loss. Not a molecule from Lucidar went into the rounded hull, and none escaped. That eliminated the use of every material voyeur device in Gilden’s arsenal.
Which left only radiation, in its various forms. It was not the first time that he had faced such a problem. Gilden, from the mobile experiment station provided by Bravtz’ig, set out to observe the Sigil ship using every wavelength from hard gamma to long radio.
Nothing.
He took a more active step and bathed the ship with monochromatic radiation generated from his own sources. The return signals at every frequency were quite featureless. No radiation penetrated more than a millimeter into the shining surface. Not in the ultraviolet, not in the visible, not in the reflective or emissive infrared. He went doggedly on, creeping through the spectrum from shortest to longest wavelengths.
Again, nothing.
At last, when the sun was setting, Gilden abandoned his experiments in favor of pure thought. Sometimes, a negative result could be as significant as a positive one. One fact nagged at him: there was no anomalous thermal signature, no elevation of ship hull temperature above ambient. How could that be? If the Sigil ship was in exact temperature balance with the atmosphere, where did the heat go that was generated in the interior?
He was not able to answer that question, but it was an important one. Surely the Sigil, no matter how advanced their science, could not evade the laws of thermodynamics. Even if all power devices were turned off inside the hull, any living organism had to eat. Eating implied energy conversion from one form to another. Heat production was an inevitable by-product.
Gilden’s neck ached, and his closed eyes saw nothing but the red afterimages of dials and monitors. His head was suddenly buzzing with a swirl of speculation and unanswered questions. He filed his observations and went back to the living quarters that Bravtz’ig had assigned to the visitors.
On the way in he stopped at the bathhouse to bathe his weary eyes. Derli was there, leaning against a washbasin. He nodded to her, but only after he had laved his face and dried it on a hand towel did he notice her stooped posture.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her smile was forced, her lips pale.
“There is.” He stepped closer. “You look awful.”
“I’m just a bit sick, still.”
“I thought that was space nausea, and you were over it.”
“I thought so, too.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool gray metal of the washbasin. “Guess a new planet can do it just as well. Unfamiliar air, food, gravity.”
“I’m sorry. I’m working as fast as I can, but it’s slow going. The ship’s really impenetrable. Maybe you should return to Earth and come back here when I find some information you can use.”
“No!” Derli straightened her back. “Leaving is the last thing I want to do. I don’t feel good, but I love this place. I’ll stay on Lucidar until I’m forced to leave.” She took a deep breath, and reached up to touch Gilden’s cheek. “But thanks for the thoughtfulness. I’m not used to that. Maybe we can talk later, when I feel better.”
She walked unsteadily out, leaving Arrin Gilden with something new to ponder. Until I’m forced to leave. He had assumed that as Valmar Krieg’s partner, Derli Margrave was one of those who made the rules. But it seemed she was no more free to choose than Gilden himself. Derli’s domination extended beyond sexual possession.
Gilden touched his cheek, and admitted for the first time his full resentment—hatred?—of Valmar Krieg.
* * *
Gilden stayed in his quarters for the whole evening, his thoughts sliding uneasily from one subject to another. The Sigil, Valmar, the Teller, Derli. She did not come, although his voyeurs told him that she was alone. Valmar Krieg was far away, meeting with Bravtz’ig. The Sigil were locked tight within their ship.
Finally Gilden took the unprecedented step,
Which left only radiation, in its various forms. It was not the first time that he had faced such a problem. Gilden, from the mobile experiment station provided by Bravtz’ig, set out to observe the Sigil ship using every wavelength from hard gamma to long radio.
Nothing.
He took a more active step and bathed the ship with monochromatic radiation generated from his own sources. The return signals at every frequency were quite featureless. No radiation penetrated more than a millimeter into the shining surface. Not in the ultraviolet, not in the visible, not in the reflective or emissive infrared. He went doggedly on, creeping through the spectrum from shortest to longest wavelengths.
Again, nothing.
At last, when the sun was setting, Gilden abandoned his experiments in favor of pure thought. Sometimes, a negative result could be as significant as a positive one. One fact nagged at him: there was no anomalous thermal signature, no elevation of ship hull temperature above ambient. How could that be? If the Sigil ship was in exact temperature balance with the atmosphere, where did the heat go that was generated in the interior?
He was not able to answer that question, but it was an important one. Surely the Sigil, no matter how advanced their science, could not evade the laws of thermodynamics. Even if all power devices were turned off inside the hull, any living organism had to eat. Eating implied energy conversion from one form to another. Heat production was an inevitable by-product.
Gilden’s neck ached, and his closed eyes saw nothing but the red afterimages of dials and monitors. His head was suddenly buzzing with a swirl of speculation and unanswered questions. He filed his observations and went back to the living quarters that Bravtz’ig had assigned to the visitors.
On the way in he stopped at the bathhouse to bathe his weary eyes. Derli was there, leaning against a washbasin. He nodded to her, but only after he had laved his face and dried it on a hand towel did he notice her stooped posture.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her smile was forced, her lips pale.
“There is.” He stepped closer. “You look awful.”
“I’m just a bit sick, still.”
“I thought that was space nausea, and you were over it.”
“I thought so, too.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool gray metal of the washbasin. “Guess a new planet can do it just as well. Unfamiliar air, food, gravity.”
“I’m sorry. I’m working as fast as I can, but it’s slow going. The ship’s really impenetrable. Maybe you should return to Earth and come back here when I find some information you can use.”
“No!” Derli straightened her back. “Leaving is the last thing I want to do. I don’t feel good, but I love this place. I’ll stay on Lucidar until I’m forced to leave.” She took a deep breath, and reached up to touch Gilden’s cheek. “But thanks for the thoughtfulness. I’m not used to that. Maybe we can talk later, when I feel better.”
She walked unsteadily out, leaving Arrin Gilden with something new to ponder. Until I’m forced to leave. He had assumed that as Valmar Krieg’s partner, Derli Margrave was one of those who made the rules. But it seemed she was no more free to choose than Gilden himself. Derli’s domination extended beyond sexual possession.
Gilden touched his cheek, and admitted for the first time his full resentment—hatred?—of Valmar Krieg.
* * *
Gilden stayed in his quarters for the whole evening, his thoughts sliding uneasily from one subject to another. The Sigil, Valmar, the Teller, Derli. She did not come, although his voyeurs told him that she was alone. Valmar Krieg was far away, meeting with Bravtz’ig. The Sigil were locked tight within their ship.
Finally Gilden took the unprecedented step,
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