It was time Prilicla shone a little light of his own. Literally Describing aloud what he was doing and thinking, he began switching on and off his helmet spotlight, low enough to be barely perceptible by his own eyes at first, then gradually increasing the intensity. He didn’t want the alien survivor to mistake the light for a weapon, but he also wanted to know if he was being seen through the robot’s eyes or if there were other visual sensors in operation. When he began to detect feelings of physical discomfort that were characteristic of sensory overload, presumably a reaction to a light that was now dazzling it, he reduced the brightness until its feeling of discomfort went away. Next he began flashing his light in an attempt to transmit intelligence in a form that he hoped the other should understand—simple arithmetic.
One flash of light followed two seconds later by another, then two flashes in rapid succession. He repeated the process with three, four, and five flashes as he tried to demonstrate simple addition as well as his own possession of intelligence. A change in the other’s emotional radiation, a sudden feeling of interest, an understanding combining with the background curiosity, told him that he had succeeded.
It was an immediate and present response to his first attempt at communication, but now he needed to know if he could continue the process at long range.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said, “you’ve seen and know what I’ve been doing. I’m going to stop using my helmet light. Instead I want you to duplicate the sequence and timing, but using your ship’s external hull lighting. I won’t be able to see Rhabwar from here, so please tell me as soon as you begin.”
“Right, Doctor,” said the captain. “I’ll need a moment to … You’ve got it.”
He didn’t need the other’s words because the survivor was reacting exactly as it had done to his helmet light, although the curiosity it was radiating was becoming tinged with impatience.
Plainly it was wondering what he was going to do next. That made two of them.
“Thank you, friend Fletcher,” he said. “You can stop signaling now.”
He had expected but was still relieved at the confirmation that the visual communication could be continued from the ambulance ship, either by himself or—if he was undergoing one of his frequent periods of regenerative unconsciousness—by one of the others. But abruptly his relief was obliterated by a sudden explosion of fear from the survivor. Even the movements of its robot had become agitated.
“I’m not doing anything,” he said sharply into his communicator. “What’s happening out there?”
“Nothing much,” the captain replied promptly. “In order to save time loading and off-loading it from the pinnace, Dodds is using his suit thrusters to bring the holo projector to you. It’s an awkward piece of equipment but he can manage; in fact he’s about to land on the hull as we speak. …”
“Dodds,” said Prilicla urgently, “don’t move! The alien survivor is terrified. Turn back until I can find out why.”
But he already knew why. The holo projector was a large, intricate, and completely harmless piece of equipment, but the survivor didn’t know that. While its attention was being directed at Rhabwar’s lights, it had seen Dodds, one of the DBDG lifeforms which for some reason frightened it, about to land on its nip with what it must have thought was a weapon. Except in the areas where the hull was damaged the ship had external defenses. Terragar had learned that, to its cost. But now it seemed there were no comparable internal defenses. A porcupine didn’t need spines on the inside.
As well as being sensitive to others’ emotions, Prilicla knew he was a good projective empath. But he also knew that there was no way to make a being who was in the grip of intense fear feel good, or at least a little better, without first removing the source. That was why he concentrated all of his considerable empathic ability into the projection of reassurance, sympathy and trust at a level of intensity that he could not maintain for more than a few minutes. He also gesticulated on the off-chance that the survivor could understand the gestures he was making while he spoke into his communicator. “I’m pointing back the way I came,” he said, “then making pushing motions with my hands to give the impression that I’m barring entry to anyone else. By now the survivor should have seen friend Dodds turning back. I think it’s working. The fear is diminishing….”