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elapt1c
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ElapticAI-512

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All knew without asking that the baron was born in space, his birthplace
one of the planetoid city-states of the Michea Dwarf. Meikl looked
around at them, then ripped up his own sleeve, unsheathed his
rank-dagger, and pricked his forearm with the needle point. A red
droplet appeared, and he wiped at it with a forefinger.
"It's common stuff, gentlemen. We've shed a lot of it. And each of us is
a walking sackful of it." He paused, then turned to touch the point of
his dagger to the viewer, where it left a tiny red trace on the glass,
on the bright crescent of Earth, mist-shrouded, chastely wheeling her
nights into days.
"It came from there," he hissed. "She's your womb, gentlemen. Are you
going back?"
"Are you an analyst or a dramatist, Meikl?" the baron asked sharply,
hoping to relieve the sudden chill in the room. "This becomes silly."
"If you land on her," Meikl promised ominously, "you'll go away with a
fleet full of hate."
Meikl's arm dropped to his side. He sheathed his dagger. "Is my presence
at this meeting still imperative, sir?" he asked the baron.
"Have you anything else to say?"
"Yes don't land on Earth."
"That's a repetition. No further reasons? in terms of danger to
ourselves?"
The analyst paused. "I can think of nothing worse that could happen to
us," he said slowly, "than just being what we already are."
He snapped his heels formally, bowed to the baron, and stalked out of
the cabin.
"I suggest," said a wingsman, "that we speak to Frewek about tightening
up the discipline in the Intelligence section. That man was in open
contempt, Baron."
"But he was also probably right," sighed the graying officer and
nobleman.
"Sir!"
"Don't worry, Wingsman, there's nothing else to do. We'll have to land.
Make preparations, both of you and try to make contact with surface.
I'll dictate the message."
When the wingsmen left, it was settled. The baron arose with a sigh and
went to peer morosely at the view of Earth below. Very delicately, he
wiped the tiny trace of blood from the glass. She was a beautiful world,
this Earth. She had spawned them all, as Meikl said but for this, the
baron could feel only bitterness toward her.
But what of her inhabitants? I'm past feeling anything for them, he
thought, past feeling for any of the life-scum that creeps across the
surface of a world, any world. We'll go down quickly, and take what we
need quickly, and leave quickly. We'll try not to infect them, but
they've already got it in them, the dormant disease, and any infection
will be only a recurrence.
Nevertheless, he summoned a priest to his quarters. And, before going to
the command deck, he bathed sacramentally as if in preparation for
battle.
"Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
My dear son, I tell thee, O."
"O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my red roan steed,
That erst was sae fair and free, O."
ANONYMOUS
False dawn was in the east when the slivers of light appeared once again
out of the eclipse shadow to rake majestically across the heavens, and
again the children of Earth crowded in teeming numbers from the quiet
gardens to chatter their excitement at the wonder in the sky. But this
time, a message came. The men of the tech clans who tended the newly
activated mechanisms heard it, and the mechanisms memorized it, and
played it again and again for the people, while the linguists puzzled
over the unidentified language used in the transmission.
PROPAUTH EARTH FROM COMMSTRAFEFLEET THREE, SPACE, KLAEDEN COMM,
PRESENTS GREETINGS!
IF YOU HAVE RECORDS, OUR USE OF ANCIENT ANGLO-GERMANIC SHOULD
MAKE OUR IDENTITY CLEAR. HAVE YOU FUELING FACILITIES FOR 720
SHIPS OF THOR-NINE CLASS? IF NOT, WE SHALL DEVELOP FACILITIES
FROM LOCAL RESOURCES, WITH, WE TRUST, YOUR PEACEFUL
COOPERATION. THIS CADRE NOT REIMMIGRATING, BUT EN ROUTE TO
URSAN STARS. REQUEST LANDING SUGGESTIONS, IN VIEW OF OUR
FUELING NEEDS.
REQUEST INTELLIGENCE CONCERNING PRESENT LEVEL OF TERRESTRIAL
CULTURE. OUR ORIBITAL OBSERVATIONS INDICATE A STATIC