Of course I can hear you, I thought, annoyed that he doubtless could hear me too.
The thoughts forming in my head were not a pleasant form of communication, even if they came with so much of my friend the ELF's intonation and feel that there was no imagining they could be mine. I assumed something built into the suit made thought transmission possible. Or some form of sub-perceptible sound that sounded like thought. Looking at their circuits, I thought they'd developed centuries ahead while we stayed, more or less, still. And what do you mean who am I?
I got the impression of his glare, cat-like eyes widening, mouth frowning. You're right. What are you, more appropriate perhaps.
What I am, I answered, testily. Is out here, with a job I don't understand.
Let me see it.
I hesitated, confused by what exactly he might mean by that.
Look at the node please, so I can see what's confusing you.
He could see through my eyes? That was about as comfortable as being lost in someone's underwear. But I still didn't want to die, so I looked down at the open node, at the mass of pulsing capillaries, that made it look like a nest of very thin worms.
The gold one, he gave me a mental image of the writhing caterpillar with the little gold sheen to it. Make it feed into the blue one. Use this tool to disconnect it, mental picture of a pincer-like thing. And this one to connect it, mental picture of a little spatula-like implement.
I followed his instructions. With the mental pictures, it wasn't really hard. The idea that he was in my mind, giving me images directly to my mind, still gave me the shivers though. If he was knocking about in there, what else would he find? See? Think?
Even Daddy Dearest had never invaded my privacy so far. I closed the node, and the tool box. The question was if the creature was this likely to become temporarily blind, and the nodes out here could go hairy, why was he traveling alone?
There was a sense of displeasure from the other end, and then a curt, I don't work well with others.
No, really? Would wonders never cease? I tried to keep that thought to myself, but from a certain hint of offended dignity coming from the other end, I suspected I'd failed.
Is the node working now?
No, sullen, with a hint of resentment. Kick it.
Beg your pardon?
Give it a good kick. Kind of stomp on it.
I stared at the blister on the ship's skin. Was he joking? The node was out here, where it might rub a stray trunk in going through the powertrees, or where a micro asteroid, even, might hit it. And a kick could fix it or, presumably, break it? He had to be joking.
It's an old ship, came the tired answer. A very old ship. Used to be a teaching ship.
Aiming the kick so it wouldn't open the cover, I slammed my foot against it. And now?
For a minor eternity, no one answered. I was here alone, on the outside of the ship, with the eerie glow of the powertree globe to one side, and the eternal night of space to the other. The stars shining in that night seemed very distant, very small. For no reason at all, a memory of one of the last happy times before my mom left came to mind.
I was very young and we'd taken a family vacation to Pamplona, in the Southern European territories. And there, I'd seen some old ritual that involved countless people strolling around in the dark of night, holding candles. The windows had been ornamented with tapestries, and there had been flowers everywhere, making the night air redolent of wax and roses. I remembered leaning out a window, over the soft, silken tapestry, while my mom held me around the middle of my body. "Thena, look how lovely," she'd said, whispering in my ear.
Thena. Is that your name?
The creature's voice, directly into my mind, made me jump. I answered in offended dignity and horror that he'd been in my mind and seen that memory of all memories - and fear he'd think me soft and easy to subdue because of it—Athena Hera Sinistra, Patrician of Earth.
Oh. Earthworm AND inbred. Yes, yes, something to be proud of, he said, his tone just as haughty as I suspected mine had been. My name is Kit to my friends, but you may call me Christopher Bartolomeu Klaavil.
Are you going to let me in? I asked.
Your wish is my command, he said, in a voice that didn't sound the least like it. Look to your right.
I did, in time to see the door open on the ship skin. I scrambled over with unseemly haste. Being on the outside and subjected to the creature's whim on whether or not to let me back in was not my idea of a rousing good-time.
He was inside the air-lock, attired in a bright blue space suit, similar to mine, but clearly his size. Of course, that made one wonder, exactly, who had worn the suit I was wearing. I thought of the blond woman in the picture. What had happened to her?
His words, I don't work well with others, came to my mind and made me shiver.
I never . . . His voice said in my mind. I wouldn't—I had the impression of a door, forcefully slammed down on his thoughts. Oh, hell, what does it matter, anyway. Please get in, so I can close the air lock.
I obeyed, and he closed the outer door, then did something with a valve and a control on the wall. I could hear air hissing into this tight compartment. "What do you wish me to do?" he asked.
I looked at him puzzled. His face was just visible through the helmet, half in shadows, making his cat-like eyes even more alien and stranger.
"You saved my life," he said. The voice had the tone of something spoken through clenched teeth. "I owe you a debt of gratitude. I don't think you can go much farther on the ship you used to come here. Your power reserve is almost empty and I don't know how to recharge it. Our tech is different. But I owe you my life, and so I must repay it anyway you wish. Where do you wish to go?"
"To Earth," I said, immediately, without thinking.
He cackled.
"You said—"
"I'll help you as I can, but that doesn't include an offer to have myself stuffed, mounted and hung in a museum as a specimen of forbidden bio-engineering modifications."The air had stopped hissing in, and he now opened the interior door and motioned for me to go through ahead of him, which I did.
He followed.
"You're a Mule," I said, shivering. It was a leap of reasoning.
He gasped. "No," he said. "Merely an ELF." And then, as though perhaps catching some trace of surprise from my thoughts. "An Enhanced Life Form. I was bioengineered in womb, via a designed virus."
"With cat genes?"
He shook his head, his face in shadows. "Of course not. The hair is an accidental, rare, side effect. And the eyes only look feline, because the function dictates form. They're best for seeing in the dark, tracking motion. With improvements to reflexes and speed of motion, they make people like me ideal for piloting harvester ships."
"The darkships?"
"Well, of course they're dark," he said. "We really don't want earthworms . . . er . . . earthers to catch us, do we? We work in the dark, and use ships without lights. Hence the modifications to my eyes. I work well in the dark."
"But not in light," I said.
"Don't get—"
"Ideas," I said. "I'm not." We'd got to the compartment in the hallway, and I removed each piece of the suit, while he sometimes helped.
"Your eyes have recovered," I said.
He snorted. "No. But I'm using yours. Grossly inadequate."
I tried not to think he was still in my mind, somehow, and also not to react to the insult, but my voice came out tight as I said, "What tech in the suit allows you to do that?"
"The suit?" he said.
"Isn't that what allows you to hear my thoughts? Use my eyes?"
"No. You . . . It's . . . I don't know. It's one of the traits bioengineered into me. It is also bioengineered into navigators, who are normally the other half of a traveling power collecting team. So a team can communicate without using any frequencies earth . . . Circum harvesters could possibly intercept."
I'm not telepathic, I thought in a panic. I've never—
Yeah, he answered back in my mind. Neither have I with anyone but a nav, and my nav at that. It's a bonding thing. You have to be trained to do it. That's why I asked you to explain. No human I ever heard of has developed natural telepathy.
Bio improvements are illegal on Earth, I said. It has to be natural.
"It can't be," he said.
I shook my head. I was still holding on to the last of the suit. It was the suit. It had to be the suit. I dropped the suit to the floor and then, very quickly, aimed a kick at my captor. There was air and energy now, I could make him—
He grabbed at my foot before it made contact and down I went, cracking my head against the floor of the hallway.
"Do you like hitting your head, or is it just something you do to pass the time?"
"Bastard," I said.
He straightened his spine. "Quite possibly," he said. "By several definitions. Now, if you let me remove my space suit, I'll be glad to take you near Circum. Your ship should have enough fuel to make it a very short drop from my ship to Circum and my ship is dark enough if we go to an unused bay area, we might not even be noticed. Your . . . harvesters must fly back regularly—what, once a week? To take back pods. You must go with them."
I shook my head. Harvester ships never went to Earth. This I knew. It was why I'd been such a hit with harvester pilots. They might be stuck at circum for years at a time. "No, they sent the energy some other way," I said.
"How?" he sounded suddenly curious.
"Don't know. Something invented by an ancient Greek, I think. Or a Frenchman. Or maybe Usian. Something from one of his writings." Now he looked doubtful, so I exerted my mind. "Tekla, no, Telec . . . um . . . no, wait. Tesla."
"Nikolai Tesla?"
"That," I said, triumphantly.
He hid his face in his hands. When he looked up again, he was composed. "I'll take you into drop distance of Circum. I'm sure you still can find your way to Earth, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm sure."
"Right. At least," he added, his voice pensive. "It's not quite as certain a death as going near Earth, and the risk is worth it to be rid of you."