Greylorn | Page 9

hour."
"Missile Section. Arm No. 1 Battery and stand by."
Then I added, "We don't know what we've got here, but it's not a
natural body. Could be anything from a torpedo on up."
I went back to the Beam screen. The image was clear, but without
detail. The two discs slowly drew apart, then closed again.

"I'd guess that movement is due to rotation of two spheres around a
common center," Clay said.
"I agree with you," I said. "Try to get me a reading on the mass of the
object."
I wondered whether Kramer had been locked up as I had ordered, but at
this moment it seemed unimportant. If this was, as I hoped, a contact
with our colony, all our troubles were over.
The object (I hesitated to call it a ship) approached steadily, still
decelerating. Now Clay picked it up on the televideo, as it paralleled
our course forty-five hundred miles out.
"Captain, it's my guess the body will match speeds with us at about 200
miles, at his present rate of deceleration," Clay said.
"Hold everything you've got on him, and watch closely for anything
that might be a missile," I said.
* * * * *
Clay worked steadily over his chart table. Finally he turned to me.
"Captain, I get a figure of over a hundred million tons mass; and
calibrating the scope images gives us a length of nearly two miles."
I let that sink in. I had a strong and very empty feeling that this ship, if
ship it were, was not an envoy from any human colony.
The annunciator hummed and spoke. "Captain, I'm getting a very short
wave transmission from a point out on the starboard bow. Does that
sound like your torpedo?" It was Mannion.
"That's it, Mannion," I said. "Can you make anything of it?"
"No, sir," he answered. "I'm taping it, so I can go to work on it."
Mannion was our language and code man. I hoped he was good.

"What does it sound like," I asked. "Tune me in."
After a moment a high hum came from the speaker. Through it I could
hear harsh chopping consonants, a whining intonation. I doubted that
Mannion would be able to make anything of that gargle.
Our Bogie closed steadily. At four hundred twenty-five miles he
reversed relative directions, and began matching our speed, moving
closer to our course. There was no doubt he planned to parallel us.
I made a brief announcement to all hands describing the status of the
action. Clay worked over his televideo, trying to clear the image. I
watched as the blob on the screen swelled and flickered. Suddenly it
flashed into clear stark definition. Against a background of sparkling
black, the twin spheres gleamed faintly in reflected starlight.
There were no visible surface features; the iodine-colored forms and
their connecting shaft had an ancient and alien look.
We held our course steadily, watching the stranger maneuver. Even at
this distance it looked huge.
"Captain," Clay said, "I've been making a few rough calculations. The
two spheres are about 800 yards in diameter, and at the rate the
structure is rotating it's pulling about six gravities."
That settled the question of human origin of the ship. No human crew
would choose to work under six gee's.
Now, paralleling us at just over two hundred miles, the giant ship spun
along, at rest relative to us. It was visible now through the direct
observation panel, without magnification.
* * * * *
I left Clay in charge on the bridge, and I went down to the Com
Section.
Joyce sat at his board, reading instruments and keying controls. So he

was back on the job. Mannion sat, head bent, monitoring his recorder.
The room was filled with the keening staccato of the alien transmission.
"Getting anything on video?" I asked. Joyce shook his head. "Nothing,
Captain. I've checked the whole spectrum, and this is all I get. It's
coming in on about a dozen different frequencies; no FM."
"Any progress, Mannion?" I said.
He took off his headset. "It's the same thing, repeated over and over,
just a short phrase. I'd have better luck if they'd vary it a little."
"Try sending," I said.
Joyce tuned the clatter down to a faint clicking, and switched his
transmitter on. "You're on, Captain," he said.
"This is Captain Greylorn, UNACV Galahad; kindly identify yourself."
I repeated this slowly, half a dozen times. It occurred to me that this
was the first known time in history a human being had addressed a
non-human intelligence. The last was a guess, but I couldn't interpret
our guest's purposeful maneuverings as other than intelligent.
I checked with the bridge; no change. Suddenly the clatter stopped,
leaving only the carrier hum.
"Can't