The Garments of Caean

‘To live in space biologically must require an entire systematic overhaul,’ Amara supplied. ‘Almost certainly the blood is replaced by a more suitable fluid that won’t form bubbles under zero pressure. Just where their tissues get their oxygen from I can’t fathom at the moment. As you can see the lungs have been excised in every case. Probably those chest boxes carry a store of oxygen, possibly in a solid state or locked in a compound, which they release into the bloodstream – or pseudo-bloodstream – at a regulated rate. I’ll ask the medics to write up a report on it. The idea seems strange to us, of course, but technically there’s nothing difficult in any of it. It’s just that – well, who would want to do that to themselves?’ She shuddered.

‘I’ll second that,’ Estru said fervidly. ‘I don’t know which is worse, the man in the suit or these fellows.’

Amara had been searching for a word. Now she found it. ‘Cyborgs,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Cyborgs. That’s what these are. I knew I’d heard of the phenomenon somewhere before. The word occurs in several dead languages – it stands for “cybernated organism” – but more as a legend than a fact. This is the first time I knew for certain that any had actually been made.’

From Amara’s board came the voice of Aspar, in sensor section. ‘I’m picking up transmitted speech, Amara. Want to listen to it?’

She smiled. ‘Yes. It will be interesting to hear what they have to say.’

But when the voices followed Aspar’s, several voices speaking at a time, her smile changed to a frown which deepened by the second. The voices were high-pitched, with odd, alien-sounding inflections. The language, as far as she could tell through the gabble, bore no relation either to Russian or to any known to her.

Estru looked at her with concern. ‘Well? What do they say?’

She shook her head. ‘It isn’t Russian. I don’t know what it is.’

There was a sudden quickening of activity on the raft. Several cyborgs leaped to a large device mounted on the nearside periphery. In their hands the machine swivelled and emitted a bright flash.

A muted buzz from Amara’s table informed her that the Callan was under attack. On the screen she was unable to see what kind of weapon the device on the raft was, but three more flashes followed in rapid succession.

Captain Wilce’s voice came through to her. ‘We have a decision to make, Amara,’ he said firmly. ‘They’re firing rocket missiles at us. The electrostatic deflectors have prevented any hits so far, but we can’t rely on that. I must insist that we either retaliate or withdraw.’

Amara bit her lip. She knew that Captain Wilce felt he had been given a slightly unfair brief for this mission. The Callan was only lightly armed, in recognition of the fact that they would be intruding into Caeanic space. Some attempt had been made to compensate for this with a purely defensive, non-aggressive measure in the form of electrostatic focusing, said to be able to lock on to and deflect any solid missile or non-radiant energy beam. The Captain did not believe in its efficacy, however, and exhibited some nervousness where the security of his ship was concerned.

‘I want to take one of those specimens alive,’ she said suddenly. ‘Do whatever’s necessary, Captain.’

‘Fair enough.’

The cyborgs appeared to be infuriated by their gun’s failure to damage the Callan. They began to quit the raft; about half their number surged towards the ship in an angry swarm, propelling themselves by means of cylinders with small, flaring nozzles. They carried a variety of hand weapons: ray-guns, recoilless rifles, big spiked hammers. One cyborg, a launching tube mounted on its back, lobbed a mortar bomb. Automatically the electrostatic deflector seized it and hurled it away into space.

At the same time the Callan was bearing down on the space raft. Narrow energy beams seethed harmlessly against the hull. Bullets, unnoticed by the electrostatic deflector, bounced off it.

The ship’s bulk scattered the cyborgs like chaff. Their cacophonous yelling swelled, almost deafening Amara and Estru; high-pitched, ranting sounds full of hatred. A whiplash tentacle snaked out from the ship and wound itself round one of the modified men, dragging him inboard.

Amara gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘That’s that, Captain. I think we can withdraw now.’

‘Good.’

The scene on the vidplate dwindled. The raft and its crew vanished into the endless void.

Instantly Amara switched to the airlock. The handling crew were not having an easy time with the cyborg. Although still restrained by the steel tentacle, it had tried to shoot one of them with its ray gun and had left molten metal running down the side of the chamber. It struggled wildly, almost manically, as they strove to disarm it.

‘Hmm, interesting,’ Amara murmured. ‘Both he and the suit-man exhibit responses on the barbaric level. They react to strangers with fear and hostility. Incongruous for a people whose entire existence depends on technology, don’t you think?’