known to Faller technology. It couldn’t, however, detect the unknown. If the boarding Faller had stopped breathing, it would probably have blown up the Faller, the ship, and itself. It would probably have done the same if its master had told it to, or if the Faller’s suit had signified any breach, or if any machinery aboard the flyer had suddenly activated.
None of those things happened. The tiny nanos that the robot probe didn’t know how to detect clung to the bottom of the Faller’s suit as soon as he crossed the threshold. The nanos never punctured the suit. Instead they moved through it, one molecular layer at a time, mindlessly destroying a molecule and then immediately rebuilding it behind them out of the same atoms, as they had been programmed to do. Neither robot nor Faller detected a breach because there never was one. When the nanos reached material giving out the heat signature of living flesh, their program changed.
The nanos entered the Faller body and began to paralyze it slowly. Human biologists had learned enough from the few badly charred Faller bodies they’d salvaged to analyze the genome. It wasn’t DNA-based. Thus, almost anything biological added to it could be fatal. But nanos weren’t biologics; they were tiny machines. Their programming determined easily what gas the Faller breathed inside his sealed suit: the species’ medium for energy transport. Then they began to absorb the supply of it, replicating rapidly at the same time. The Faller, never realizing it, slid easily into the equivalent of oxygen-deprivation (it wasn’t oxygen) and fainted. Or perhaps fell asleep, or whatever the alien equivalent was of reduced conscious activity. The nanos stopped replicating. They kept the Faller unconscious but did not deprive his brain of all energy. The probe did not register anything wrong; every complex species sleeps.
By the time the Marines entered the ship, the probe couldn’t register anything. Other nanos it had never been built to detect had inactivated it, atom by atom.
The Marines carefully bound the sleeping Faller’s limbs and carried him, suited, to the warship. McChesney immediately took off through Space Tunnel #473, followed by twelve other tunnels, some of them highly fluid. There was no way he could be followed. Xenobiologists aboard ship began careful analysis of the gas mixture inside the Faller’s suit before they removed it, as well as every other variable they could think of. By the time they let the alien wake up, their knowledge of Faller biology, until now minuscule, had increased by orders of magnitude.
The alien awoke inside an environment, constructed to his exact biological needs. Atmosphere, humidity, temperature, all matched what had been inside his suit. He also woke bound to the back wall, gently but inexorably. Small capsules had been removed from various parts of his body. Maybe they were the equivalent of tooth fillings, but maybe not. McChesney and his medical team were not going to allow the first Faller POW ever to turn suicide.
Nor were they going to let him starve himself to death. The xenobiologists weren’t exactly sure what liquids would nourish the alien, but they’d analyzed the contents of his stomachs (two) and put together what they hoped were reasonable synthetics. The synthetics would be delivered by forced feeding tube. By the time the prisoner regained consciousness, his only options in his padded prison were to communicate or not.
By that time, McChesney’s warship was in World’s remote star system, ready to transfer cell, prisoner, and xenobiologists to the Alan B. Shepard . After the transfer, McChesney flew back to Space Tunnel #438 to take up position in orbit around it until further orders. The warship carried every weapon known to human military. Nothing was coming through Tunnel #438 and advancing toward World without going through McChesney.
The Fallers may or may not have realized that one of their own, instead of
None of those things happened. The tiny nanos that the robot probe didn’t know how to detect clung to the bottom of the Faller’s suit as soon as he crossed the threshold. The nanos never punctured the suit. Instead they moved through it, one molecular layer at a time, mindlessly destroying a molecule and then immediately rebuilding it behind them out of the same atoms, as they had been programmed to do. Neither robot nor Faller detected a breach because there never was one. When the nanos reached material giving out the heat signature of living flesh, their program changed.
The nanos entered the Faller body and began to paralyze it slowly. Human biologists had learned enough from the few badly charred Faller bodies they’d salvaged to analyze the genome. It wasn’t DNA-based. Thus, almost anything biological added to it could be fatal. But nanos weren’t biologics; they were tiny machines. Their programming determined easily what gas the Faller breathed inside his sealed suit: the species’ medium for energy transport. Then they began to absorb the supply of it, replicating rapidly at the same time. The Faller, never realizing it, slid easily into the equivalent of oxygen-deprivation (it wasn’t oxygen) and fainted. Or perhaps fell asleep, or whatever the alien equivalent was of reduced conscious activity. The nanos stopped replicating. They kept the Faller unconscious but did not deprive his brain of all energy. The probe did not register anything wrong; every complex species sleeps.
By the time the Marines entered the ship, the probe couldn’t register anything. Other nanos it had never been built to detect had inactivated it, atom by atom.
The Marines carefully bound the sleeping Faller’s limbs and carried him, suited, to the warship. McChesney immediately took off through Space Tunnel #473, followed by twelve other tunnels, some of them highly fluid. There was no way he could be followed. Xenobiologists aboard ship began careful analysis of the gas mixture inside the Faller’s suit before they removed it, as well as every other variable they could think of. By the time they let the alien wake up, their knowledge of Faller biology, until now minuscule, had increased by orders of magnitude.
The alien awoke inside an environment, constructed to his exact biological needs. Atmosphere, humidity, temperature, all matched what had been inside his suit. He also woke bound to the back wall, gently but inexorably. Small capsules had been removed from various parts of his body. Maybe they were the equivalent of tooth fillings, but maybe not. McChesney and his medical team were not going to allow the first Faller POW ever to turn suicide.
Nor were they going to let him starve himself to death. The xenobiologists weren’t exactly sure what liquids would nourish the alien, but they’d analyzed the contents of his stomachs (two) and put together what they hoped were reasonable synthetics. The synthetics would be delivered by forced feeding tube. By the time the prisoner regained consciousness, his only options in his padded prison were to communicate or not.
By that time, McChesney’s warship was in World’s remote star system, ready to transfer cell, prisoner, and xenobiologists to the Alan B. Shepard . After the transfer, McChesney flew back to Space Tunnel #438 to take up position in orbit around it until further orders. The warship carried every weapon known to human military. Nothing was coming through Tunnel #438 and advancing toward World without going through McChesney.
The Fallers may or may not have realized that one of their own, instead of
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