He couldn’t help suddenly imagining the oblong ovoid-gripped between his thighs-as something out of science fiction. A cuckoo’s egg. Perhaps a Trojan horse. “Contamination” could work both ways. Might it be a terrible mistake to touch the thing?
Another sudden jolt bounced his little craft as the main parasail popped from its canister, rapidly unfolding and then auto-warping in order to steer the descent. His little capsule began swaying to a jaunty rhythm, as one less failure mode lay between Gerald and terra firma. The crazed gyrations of
Was the ai trying to say something? About responsibility?
“Akana Hideoshi,” he said, adding a tooth click for TRANSMIT.
It didn’t take long for her face to reappear, this time free of static, filling a quarter of the tiny cabin, in holographic detail.
She tossed off a derisive shrug.
“
Akana blinked, finally taking in the sight of Gerald, with his hand poised over the Artifact on his lap.
He offered a rueful smile.
“General, I’m invoking full quarantine.
“Better put up a cot for me, inside the specimen lab.
“And bring on the shrinks.”
Polychrome patterns swirled toward the nearest fingertip, as if eager.
Or else-he suddenly pondered-preparing to defend itself.
There was no sudden jolt or electric arc, or any cheap-movie disturbance. Just another set of ripples, no more spectacular than dropping pebbles into an oil slick. And even those then began to shrink, coalescing to produce a fringe, an outline, roughly the shape of his hand.
Not perfect, by any means. In fact, as he (and Akana) watched, Gerald realized that the match was defective. Several of the finger impressions crumpled, a bit too short to match his own. Another pair drew outward, like dough, centimeters too long for any kind of match.
Knuckles bulged. Then he realized-
And-
A tapered wrist, leading to a slender forearm that emerged into view as more of the murk parted, revealing greater depth. Instead of a bulky, yellow spacesuit, that opposing arm appeared to be clad in a loose white sleeve.
From the surface where two hands touched, his own arm rose toward his shoulder, while its strange-looking counterpart descended
More mist fell away and his perspective shifted. Abruptly, Gerald was no longer looking
… and then-as he held his breath-a head, as long and wedgelike as that of a horse, only with paired eyes that aimed forward, above a rounded mouth. There seemed, even, to be a semblance of a smile.
Sudden jerks rocked his little space capsule, as the recovery plane snagged its chute. But Gerald’s sole concern was to keep his left hand in place-not breaking contact as the figure within seemed to stride or float closer, halving the ersatz distance between them, bringing that alien head near enough to peer outward at him with a gaze that seemed oddly familiar.
The mouth did not move, but a fringe of flapping cheek membranes did. And what emerged then surprised Gerald more than anything so far.
Not sound, but
Greeting.
That was all.
For now, it was enough.
PART THREE
A THOUSAND NATURAL SHOCKS
There’s a reason why kings built large palaces, sat on thrones and wore rubies all over. There’s a whole social need for that, not to oppress the masses, but to impress the masses and make them proud and allow them to feel good about their culture, their government and their ruler so that they are left feeling that a ruler has the right to rule over them, so that they feel good rather than disgusted about being ruled.
– George Lucas,
This disposition to admire, and almost to worship, the rich and the powerful, and to despise, or, at least, to neglect, persons of poor and mean condition, though necessary both to establish and to maintain the distinction of ranks and the order of society, is, at the same time, the great and most universal cause of the corruption of our moral sentiments.
– Adam Smith,
It’s good to be the king.
– Mel Brooks,