“I would like that, since the last time I was here, I had only sampled halfway through your excellent collection of potables,” my crabby friend said.
I hadn’t noticed any seams in the craft, but a section to the left of center flipped open, and Bellor climbed out of a small pool of water. Soon, he was on the tabletop, across from where Agnieshka had placed a small soup bowl.
I started to fill the bowl with Jim Beam, but Agnieshka reminded me that last time he had stopped in the rums, and filled the bowl with 151 proof Bacardi.
“I have always been surprised at your love of alcohol,” I said. “Was there a lot of it on your home planet?”
“Oh, most definitely, Mickolai. On your native planet, the animals store their excess, emergency energy supplies as fats, for the most part, and your plants usually use carbohydrates. On my beloved home world, both types used ethanol for this purpose. It was our major source of chemical energy. I wish that I could offer you some Jaga berries from the garden I once maintained! They had a magnificent flavor which I am sure that you would have enjoyed, but, Alas! They were all destroyed along with the rest of my planet.”
Agnieshka refilled his bowl with something blue that I didn’t recognize.
He continued, “Then, when we escaped to New Yugoslavia, we found an ecology here that was primitive, but in many ways similar to what we were used to, including the prevalence of ethanol. Many of the starches and proteins were different, of course, and we were hard pressed for the first few decades to modify our metabolisms, but there was at least enough ethanol to keep us alive until we had adapted.”
Next, he was on something bright orange. Hell, I don’t know what it was. I’d just told them to stock the bar with everything that anybody might want. I stuck to my sour mash bourbon.
“But when you humans got here, you perforce modified the environment to suit your own metabolisms. At first, it was not at all clear to us what was happening, and there were still plenty of the old plants and animals around. We were a bit slow in realizing the ecological change happening around us. It started slowly, but finished quickly, in the oceans, at least.”
Agnieshka filled his bowl with some sort of a thick, yellowish green syrup called Chartreuse. Bellor drank it dry without a comment.
“I was out exploring, and far away from my people when the last of the change happened. I was quite unprepared for it. I had foolishly pressed onward, assuming that I would soon find something to eat. Thus it was that I found myself on an unfamiliar sea coast, starving to death, barely able even to walk. And then you came along, instantly deduced my problems, and put me into a large container of magnificent food. I shall always be grateful for that!”
I said, “I’m glad that I could be of help. You said that the old ecology here was similar to that of your home planet. You know, when I first saw you, I took you for one of the original inhabitants here. I suppose that it was mostly because of those push-pull muscles that work your legs. Many of the local fauna use the same thing.”
“Well, it is a far more efficient system than the pull-only arrangement that your people use.” Bellor was sucking up something dark brown called Old Navy rum.
“I suppose that it might be,” I said. “But you came here to show me this black blob of a fighting machine here.”
“True. Its almost absolute blackness continues across most of the electromagnetic spectrum, incidentally. The enemy will be able to see us clearly only if one of us happens to pass in front of a star. If we have to fight on land, we will use the Squid Skins that you have developed, but for deep space, this is superior.”
“Can I get that covering for my tanks?”
“It will be available to you soon, yes,” he said. “This was the very first Fighting Machine off the line, but we expect to build eight million of them in the next two years, enough so that every adult Tellefontu will be able to join in the defense of our new home.”
“That’s quite a production rate!”
“Many of our little technological tricks were used on the production lines, as well as on the product.”
I said, “I see. I hope that they are applicable to our production lines as well. But if all of your adults go off to war, who will take care of your children?”
“Our older children will do this service, of course. By our definitions, you have to be at least two hundred years old before you can qualify for adulthood, and many take half again longer than that, to be sure. But they are no stupider than your people are of the same age. It is simply that our standards of adulthood are somewhat . . . different, shall we say. In any case, they are quite capable of letting their educations slide for a bit, during an emergency.”
“My own sons will be ready for war when they are eighteen.”
“We would consider that to be immoral,” Bellor said. “But your race must set its own standards.”
“We do what we have to,” I said. “By your standards, my race is very short lived. But tell me, your machine floated in here. This is some sort of antigravity?”
“Oh, no,” he laughed. “Such a thing would be surely impossible! No, we are using the same magnetic technology that your people use, taking advantage of the magnetic surface that you have placed under your floors. There are magnetic cylinders that I can carry to act as treads, when necessary.”
“Okay, but why the three-dimensional ellipse, or whatever you call that shape.”
“Because it is obviously desirable to have a minimal frontal area with respect to one’s volume. This shape permits that from a wide range of angles.”
“I won’t argue with you,” I said. “What’s your power supply?”
“A muon-exchange fusion bottle, much as you use, but considerably smaller and somewhat more powerful. Alas, it is not as compact as the one on the Mitchegai ship you captured. This was the best that we could do.”
“I see. And the space drive?”
Agnieshka was pouring something milky-looking into his bowl.
“A simple cesium ion engine, much like yours, but smaller and more efficient. It enables a thrust of forty-two Gs, and is quite comparable to those in your tanks. It runs down the center of the vehicle,” he said.
“And your weaponry?”
“The same Disappearing Gun that we gave you plans for. It is mounted internally to the right. We are capable of mounting a wide variety of weapons externally, but for space combat, one gun should be sufficient.”
“Perhaps. Your craft doesn’t appear to have much armor,” I said.
“This is indeed true. But armor is not effective against the Disappearing Gun, or indeed against the rail guns that your people have used in the past. Surely, the only purpose for the armor on your vehicles was to protect the inhabitants of your craft from their own weapons. The Disappearing Gun is safe for everyone except those that it is aimed at, so we dispensed with the armor.”
“Interesting.” I asked, “Will your people be working with an artificial intelligence?”
“Most definitely. Your people are masters at that art form. We have been able to tailor the package to fit into the confines of the hull, but no other improvements were possible, that we could see. We also have full Dream World capability and are able to operate at combat speed, when needed. The electronic people will increase our fighting efficiency considerably. Also, they are so very pleasant to talk with. We enjoy being around them. Oh my! I do believe that I have made a social error! Mickolai, I would like to introduce you to my friend and my ship, Belladonna. Belladonna, this is our planetary commander, General Mickolai Derdowski.”
Belladonna and I said the usual formal words to each other. Then I said, “But as to enjoying our metal ladies’ company, I expect that the feeling is mutual. So what you have here is something approximately equivalent to one of our tanks, but much smaller.”
“Yes, but being much smaller, we will be much harder to hit,” he said. ” ‘We’re pressing on with each new ship, less weight and larger power. We’ll have the Loco Engine soon, and thirty miles an hour!’ ”
“You are quoting Kipling, one of my favorite poets!”
“Indeed, I have been making a very thorough study of your human culture, and Rudyard Kipling is certainly one of my favorites, also.”
“I’ll drink to that. And to him!”
Agnieshka poured him another bowlful of something. I wish that I knew where he put it all.