Erik J Kreffel Presents 2 Shorts (+1) Read online

head. He breathed deeply and led us forward. "I have no idea. Father said he saw the wreckage of the Iuthan craft himself. Maybe this is another section that broke off entering the atmosphere. In that case, it's remarkable that it's still relatively intact."

  "The Hooudua sacked the craft after Tooraag's team found me, that much I know. That would explain the absence on our scope. But this...could they have missed it?"

  We limped onward, Rogagh spying a large dish, half-broken, lying ajar in the soil. He pulled it from the ground and wiped the caked dirt from its interior. A metal cord was still plugged into the dish's exterior.

  "A communications transmission array," Rogagh noted. "Tooraag said he read Iuthan schematics of such devices, but never found one. This is a boon, brother."

  I shivered in the open air. Night was creeping across the sky, chasing Awaytha under the horizon. "What good does it do? There's nothing left to receive a transmission with it."

  Rogagh smiled, the first time I had seen one from him since our departure. "Perhaps not, but this has a transceiver inside it still, and the skimmer should be able to interface with it and perhaps discern what frequencies the Iuthans employed. This is more than Tooraag was able to do."

  I agreed. After a childhood spent pestering my adoptive father about my people, and the poor man having no answers to provide me, this was indeed a blessing. I crawled back into the skimmer and seated myself with a shawl while Rogagh plugged the dish into the skimmer's instrument bay, not wanting to interfere with his rescue efforts by complaining about the cold.

  Rogagh spent the night manipulating the nearly incompatible devices. I rested, waking occasionally to warm myself with a steaming mug of Qopand the few rations we had packed. It was well into the next morning when he awoke me gently, lifting my torpid frame to view the fruits of his labor. The dish's transceiver, a box screwed into the back of the dish, was brimming with lit red and blue diodes. Now plugged into the skimmer's instrument bay, where the display panel showed a text box full of numerals, the dish gave up its half-century of secrets for Rogagh and myself to view.

  Heartened, I forgot about the pain, the shortness of breath, the weakness plaguing me for the last few years. Now, I was that child again, that restless young man seeking the answers no one could give me. I felt the most complete I had ever been.

  "You were correct, brother, in that this old dish couldn't receive signals. But, the skimmer can, and maybe more efficiently. We have Iuthan communication frequencies. I waited to wake you before trying." Rogagh paused, looking into my eyes thoughtfully. "This is what you came for. Are you ready?"

  "How could you ask such a question? I've waited my whole life for this."

  Rogagh flipped a switch on the instrument bay, opening the skimmer's transceiver array. A flood of static washed over the tiny speakers, the language of the stars. Millions of photons, electrons and protons filtered through the system, indiscernable, cascading from all directions and frequencies. Tapping the first frequency into the skimmer's transceiver, Rogagh cut the static down to a monotone hiss. It wasn't much, but it was a single frequency, a beginning.

  "Nothing on that one. Perhaps no one is there today. Don't worry, there are plenty more."

  I patiently waited as Rogagh went down the frequency list, exhausting each one's feasibility. Some seemed suitable, even promising, but ultimately nothing but loud chirps, pops or drones came of them. I reclined, the initial surge of adrenaline from Rogagh's accomplishment quickly draining my body of energy. I had begun to lose faith when a tinny voice, mechanical perhaps or filtered to an almost machine-like quality broadcast over the speaker, sending my head towards the instrument bay, an unabashed kid again.

  "Trying to adjust the wavelength." Rogagh sat forward, his tongue slightly placed between his lips in concentration, his fingers tweaking the transmitter minutely. "This is the best I can do with this one."

  I cocked my head, trying to discern the voice. The language wasn't Gyaathan, nor Hoouduan. It could have been a half-dozen other languages of the varying peoples across Wayth, but I couldn't be sure. My native Iuthan homeworld had hundreds of languages and dialects, from what Tooraag had noted of the generational ship's artifacts and its remains, none of which I had much knowledge, except that of my native tongue, but even that was mostly forgotten, save my name. In all likelihood I may have been from one of the multitude of tribes and peoples Tooraag said inhabited Iutha, but I could never know which one. This may all have been futile, this old man's folly.

  "...To the peoples of Wayth, we bring you greetings. If your civilization is able to receive this transmission, we offer you friendship and salutations."

  I looked to Rogagh, who returned my surprise. The mechanical voice, which until now spoke in some language indecipherable to us both, now broadcast in Gyaathan. It repeated the greeting again, then shifted into yet another language, this one identifiable as Hoouduan. Whoever this was, they knew our languages, at least enough for a formal greeting. We huddled close and listened further, waiting for the voice to repeat its Gyaathan message.

  A scant moment later, a lengthier transmission in Gyaathan followed the preamble, bearing the words I had yearned to hear my whole life:

  "We are the peoples of Earth, the third planet orbiting the G-type star Sol, which we have identified as named Iutha from your transmissions. Like your world, Earth is composed of over two thousand distinct societies and cultures, many of which have sent craft into the depths of our solar system. By studying the transmissions of your world, we have gleaned basic knowledge of your planet, and have concluded your civilizations as friendly, and inquisitive. Our cultures are equally inquisitive, and as such we wish for a cultural exchange. As we speak, a hundred humans, as we call ourselves, are preparing for a multi-generational voyage to your star system, in the hopes of reaching your world in one hundred and twenty years, approximately ninety-nine years, seven months and twenty-three days, adjusted according to your world's orbital year."

  I couldn't believe my ears...my people were sending more to land here. But when, where? I listened for more details, my pulse quickening.

  "We thirst for knowledge. In the long history of Earth, never before has another star shown the telltale signs of inhabited, and intelligent, life, until now. For years, your civilizations' broadcasts have been received here on Earth and entertained us greatly. It is through the diligent work of many biologists, linguists, mathematicians, sociologists and psychologists that we have deciphered your three most prevalent languages and beamed this message to you. For your information-gathering purposes, and to facilitate friendly relations upon our travelers' arrival, we present the commanding crew of the craft SS Amity, in their own words:

  "Hello and greetings, Wayth! My name is Charles Leonard Raymond, Captain United States Navy, commander of the SS Amity. I am twenty-nine years old, and this is my fourth mission in space. We volunteer our lives to venture to your world in this exciting journey of discovery to contact our fellow beings of the galactic neighborhood. I am married to my wife, Zady Anise Raymond, and expecting a son within months of leaving our home, planet Earth. We will be sending further news to your world in the coming years documenting our journey. Visual chronicles of our expedition will be sent ahead of us, and you will get to familiarize yourself with us, acquainting you with our customs and cultures over the years. I now turn over this broadcast to my second-in-command, Lieutenant Commander Maynard.

  "Hello. I'm Lieutenant Commander Roberta Lovelace Maynard, Her Majesty's Royal Navy. I am twenty-six years of age, currently single. I speak to you upon entering our craft for the first time, and am pleased to be here on behalf of the people of Earth to meet the people of Wayth. I sincerely look forward to setting foot on your beautiful planet, which I am informed is quite like my home planet of Earth. Thank you for listening."

  One hundred and twenty years; do my people live that long on...Earth, is that what they said it was named? I felt insignificant, minute, weak in comparison to these str
ong humans, my distant cousins who prepared to brave space yet again to call Wayth home. I had to find some way of contacting them, to tell them I was alive, that I had survived. But how? I had to try, had to-

  Another voice stirred my mind, distracting my thoughts. A name which I hadn't heard, save for mine-

  "Thank you, Lieutenant M'Boda. My name is Doctor William Steven O'Halloran, Chief Medical Officer of the SS Amity. I am thirty-five, and the proud father of twins...."

  O-O'Halloran...that was my father's name. My father. Tooraag said so when I was fourteen, when I came to him one day and demanded to know why I was different than Rogagh. Why my skin was pale. Why...why I couldn't eat the same food, or breathe easily.

  My eyes found Rogagh, who turned away from the instrument bay and saw my face, my bewilderment, my confusion.

  "Jonathon, I don't think this-"

  My brother didn't need to finish. I knew now. This wasn't a new craft. It was the only craft, this craft we had found. My craft. My family. This message...."

  "It must be on a constant cycle somewhere out there, Jonathon. Since the craft your people were on never made it successfully, Iutha must be repeating it, perhaps hoping your people would have-will-answer back. There was no hope once it