Mutineer's Moon

“W—who are you?” MacIntyre demanded a bit hoarsely, then paused and cleared his throat. “What do you want with me?” he asked more levelly.

“I fear that answering those questions will be a bit complicated,” the voice said imperturbably, “but you may call me Dahak, Commander.”

Chapter Three

MacIntyre drew a deep breath. At least the whatever—they—weres were finally talking to him. And in English, too. Which inspired a small, welcome spurt of righteous indignation.

“Your apologies might carry a little more weight if you’d bothered to communicate with me before you kidnaped me,” he said coldly.

“I realize that,” his captor replied, “but it was impossible.”

“Oh? You seem to have overcome your problems rather nicely since.” MacIntyre was comforted to find he could still achieve a nasty tone.

“Your communication devices are rather primitive, Commander.” The words were almost apologetic. “My tender was not equipped to interface with them.”

“You’re doing quite well. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“It was not possible. The tender’s stealth systems enclosed both you and itself in a field impervious to radio transmissions. It was possible for me to communicate with the tender using my own communication systems, but there was no on-board capability to relay my words to you. Once more, I apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered.”

MacIntyre bit off a giggle at how calmly this Dahak person produced a neat, thousand percent understatement like “inconvenience,” and the incipient hysteria of his own sound helped sober him. He ran shaky fingers through his sandy-brown hair, feeling as if he had taken a punch or two too many.

“All right … Dahak. You’ve got me—what do you intend to do with me?”

“I would be most grateful if you would leave your vessel and come to the command deck, Commander.”

“Just like that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You expect me to step out of my ship and surrender just like that?”

“Excuse me. It has been some time since I have communicated with a human, so perhaps I have been clumsy. You are not a prisoner, Commander. Or perhaps you are. I should like to treat you as an honored guest, but honesty compels me to admit that I cannot allow you to leave. However, I assure you upon the honor of the Fleet that no harm will come to you.”

Insane as it all sounded, MacIntyre felt a disturbing tendency to believe it. This Dahak could have lied and promised release as the aliens’ ambassador to humanity, but he hadn’t. The finality of that “cannot allow you to leave” was more than a bit chilling, but its very openness was a sort of guarantor of honesty, wasn’t it? Or did he simply want it to be? But even if Dahak was a congenital liar, he had few options.

His consumables could be stretched to about three weeks, so he could cower in his Beagle that long, assuming Dahak was prepared to let him. But what then? Escape was obviously impossible, so his only real choice was how soon he came out, not whether or not he did so.

Besides, he felt a stubborn disinclination to show how frightened he was.

“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll come.”

“Thank you, Commander. You will find the environment congenial, though you may, of course, suit up if you prefer.”

“Thank you.” MacIntyre’s sarcasm was automatic, but, again, it was only a matter of time before he had to rely on whatever atmosphere the voice chose to provide, and he sighed. “Then I suppose I’m ready.”

“Very well. A vehicle is now approaching your vessel. It should be visible to your left.”

MacIntyre craned his neck and caught a glimpse of movement as a double-ended bullet-shape about the size of a compact car slid rapidly closer, gliding a foot or so above the floor. It came to a halt under the leading edge of his port wing, exactly opposite his forward hatch, and a door slid open. Light spilled from the opening, bright and welcoming in the dim metal cavern.

“I see it,” he said, pleased to note that his voice sounded almost normal again.

“Excellent. If you would be so kind as to board it, then?”

“I’m on my way,” he said, and released his harness.

He stood, and discovered yet another strangeness. MacIntyre had put in enough time on Luna, particularly in the three years he’d spent training for the Prometheus Mission, to grow accustomed to its reduced gravity—which was why he almost fell flat on his face when he rose.

His eyes widened. He couldn’t be certain, but his weight felt about right for a standard gee, which meant these bozos could generate gravity to order!

Well, why not? The one thing that was crystal clear was that these … call them people … were far, far ahead of his own twenty-first-century technology, right?

His muscles tightened despite Dahak’s reassurances as he opened the hatch, but the air that swirled about him had no immediately lethal effect. In fact, it smelled far better than the inside of the Beagle. It was crisp and a bit chill, its freshness carrying just a kiss of a spicy evergreen-like scent, and some of his tension eased as he inhaled deeply. It was harder to feel terrified of aliens who breathed something like this—always assuming they hadn’t manufactured it purely for his own consumption, of course.

It was four-and-a-half meters to the floor, and he found himself wishing his hosts had left gravity well enough alone as he swung down the emergency hand-holds and approached the patiently waiting vehicle with caution.

It seemed innocuous enough. There were two comfortable looking chairs proportioned for something the same size and shape as a human, but no visible control panel. The most interesting thing, though, was that the upper half of the vehicle’s hull was transparent—from the inside. From the outside, it looked exactly the same as the bronze-colored floor under his feet.

He shrugged and climbed aboard, noticing that the silently suspended vehicle didn’t even quiver under his weight. He chose the right-hand seat, then made himself sit motionless as the padded surface squirmed under him. A moment later, it had reconfigured itself exactly to the contours of his body and the hatch licked shut.

“Are you ready, Commander?” His host’s voice came from no apparent source, and MacIntyre nodded.

“Let ’er rip,” he said, and the vehicle began to move.

At least there was a sense of movement this time. He sank firmly back into the seat under at least two gees’ acceleration. No wonder the thing was bullet-shaped! The little vehicle rocketed across the cavern, straight at a featureless metal wall, and he flinched involuntarily. But a hatch popped open an instant before they hit, and they darted straight into another brightly-lit bore, this one no wider than two or three of the vehicles in which he rode.

He considered speaking further to Dahak, but the only real purpose would be to bolster his own nerve and “prove” his equanimity, and he was damned if he’d chatter to hide the heebie-jeebies. So he sat silently, watching the walls flash by, and tried to estimate their velocity.

It was impossible. The walls weren’t featureless, but speed reduced them to a blur that was long before the acceleration eased into the familiar sensation of free-fall, and MacIntyre felt a sense of wonder pressing the last panic from his soul. This base dwarfed the vastest human installation he’d ever seen—how in God’s name had a bunch of aliens managed an engineering project of such magnitude without anyone even noticing?

There was a fresh spurt of acceleration and a sideways surge of inertia as the vehicle swept through a curved junction and darted into yet another tunnel. It seemed to stretch forever, like the one that had engulfed his