has access to water ice, which is a very common resource, it can sustain itself and its support fleet for a very long time. Of course, there are still chemicals and elements that we can’t get from this process, which need to be restocked when we dock. There are also spent fuel rods that need to be exchanged for new ones, but the process makes any large ship remarkably self-reliant.”
“And these aliens can’t do that?” she asked.
“No,” he replied gleefully, “helium-3 and deuterium fusion produces heat by generating and containing super-heated plasma. There’s no water to crack. They must have brought their chemical propellant with them, which is extremely wasteful. It appears more advanced on the surface, but it’s actually less practical.”
“Move it along, Campbell,” Fielding sighed. “We all have places to be.”
“In conclusion, their technology is analogous to our own during the start of the expansion period, when humanity first began colonizing the solar system and venturing into interstellar space. It’s a few hundred years out of date by our standards, but otherwise perfectly serviceable. I recommend that as soon as we establish a dialogue with the aliens and negotiate their entry in the Coalition, we start sharing technology. They should be able to implement it rapidly, much of what they use is analogous to our own systems. For example, better magnetic containment of the plasma fields within their reactor would improve efficiency and prevent leakage, and would result in a net improvement to the energy generation on their carrier.”
“Wait, wait,” Evans interjected. “Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves here? We barely know anything about these people, their culture, their history. Who are we to intrude on their home and accelerate their development by hundreds of years overnight? Who knows what that might do to their society?”
Campbell shrugged dismissively.
“They’re spacefaring, they have superlight technology, and they’re clearly not fond of Bugs. Sounds like a prime Coalition candidate to me. Would you rather let them get overrun by the Betelgeusians?”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” Evans shot back, her face starting to redden. “We don’t know that this is their home system, they may be visitors here, just like us. We don’t know the extent of their dealings with the Betelgeusians, or whether their planet or planets are under threat.”
“If they aren’t already under threat from the Bugs, then they will be before long,” the engineer replied. “If these aliens are in jump range of Bugs, then the Bugs are in jump range of wherever they originated. If they can’t hold out against the Bugs, then they need us. If they ‘can’ hold out, then ‘we’ need ‘them’.”
Evans looked unhappy, but she didn’t have a retort. There had been much concern raised over the introduction of advanced technology to primitive planets like Borealis, which prior to contact with the UNN, had only recently discovered gunpowder and had not yet achieved space flight. Proponents of bringing every sapient species that humanity came across into the fold liked to point out that no great catastrophe had yet ensued after handing modern weaponry and spacecraft over to the Borealans, but conservationists would also point out that the balance of power on the planet had been permanently altered. The territories that cooperated with the UNN were given access to advanced technology, and those that didn’t were left in the dust, at the mercy of regional powers like Elysia that supplied the UNN with the majority of its Borealan auxiliaries.
Jaeger had to side with Campbell in this case, however. These aliens were sufficiently advanced that giving them blueprints to build more efficient reactors, or supplying them with railguns wasn’t going to change their world overnight. In fact, they were the closest thing to technological parity that humanity had yet encountered. The Borealans and the Krell were a thousand years behind, while the Brokers were a thousand years ahead, but unwilling to share their advancements. Bug biotech was so strange that it was hard to even classify. These new creatures, on the other hand, were only a couple of hundred years off. They were technological neighbors in cosmic terms.
He glanced over at the aliens. They were listening, cocking their heads and looking between the humans as they perched on their crates. They didn’t speak enough English yet to follow the conversation, but they were certainly attentive.
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