“What’s inside these tubes?”
“Nothing.”
I sighed. “What is inside these tubes when the machine is operating?”
“Raw materials.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding. “So the tubes open on the outside of the ship?”
“When it is in use, yes.”
“And the big arm feeds it the appropriate materials?”
“Yes.”
I fooled with it, tapping on the tubes and crawling around the cramped space, looking for an exit point, but there was none. This was unsurprising. The Nanos made their own openings in things whenever they felt the need.
“Alamo, this is very interesting. I need you to make something for me with this machine.”
“Permission denied.”
“Alamo, I am command personnel.”
“You are command personnel,” the ship agreed.
“I need to save this planet. That is my mission. Change the permissions so I can complete my mission.”
Hesitation. “Permissions not changed.”
“I can’t change the permissions on this unit?” I asked, thinking hard like a hacker.
“You do not have the authority to change the permissions on this unit.”
“Alamo,” I said thoughtfully. “Your mission is to stop the Macros, correct?”
“Yes.”
“My mission is also to stop the Macros. Using this repair unit will allow me to complete my mission and allow you to complete your mission as well. You will change the permissions on your own authority. Change the permissions so we may both complete our missions.”
Hesitation. “Permissions changed.”
I clapped my hands together. Like every complex system, there was usually a work-around.
“I need you to construct something small for me. I need a hand-held version of the lasers that arm this ship.”
“Request insufficiently specific.”
“Okay,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. It had begun to ache from being in this cramped spot.
“Just make a miniature version of the lasers that arm this ship. Make it one tenth-no one twentieth-the scale.”
“Raw materials needed.”
“Proceed to get the raw materials. But don’t kill anyone!” I added hastily.
“Program executing.”
“Estimated time of completion?”
“Unknown.”
“What part of the process is the greatest variable?”
“Locating and securing raw materials of the correct size and shape.”
“Okay… if you had the raw materials right now, how long would it take to produce the weapon?”
“Approximately six minutes. Warning: the preceding was a coerced estimate, and may or not be accurate.”
“There, there, Alamo,” I said, patting one of the walls as if soothing an excited pet. “I know how much you hate giving estimates. You are doing fine.”
I climbed back through the ship to the bridge. I left instructions for the ship to deliver the weapon system to me when it was finished manufacturing it.
When I got back to the bridge, Sandra grilled me. I explained what I had been up to. She told me she’d never seen that machine.
“I don’t think the Alamo really wants us to see it. I only figured out its existence by deduction. In centuries past, when ships traveled across the oceans, they had to take everything with them to rebuild the ship from scratch if necessary.”
“Why?”
“Often, the ship would be damaged. It would leave the crew stranded on some island or a beach along the jungle-covered mainland. There was no one to help, no one to come rescue them. Back then, there wasn’t even any good communication technology like a radio to call for help. The crew had to be able to repair anything and everything, or they could die.”
“So you figured this ship must have the same capacity?”
“I thought it was likely to, yes. If they can rebuild our bodies, rebuilding an engine shouldn’t be too hard.”
She nodded slowly. “What can we do with it?”
“If I’m right, then it will be answer to everything,” I told her.
It was the next morning before the ship finally reached through the walls to hand us the item it had labored over. I stopped eating a bowl of cereal-still my breakfast of choice despite having a world of foodstuffs to choose from. I looked over the object the ship had delivered. It had taken longer than I had expected, but I was impressed with the final result. It looked like a fancy pen, but was the size of a watchman’s flashlight. It had a crystalline tip that I suspected wasn’t full of ink.
I couldn’t find any way to fire it, however. It had no trigger.
“Alamo, how do you shoot this thing?”
“Question too vague to generate a response.”
“I mean, I wish to fire this device. Give me instructions to do so.”
“Connect the device to a power supply. Direct the tip toward the target. Turn on the power supply.”
I nodded, suddenly understanding. I’d asked the ship to make me a miniature version of its own guns. There were no triggers or battery packs on its own lasers. They were attached to the ship itself and they fired when energy was switched on. I might as well hold a light bulb in my hand and ask why it wasn’t shining.
Still, I thought that for my purposes it would do the trick. It was my bargaining chip. I held it in my lap and decided it was time to contact Senator Kim Bager.
Using Pierre’s tiny portable computer, I logged in and connected to a server. Someone down there on Earth must have had the joyous job of monitoring the server around the clock. I was immediately hailed. I hesitated, then joined a private chat room to talk to them. I was glad Pierre had set his system to remember all his passwords. I had no idea what they were, and I didn’t have to figure them out.
“Hello?” I said.
“Pierre?” said a voice.
I nodded to myself. Could it be that they didn’t even know he was dead? Or were they going to play dumb?
“You know this isn’t Pierre,” I said.
“Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Commander Riggs.”
“You are a commander of the alien ships?”
“Of Star Force, yes. Connect me to Senator Kim Bager, please.”
That threw him for a second. “I’ll connect you to my superiors, sir.”
It took a few more intermediaries and about a half-hour of fooling around, but I eventually got through to the Senator. My first direct communications with Bager were awkward, to say the least. I decided not to go easy on her.
“Senator,” I said sternly, “I’m sorry that Ambassador Pierre Gaspard is not able to continue meeting with you.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear-”
“He was killed, unfortunately, by your government’s assassins. I’m sure you have been briefed, as you arranged the meeting yourself.”
“Ah-what? He’s been killed?”
