“Joyce, I suggest you let me forget you’re around,” I said.
The Mancji whine was added to my message, and it went out. Moments later this came back:
MANCJI HONOR DICTATES YOUR SAFE CONDUCT; TALK IS WEARYING; WE FIND IT CONVENIENT TO SOLICIT A TRANSFER OF ELECTROSTATIC FORCE.
“What the devil does that mean?” I said. “Tell them to loosen up and explain themselves.”
Mannion wrote out a straight query, and sent it. Again we waited for a reply.
It came, in a long windy paragraph stating that the Mancji found electrostatic baths amusing, and that “crystallization” had drained their tanks. They wanted a flow of electrons from us to replenish their supply.
“This sounds like a simple electric current they’re talking about, Captain,” Mannion said. “They want a battery charge.”
“They seem to have power to burn,” I said. “Why don’t they generate their own juice? Ask them; and find out where they learned Standard.”
Mannion sent again; the reply was slow in coming back. Finally we got it:
THE MANCJI DO NOT EMPLOY MASSIVE GENERATION-PIECE WHERE ACCUMULATOR-PIECE IS SUFFICIENT. THIS SIMPLE TRADE SPEECH IS OF OLD KNOWLEDGE. WE SELECT IT FROM SYMBOLS WE ARE PLEASED TO SENSE EMPATTERNED ON YOUR HULL.
That made some sort of sense, but I was intrigued by the reference to Standard as a trade language. I wanted to know where they had learned it. I couldn’t help the hope I started building on the idea that this giant knew our colony; the fact that they were using an antique version of the language, out of use for several centuries might mean they’d gotten it from Omega.
I sent another query, but the reply was abrupt and told nothing except that Standard was of “old knowledge.”
Then Mannion entered a long technical exchange, getting the details of the kind of electric energy they wanted.
“We can give them what they want, no sweat, Captain,” he said after half an hour’s talk. “They want DC; 100 volt, 50 amp will do.”
“Ask them to describe themselves,” I directed. I was beginning to get an idea.
Mannion sent, got his reply. “They’re molluscoid, Captain,” he said. He looked shocked. “They weigh about two tons each.”
“Ask them what they eat,” I said.
I turned to Joyce as Mannion worked over the message. “Get Kramer up here, on the double,” I ordered.
Kramer came in five minutes later, looking drawn and rumpled. He stared at me sullenly.
“I’m releasing you from arrest temporarily on your own recognizance, Major,” I said. “I want you to study the reply to our last transmission, and tell me what you can do about it.”
“Why me?” Kramer said. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I didn’t answer him.
There was a long, tense, half-hour wait before Mannion copied out the reply that came in a stuttering nasal. He handed it to me.
The message was a recital of the indifference of the Mancji to biological processes of ingestion.
I told Kramer to write out a list of our dietary needs. I passed it to Mannion. “Ask them if they have fresh sources of these substances aboard.”
The reply was quick; they did.
“Tell them we will exchange electric power for a supply of these foods. Tell them we want samples of half a dozen of the natural substances.”
Again Mannion coded and sent, received and translated, sent again.
“They agree, Captain,” he said at last. “They want us to fire a power lead out about a mile; they’ll come in close and shoot us a specimen case with a flare on it. Then we can each check the other’s merchandise.”
“All right,” I said. “We can use a ground-service cable; rig a pilot light on it, and kick it out, as soon as they get in close.”
“We’ll have to splice a couple of extra lengths to it,” Mannion said.
“Go to it, Mannion,” I said. “And send two of your men out to make the pick-up.” This wasn’t a communications job, but I wanted a reliable man handling it.
I returned to the Bridge and keyed for Bourdon, directed him to arm two of his penetration missiles, lock them onto the stranger, and switch over to my control. With the firing key in my hand, I stood at the side-scan screen and watched for any signs of treachery. The ship moved in, came to rest filling the screen.
Mannion’s men reported out. I saw the red dot of our power lead move away, then a yellow point glowed on the side of the vast iodine-colored wall looming across the screen.
Nothing else emerged from the alien ship. The red pilot light drifted across the face of the sphere. Mannion reported six thousand feet of cable out before the light disappeared abruptly.
“Captain,” Mannion reported, “they’re drawing power.”
“OK,” I said. “Let them have a sample, then shut down.”
I waited, watching carefully, until Mannion reported their canister inside.
“Kramer,” I said. “Run me a fast check on the samples in that container.”
Kramer was recovering his swagger. “You’ll have to be a little more specific,” he said. “Just what kind of analysis do you have in mind? Do you want a full . . .”
“I just want to know one thing, Kramer,” I said. “Can we assimilate these substances, yes or no? If you don’t feel like cooperating, I’ll have you lashed to your bunk, and injected with them. You claim you’re a Medical Officer; let’s see you act like one.” I turned my back on him.
Mannion called. “They say the juice we fed them was ‘amusing,’ Captain. I guess that means it’s OK.”
“I’ll let you know in a few minutes how their samples pan out,” I said.
Kramer took half an hour before reporting back. “I ran a simple check such as I normally use in a routine mess inspection,” he began. He couldn’t help trying to take the center of the stage to go into his Wise Doctor and Helpless Patient routine.
“Yes or no,” I said.
“Yes, we can assimilate most of it,” he said angrily. “There were six samples. Two were gelatinous substances, non-nutritive. Three were vegetable-like, bulky and fibrous, one with a high iodine content; the other was a very normal meaty specimen.”
“Which should we take?” I said. “Remember your teeth when you answer.”
“The high protein, the meaty one,” he said. “Marked ‘Six’.”
I keyed for Mannion. “Tell them that in return for one thousand KWH we require three thousand kilos of sample six,” I said.
Mannion reported back. “They agreed in a hurry, Captain. They seem to feel pretty good about the deal. They want to chat, now that they’ve got a bargain. I’m still taping a long tirade.”
“Good,” I said. “Better get ready to send about six men with an auxiliary pusher to bring home the bacon. You can start feeding them the juice again.”
I turned to Kramer. He was staring at the screen. “Report yourself back to arrest in quarters, Kramer,” I said. “I’ll take your services today into account at your court-martial.”
Kramer looked up, with a nasty grin. “I don’t know what kind of talking oysters you’re trafficking with, but I’d laugh like hell if they vaporized your precious tub as soon as they’re through with you.” He walked out.
Mannion called in again from communications. “Here’s their last, Captain,” he said. “They say we’re lucky they had a good supply of this protein aboard. It’s one of their most amusing foods. It’s a creature they discovered in the wild state and it’s very rare. The wild ones have died out, and only their domesticated herds exist.”
“OK, we’re lucky,” I said. “It better be good or we’ll step up the amperage and burn their batteries for them.”
“Here’s more,” Mannion said. “They say it will take a few hours to prepare the cargo. They want us to be amused.”
I didn’t like the delay, but it would take us about ten hours to deliver the juice to them at the trickle rate they wanted. Since the sample was OK, I was assuming the rest would be too. We settled down to wait.
I left Clay in charge on the Bridge and made a tour of the ship. The meeting with the alien had apparently driven the mood of mutiny into the background. The men were quiet and busy. I went to my cabin and slept for a few hours.
I was awakened by a call from Clay telling me that the alien had released his cargo for us. Mannion’s crew was out making the pick-up. Before they had maneuvered the bulky cylinder to the cargo hatch, the alien released our power lead.
I called Kramer and told him to meet the incoming crew and open and inspect the cargo. If it was the same as the sample, I thought, we had made a terrific trade. Discipline would recover if the men felt we still had our luck.