stepped up beside Rose. “It’s like an interplanetary probe, but I don’t recognise the model and there are no apparent markings,” he reported. “It’s got an ion drive motor though. See the main thrust nozzle?”
Duval nodded in response. He looked concerned. “I think I can see something written on that rear stabiliser, near the discharge port. Viktor . . . put a light on it. Rose, take an image, process and put it on the main screen – magnified by five.”
“Yes, Commander.” Rose promptly returned to her console. “You’ve got it, Commander,” she said, a few moments later.
Duval focused on the picture. “There, look, you see it – markings, in red, lines of characters. Viktor, you recognise any of that?”
“It’s not Russian, if that’s what you mean, or any of the Slavic languages. We don’t use characters like that. I’d say that it’s Chinese, maybe Japanese . . . Korean even? I’m no expert.”
“Chinese!” Duval thought on that possibility for a moment. “Rose, get David Chung up here, quickly. He might be able to help with this. I know he has a Masters from the Beijing Aeronautics Institute.”
“Yes, will do . . . right away.”
Alex was perplexed. He spent several minutes leaning over the large horizontal monitor that was an integral part of the central display. He ran his finger over an adjacent control wheel adjusting the magnification factor and studied the subsequent image. “Commander,” he said after a while and with an air of apprehension, “I’ve got something. Take a look at this.”
Duval was over to the console in an instant. He stood next to Alex and, leaning over, scrutinised the image. In a troubled way, like a nervous twitch, Alex’s fingertip repeatedly tapped the screen in the forward area of the spaceship.
“Look, there, a figure in the cockpit area. I can make out a head and shoulders through the side window. It’s dark, but I’ve enhanced as much as possible.” Alex increased the magnification until the image blurred and then backed off slightly.
Duval followed Alex’s prompt and zoomed in on the side observation window. It resembled a seagoing vessel’s porthole – circular, with a thick metal rim and ring of undulating rivet heads. Duval peered through it and into the vessel’s cockpit. “Can you improve the quality of the image any more, Alex?” he asked.
“There, what about that . . . ? It’s the best I can do,” Alex replied, pressing a few keys and manipulating the thumbwheel on his panel.
“It’s a robot! That, Alex, is a robot. There’s no mistaking it.” Duval looked menacingly over his shoulder and out into space in the direction of the vessel.
“It looks horrible,” commented Carol.
“I don’t like it either,” agreed Duval. He studied the image again and looked up at Alex, his brow furrowed. “I think it’s a Humatron. I attended some lectures on that model a few years ago. It remains a banned system – suffered behavioural problems from its inception. I saw an example too, in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC. That ‘X’ shaped head . . . it’s unique. I don’t think I’m wrong here. They were designed for operations on extended space flights for one thing, but the Spaceport One disaster back in the second decade put paid to all that.” At that moment David Chung arrived. He was a slim oriental man in his thirties and one of three specialist propulsion engineers aboard the Hera . Duval beckoned him over. “David, can you read this?” he asked, pointing to the magnified image of the vessel on the screen.
David Chung looked surprised. “It is Mandarin!”
Duval glanced momentarily at Victor. “What’s it say?”
“Um, well, it’s been a while, Commander.” Chung paused and took his time with each character as the top line in particular was worn and almost obliterated. “Engineering jargon really?” he answered. “It seems to just be installation details and safety
Duval nodded in response. He looked concerned. “I think I can see something written on that rear stabiliser, near the discharge port. Viktor . . . put a light on it. Rose, take an image, process and put it on the main screen – magnified by five.”
“Yes, Commander.” Rose promptly returned to her console. “You’ve got it, Commander,” she said, a few moments later.
Duval focused on the picture. “There, look, you see it – markings, in red, lines of characters. Viktor, you recognise any of that?”
“It’s not Russian, if that’s what you mean, or any of the Slavic languages. We don’t use characters like that. I’d say that it’s Chinese, maybe Japanese . . . Korean even? I’m no expert.”
“Chinese!” Duval thought on that possibility for a moment. “Rose, get David Chung up here, quickly. He might be able to help with this. I know he has a Masters from the Beijing Aeronautics Institute.”
“Yes, will do . . . right away.”
Alex was perplexed. He spent several minutes leaning over the large horizontal monitor that was an integral part of the central display. He ran his finger over an adjacent control wheel adjusting the magnification factor and studied the subsequent image. “Commander,” he said after a while and with an air of apprehension, “I’ve got something. Take a look at this.”
Duval was over to the console in an instant. He stood next to Alex and, leaning over, scrutinised the image. In a troubled way, like a nervous twitch, Alex’s fingertip repeatedly tapped the screen in the forward area of the spaceship.
“Look, there, a figure in the cockpit area. I can make out a head and shoulders through the side window. It’s dark, but I’ve enhanced as much as possible.” Alex increased the magnification until the image blurred and then backed off slightly.
Duval followed Alex’s prompt and zoomed in on the side observation window. It resembled a seagoing vessel’s porthole – circular, with a thick metal rim and ring of undulating rivet heads. Duval peered through it and into the vessel’s cockpit. “Can you improve the quality of the image any more, Alex?” he asked.
“There, what about that . . . ? It’s the best I can do,” Alex replied, pressing a few keys and manipulating the thumbwheel on his panel.
“It’s a robot! That, Alex, is a robot. There’s no mistaking it.” Duval looked menacingly over his shoulder and out into space in the direction of the vessel.
“It looks horrible,” commented Carol.
“I don’t like it either,” agreed Duval. He studied the image again and looked up at Alex, his brow furrowed. “I think it’s a Humatron. I attended some lectures on that model a few years ago. It remains a banned system – suffered behavioural problems from its inception. I saw an example too, in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC. That ‘X’ shaped head . . . it’s unique. I don’t think I’m wrong here. They were designed for operations on extended space flights for one thing, but the Spaceport One disaster back in the second decade put paid to all that.” At that moment David Chung arrived. He was a slim oriental man in his thirties and one of three specialist propulsion engineers aboard the Hera . Duval beckoned him over. “David, can you read this?” he asked, pointing to the magnified image of the vessel on the screen.
David Chung looked surprised. “It is Mandarin!”
Duval glanced momentarily at Victor. “What’s it say?”
“Um, well, it’s been a while, Commander.” Chung paused and took his time with each character as the top line in particular was worn and almost obliterated. “Engineering jargon really?” he answered. “It seems to just be installation details and safety
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