The Great Hydration

He seemed to be in a reverie. “There is a possibility. The Tlixix may have bred a new type of servant race more like themselves, even though humanoid. Perhaps they are beginning to doubt the loyalty of the Gamintes.” He pondered further. “But then they would have to share their water with them … puzzling …”

Suddenly he seemed to come to life again. “There must be an immediate convocation. This is what will be proposed. Hrityu of the Analane, you will without delay instruct our artisans in the manufacture and use of your ‘radiator’. Meanwhile a force will be assembled to speed to the aid of your tribe. Karvass, there is also a task for you. Lead a raiding force to the water-eating strangers. We need to know more about them. Capture one, and bring him back here!”

Though their pleasure was to slosh luxuriously in abundant water, Tlixix could also make their way on dry land—though preferably, of course, on spume-drenched land, being adapted for clambering over rocky shoreline. On a dozen stalk-like legs the visiting VIP dragged himself through the corridors of the Enterprise, blue-tinged chitin scraping on the floor, shelled head with its four white eyes turning this way and that.

The welcoming party consisted of O’Rourke, looking irritated as usual, Spencer the planetologist, and most of the engineering team that was assembling the shock tubes. The protocol, though a trifle perfunctory, was adequate enough, the eminent personage being treated with utmost deference—though Castaneda, the only one wearing a translation necklace, found himself being called on to act as interpreter. “You’ll know how to talk to them,” O’Rourke had muttered hurriedly. “You’ve had the experience.”

So Castaneda did his best. He had been present at a number of such courtesy tours in the past, usually conducted by the partners in person. On one occasion he had asked whether planet-bound aliens might not go into shock on being taken into space. Krabbe had scowled, dismissing the point with a wave of his hand.

“Anybody that feeble won’t do business anyway, Carlos. They’ll clam up, go into fugue.”

Castaneda took the Tlixix on a circuitous route through the starship, giving the maximum impression of its size, showing the propulsion section, the engineering departments including shock tube assembly—this he carefully explained—and finally finishing up on the navigation bridge. There he put Tenacity on the main screen. He knew the effect this would have. He had seen it before, more than once. It did not matter what the species; the astonishment was the same.

“That is our world?”

The voice of the Tlixix came through the translator as a breathless whisper.

“That’s your world,” Castaneda confirmed flatly. “The one we’re going to transform for you.”

The four milk-white eyes were fixed on the screen as though hypnotised. Castaneda could almost hear the creature’s thoughts.

His was a deliberate ploy. The vision of one’s home world as an object, rather than a limitless environment, with dark space all around it, made the idea that it could be altered much more believable.

Finally the Tlixix pulled himself out of his trance. “I will inform my colleagues that you speak the truth,” he said hoarsely.

Smiling faintly, O’Rourke nodded when Castaneda relayed the words. He turned to his secretary who stood behind him.

“Tell them to start drilling,” he murmured.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Roncie didn’t hear them coming.

Like most hot deserts, Tenacity grew cold during the night. Roncie huddled in his tent, trying to sleep. A faint thrumming sound, like a rope vibrating in the wind, filtered through the camp. It was the sound made by the drilling rig, dipping down through the basaltic crust, its e-m beam constantly returning itself to the resonance frequencies of the rock crystals it met to pull them apart molecule by molecule. A mound, or giant snake, went winding out over the desert, made up of the dust and rubble being shuffled out of the hole.

The work was going well. The project was turning out to be an even easier job than had been anticipated. Castaneda’s men had been able to determine that only eight strategically placed shock tubes would be sufficient to realign the fracture plates. Three drilling rigs had been delivered by engineering so far, with another on the way. This camp, site A, had already drilled five kilometers down. When it reached its planned depth of ten kilometers the rig would be moved out to do the same elsewhere.

Roncie had managed to fall into a doze when a stealthy opening of the tent flap woke him up. Starlight showed through the opening, outlining an indistinct figure.

He sat up, thinking it was one of the survey team. “Swanson?”