The person who had already spoken with the spiders, he had decided, was the logical one to reopen the conversation.
An hour later, with Prilicla hovering at its shoulder, the pathologist was walking slowly in the direction of the sea and radiating feelings of mild disappointment because it was unable for reasons of personal security to immerse itself. It was carrying a small sheet of plastic that had been rolled, speaking-trumpet-fashion, into a cone because they had agreed that using a mike and Rhabwar’s thunderous external loudspeaker would have been unnecessary vocal overkill. He was towing a small float containing the translation-computer terminal.
“I know I exchanged words with that spider captain, if that is what it is,” said Murchison as they crossed the line of disturbed sand where the meteorite screen had briefly been switched on, “but only a few nouns and a verb, maybe two, and stopping the others from shooting crossbow bolts at me might not have been an act of friendship. It may not have wanted to waste ammunition in the sea because it was expecting to capture all of us later.”
For a moment it radiated minor embarrassment, associated no doubt with a minor infringement of its Earth-human nudity taboo, then went on, “When it saw me I was wearing the only swimsuit I had with me, and this underwear is, well, differently styled and colored. It might not recognize me again. I think you’re expecting too much of me, sir.”
“Perhaps,” he replied, “I’m expecting a miracle. When you are ready, friend Murchison.”
They walked and flew for about thirty meters beyond the mark in the sand left by the meteorite shield. If it had been switched on they would have moved freely through it, for it was designed to stop only incoming objects, but they would not have been able to go back again. A few spiders were moving about close to their ships, and two of them were moving back along a ramp they had built between the beach and the wreck of Terragar, although what people who knew nothing of metal would think of such a hard, nonorganic structure, was anyone’s guess. Prilicla could feel Murchison’s irritation at being ignored as it lifted the speaking trumpet to its mouth.
“Krisit,” it said, pointing at the nearest spider vessel, then turning to indicate Rhabwar. “Preket krisit.” It repeated the words several times before pointing at itself and saying several times, “Hukmaki.” Finally it pointed towards the spider vessel that had been first to arrive and so presumably contained her spider captain, and shouted, “Krititkukik.”
There was no visible reaction, but he could feel the cloud of hostility that was emoting from the ships being laced with eddies of interest and curiosity. On the upperworks of the nearest vessel a spider appeared and began chittering loudly and continuously through its speaking trumpet, which was not directed at them. A party of five spiders assembled around the end of the boarding ramp. Suddenly they came scurrying towards them, unlimbering their crossbows as they came.
“Krititkukik,” Murchison shouted again. “Humakik.”
“They aren’t coming to talk,” said Prilicla.
“I don’t have to be an empath to know that,” Murchison said, radiating the anger of disappointment. “Captain, the shield!”
“Right,” said Fletcher, “I’m powering it up for full repulsion in ten seconds from now. You’ve got that much time to get back across the line or you stay out there with your friends.”
Prilicla banked sharply and flew back the way he had come, weaving from side to side as the crossbow bolts whispered past his slowly beating wings. Then he thought that evasive action might not be such a good idea because the spiders were shooting while on the move, which meant that their accuracy would suffer and he might dodge into one of the bolts. He decided to do as Murchison was doing and move straight and fast while giving them a steady target at which to aim and hopefully miss.
They crossed the disturbed line of sand with a full two seconds to spare before the meteorite shield stopped any more bolts from reaching them. The pathologist halted, turned, and for a moment watched the bolts that were heading straight at them bouncing off the shield and falling harmlessly onto the sand. The intensity of the spiders’ emotional radiation was such that he was forced to land, shaking uncontrollably. The pathologist raised its speaking trumpet again.