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the lock, and I heard them outside the lock. They weren't opening the
lock they didn't do that for quite some time. At first, I couldn't figure out
what they were doing, but eventually I realised they were connecting the
locks. They were running a corridor from their ship to this one. I wondered if
they knew whether the lock was cracked and that if they tried to flood it with
air they'd have to patch it up pretty smartly. It didn't matter much they'd
have it to spare.
It wasn't until they actually began to open the door that I realised what
their lights were going to show them.
One dead Gallacellan, with a gunshot wound in his chest. One Grainger, still
holding the gun. I couldn't even drop the damn thing, because we were in free
fall owing to the ship's switching off. It would just float around the lock
with us, like a big ugly wasp.
The lock swung open, and the Gallacellans came in. There were two of
them suited. About ten meters of white corridor was behind them, and then
another lock, outer door open, inner closed.
We had to take turns going through the
Cicindel's lock two at a time. Eve and I went first. I didn't look either of
our rescuers in the face. I just couldn't. I stuck the gun out of sight, in
the pack, but my hand still felt hot, as if it were carrying the mark of Cain,
or something.
Beyond the lock there was light aplenty, gravity (a fraction more than E-
normal), and air (the same sharp air that we breathed aboard the
Varsovien).
There were also Gallacellans. Two more of them. Waiting for us. I took my
helmet off, and this time I couldn't help looking at them.
I couldn't tell by looking what caste they might be.
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"Anybody speak English?" I asked. There was no answer.
Eve and I stood to one side to let the lock open and close again. One of the
Gallacellans came through, carrying Maslax as if the little man were just a
rag doll.
The alien deposited his burden on the floor, conveniently to one side. I
didn't bother to go to him, and neither did Eve. Just at that moment, we
didn't particularly care what was going to happen to Maslax in the near future
or at any other time up to and including the day of judgement We had had
enough of Maslax.
We waited, until the last Gallacellan came back, carrying Ecdyon.
I wished that Gallacellans changed expression, so that I could know what one
or more of them might be thinking. But they stood there as if they were movie
props made out of rubber.
"We tried," I said, pointlessly. "We really did try."
Ominous silence. They looked at me, and I felt accused, even though there was
nothing in their faces but the usual blank features.
One of them turned his back on me and clicked.
What did he say? I asked the wind.
He wants to know how come you speak Gallacellan," he said.
And I laughed. I don't really know what I'd been expecting. Accusations,
questions, just sarcastic comments. I don't know. But not this.
"I don't," I said, in English, then realised that it was a silly thing to say,
and corrected it to: "I don't understand." I spread my hands wide and tried to
look ingenu-
ous.
It's no good, said the wind. I think he knows.
How?
I really did try, he said. I tried, but there just wasn't any way. I just
didn't sound like a Gallacellan. I got all the caste-forms right, I'm sure
about that. But you haven't got the voice for it. They must have figured us
out right away. Even over the circuit.
One Gallacellan sounds pretty much like another to me, but I had to admit that
they handled their language a lot better than the wind had. He was right. I
wasn't built for it.
OK, I said tiredly. You'd better tell them what happened. But keep in touch,
hey? Just once now and again, if you have a moment, give me a quick summary.
It was so easy just to pass back inside my own skull. 3 surprised myself. My
body didn't even stagger. A perfectly smooth operation. I knew I was getting
used to it and I didn't like it. But playing a completely passive role is like
riding a bicycle you don't forget how to do it. The level of control remains
the same one slip and your body is in trouble and it never becomes easy.
But you get used to it. You acquire the touch. I didn't particularly want to
acquire the touch. Privately, I swore that it would never happen again that I
would never get into a situation where I
needed it to happen again. I promised myself, faithfully.
After the clicking had gone on for a few moments, 1 asked the wind whether the
Gallacellan believed us. It seemed to me likely that he wouldn't. It was a
long and complicated and fairly incredible story.
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I don't think he even cares, the wind told me. He doesn't give a damn about
Ecdyon he's too high caste for that. He hasn't even bothered to ask who shot
him, let alone why. He doesn't want to know what we were doing on the
Varsovien, or why.
He just wants to know who taught us Gallacellan.
What've you told him?" I asked.
I'm telling him, he assured me. Worry not, I'm telling him.
The truth?
You have to be joking. He wouldn't believe it. I've told him we learned it by
listening, by studying, by watching. I've told him that the Library has put
together all that the human race knows about Gallacellans, and that we've
found out quite a lot.
I'm going to talk to him some more, about mutual understanding and the
benefits of communication.
Who the hell do you think you are? I said. Titus Charlot?
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