This is a fan translation of Invasion (Вторжение) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the first book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 13
On Earth and in other places
THEY WERE HUMANOID! This was the most important news, spread by thousands of news agencies, TV and radio channels, Ultranet sites, newspapers, magazines, and reviews. The news was comprehensively discussed, which was underlined by story headlines: "Third Fleet Contacts Alien Ship," "Bino Faata Are Human not Alien," "Arrival of Our Brethren," "Binucks Got Two Arms And Two Legs," "They're No Angels, But There's No Reason to Worry," "Einstein Was Wrong: Speed of Light Not the Limit," "Shaming of Skeptics: New View on Habitability of the Universe," "Admiral Timokhin Negotiating with Binucks," "Bino Faata Women Are Beautiful," "Secret of Interstellar Travel: Will They Share With Us?" The Friendly Containment directive was announced by the UN, after which the politicians' floodgates opened; their forecasts and hypotheses poured in torrents, mixing with the murky stream of writers' fantasies and scientists' opinions. The President of Francospain considered the contact as great an event as the creation of the Unified Market; the British Prime Minister had no doubt that that the meeting between the two civilizations, the Bino Faata and humankind, would open magnificent prospects for them; the USC Congress prepared a memorandum with some interesting thoughts; for example, it suggested an exchange of ideas: the concept of democracy for the plans for an interstellar drive. Moscow immediately responded, believing that Russia's young democracy could give the aliens fresher recipes. The heads of both great powers gave public speeches to their nations and the world. The Russian leader reminded the people about his own foresight, thanks to which the aliens were near the orbit of Mars, and not above Earth's cities; his counterpart in Washington, who was running for re-election in sixteen months, chose a different topic: interstellar trade and economic revival. The revival didn't stop there: the government of Argentina approved incentives for the supply of meat to the aliens, Australia decided to increase the production of fur, China did the same for china cups, jasper spheres, and other souvenirs, Italy, Greece, and Francospain were undertaking inventory of wines, cosmetics, high fashion products, and resorts, Egypt was hastily repairing the Pyramids, Afghanistan quietly expanded the planting of cannabis and poppies. Terrorists, including the implacable Muslims, quieted down, obviously deciding that the Arrival had not brought with it anything more frightening than a great deal of fuss, which worked well for kidnappings, blackmail, and explosions.
It seemed that everything on Earth and in the Solar System was fine, everything was ready for a rendezvous with aliens; the stocks of power companies even went up 2 points. The only real dissonance was an article by Gunther Voss in the CosmoSpiegel titled "THEY ARE HUMAN. THE MOST TERRIBLE THING HAS HAPPENED."
The mural with St. George piercing a dragon was covered up by a big film screen, hastily installed in the Admiral's cabin. There were plenty of screens in the neighboring compartments, where the flotilla's staff officers could be found, but Timokhin conducted the negotiations only from the cabin, and only here one could find transmitting cameras. Those aboard the enormous ship, hanging in space a hundred and thirty kilometers from the Suzdal, could see chairs, cabinets, and tables, but not combat equipment.
The faces of three aliens loomed on the screen. One was obviously old, with wrinkly skin, greenish hair, and drooping lips; his name was Iveh, and he took up a high post in the alien hierarchy: either an ambassador or an intermediary. Basically, a hard-boiled diplomat, who had mastered English and a great number of terrestrial truths, from listening to transmissions on a hundred channels for a month. His two assistants were incredibly beautiful women, and Timokhin had no doubt that their pictures, sent to Earth along with his reports, had made a splash. If only because the Binucks' sexual dimorphism was expressed to an equal extent to humans: delicate features, full bright lips, smooth skin, and voluminous hair sharply contrasted with Iveh's mug. Although, their eyes did look strange: occasionally, the pupils drowned into the silver background, and it was unclear where they were looking.
Iveh had not introduced his assistants, and, at the start of the negotiations, in the heat of amazement and shock, it seemed that both were identical. Tojo, his second adjutant (who invented the term "Binucks"), had noticed the difference; being a personnel specialist and an experienced psychologist, he had incredible observation skills. The upper lip of one of the girls drooped over the lower one, and her hair was darker; this one was dubbed Morgan; the other, for symmetry, was named Elaine [Morgan le Fay and Elaine of Garlot are mythical characters from the legends of King Arthur; they are his half-sisters]. They were, most likely, doing the same thing Tojo and Jarvis were doing, who were sitting on both sides of Timokhin: observing, listening, analyzing.
"The option you suggest is rejected," Timokhin said, trying to enunciate each word. "At the moment, your presence on Earth or near the planet is undesirable. We insist on a different decision."
"Why?" Iveh grated. His English has grown noticeably better by the fourth communication session, only his pronunciation remained too staccato and sharp.
"There are several reasons. First, there are many artificial objects in near-Earth space: communication satellites, shipyards, radio telescopes, space habitats. Your ship is too large. When maneuvering among these structures, it could damage them. Second, the population of Earth differs based on their level of knowledge and culture. The approach of your ship could cause a panic in some communities. Panic leads to loss of life. Third, this is our star system. While your ship is here, we wish to monitor it. The monitoring function will be performed at our convenience. Fourth..."
Negotiations were a dreary thing, but Timokhin was pleased. He could have listed the reasons for that just as meticulously: first, second, fifth, tenth. The main thing was, of course, with whom to negotiate; it wasn't every day one met aliens, especially in a situation that seemed to have been predicted in advance. Well, the predictor would get his dividends, and he, Timokhin, would get his... But was it about the dividends? He had been an ass with these maneuvers, but became a historic persona. It was a good thing he hadn't shown his annoyance and anger to anyone: not his captains, not his staff, not his adjutants. He had behaved as if there was nothing more important than those stupid maneuvers in empty space; and space had turned out not to be so empty after all! It would be prudent to type up a dispatch to Gorchakov. Something like, "You have my gratitude, Boris, and I'm not holding a grudge..."
The intermediary listened to Timokhin's speeches with a dispassionate expression akin to a sphinx. It seemed to Tojo that Binucks expressed their emotions to a lesser extent than humans, and his opinion, after analyzing the recordings, was supported by the fleet's medics and specialists back on Earth. Timokhin and his advisors were given the following recommendations: no smiling, no scratching, no frowning, no head jerking, no staring at the aliens too openly. Tojo managed to do so better than the others; he was Japanese and was used to showing restraint since childhood.
"I understand," Iveh turned to Morgan, then to Elaine, as if interested in their opinions, then stared at Timokhin again. "I must object. First, I promise that, when the Ship is maneuvering, your structures will not be damaged. Second, do not inform your population of our approach. We will set down in any unpopulated area, accessible only to groups of contactees. Third, your ability to monitor the Ship will be more effective when it lands. A motionless object is easier to monitor. Fourth..."
Something wasn't right here, Timokhin thought, listening to Iveh. They were too eager to get to Earth... But why? Missing the sun and the grass? Doubtful... Their tub was huge, probably had amenities. They had no need to rush... Their persistence was too suspicious.
He began to examine Morgan and Elaine, their strange eyes and voluminous hair, where he could see small bright spheres shimmering. A beautiful race, no doubt! It would be nice to see other men and women... The ship was large, and there were probably children there too...
"S-sir," Tojo hissed in Russian, "I beg your pardon, s-sir... and you, Jarvis-s... Do not look s-so intently at the girls-s, look lower, at the center of the s-screen."
Iveh stopped talking.
"I am not ruling out that you are correct," Timokhin spoke, "but we are not prone to relying on unconfirmed assertions and facts. The Pillar of Order has given me clear instructions: your ship cannot get close to Earth. The decision is not final; it is entirely possible we will change it, but that requires mutual trust."
"Pillar of Order" was an alien term indicating a leader. It was assumed that Timokhin was acting on behalf of some leader of Earth, while a team of diplomats and scientists was being prepared. This procedure was not simple and involved a lot of arguing, as China, Arab countries, and India insisted on full representation. While this story dragged on, Timokhin was supposed to hold off the cosmic guests, gently, friendly, but, if necessary, with the full strength of his cruisers. Deciding to strengthen the flotilla, he had sent out orders to redeploy the Starfire and the Siberia, as well as the Barracuda, which was moving from Jupiter's orbit.
The intermediary continued to look at Timokhin in silence, seemingly waiting for him to continue.
"We are prepared to deliver your representatives to Earth. A group of twenty or thirty people will fit aboard a cruiser in comfort, and their compartments will be considered your sovereign territory. What is bad about this option?"
Morgan chirped something. After listening to her, Iveh said, "We are unable to leave the Ship for an extended time. There are... physiologically-necessary conditions here. It would be impossible to re-create them aboard your vessel."
"Then let's consider another possibility. A mission from Earth will arrive soon, and we will undertake the first step of mutual acquaintance in space."
But that also failed to satisfy the intermediary. He wanted for the enormous Faata ship to descend to Earth, and his insistence seemed more and more suspicious to Timokhin. Of course it was easier to monitor a motionless object, but where was the guarantee that this flying monstrosity would land? If it found itself near the planet, it could initiate hostile actions, and combat near the atmosphere, above cities, forests, and oceans, would almost certainly end in an environmental cataclysm.
However, Timokhin did not consider such a turn of events, considering himself to be the top dog. The Suzdal hung above the enormous ship, flanked by two cruisers, the Viking and the Volga; the Sakhalin, the Pamir, and the Lancaster, three heavy cruisers, surrounded the alien on three sides, and there were six more combat units between them. The "Ring" tactical formation used when blowing up asteroids... The last one had been destroyed seven years ago, and it was no smaller than the Faata starship. A missile volley from a hundred kilometers away cracked a planetoid's crust down to the granite layer; artificial structures would simply be vaporized in the nuclear explosion, and the radiation pressure would throw the plasma beyond the edge of the Solar System. There, in the emptiness of space, the alien would find their rest, in the form of a rarefied gas cloud.
Did Iveh understand that?
If he did, then he didn't seem to be bothered by it.
"The Pillar of Order," the intermediary suddenly croaked. "There is no single Pillar of Order on your world!"
"Obviously, the same is true for you," Timokhin called back, but Iveh ignored his words.
"We are receiving signals from your planet and know that some Pillars of Order are expressing their desire to receive us. If we descend to Earth's surface within their territories, they will benefit."
"Benefit how?"
"New knowledge and technology, leading to prosperity. Production of food from any organic matter. Methods of combating microorganisms dangerous to you. Cheap sources of energy. The gravity drive. Methods of communication based on studies of the brain. Strong lightweight materials," Iveh listed indifferently, lowering his wrinkled eyelids. Suddenly, they lifted up, and the intermediately spoke. "Also wave therapy. Methods different from yours. Ours allow us to push away old age and extend life."
Without turning his head, Timokhin felt his advisors become alert. "Attention, s-sir," Tojo whispered, but he did not need this hint, he knew that it was an opportunity to learn something truly important about the Binucks. Besides the obvious facts: that they were similar to humans and that they could travel through the galaxy.
"Looking at you, it is difficult to believe that you pushed away old age," Timokhin spoke.
"By human measurements, I have lived for nearly two thousand years. As for my face... If necessary, I could replace it. But there is no need."
Jarvis gave a barely noticeable shrug. He was doubting... Well, that was fair: there was no way to verify what Iveh said, Tacitus and Pliny [Tacitus (AD 55 – AD 120) and Pliny the Elder (AD 23 – 79 AD) were great Roman historians.] had not rocked his cradle. The list of boons was interesting, though... But what would they demand in exchange?
"Well, back to our muttons, I mean the Pillars of Order," Timokhin said. "Maybe in your social structure they are all equal, but we have a different situation. Until you get familiarized with it, it would be dangerous to listen to reckless declarations, and even more dangerous to believe them."
"How will you prove that?"
"With the fact of our meeting. There are no other ships here except those sent by my Pillar of Order. If you wish, we could wait... But I assure you, no one else will show up."
Elaine and Morgan chirped simultaneously, and the intermediary, as if listening to them, closed his eyes. Then he muttered, "We will think. Communication terminated."
The screen went dark. Timokhin undid the chair's harness, then moved from the cabin to the staff compartment with Tojo and Jarvis. There, floating in zero-g near panels and consoles, experts and a dozen officers were working. Communications officers and two information division lieutenants were, under Mägi's direction, preparing the complete recording for transmission to Earth, to the Security Council, and an abridged version for the media. A group of observers and analysts, gathered around Commodore Shengelia, the first officer and tactical advisor, was discussing something. Duplicate screens were turned on, and each one had the frozen image of Iveh's face with white eyes, like that of a boiled fish.
"Admiral on board!" Shengelia roared.
"At ease." Timokhin waved at the officers and, grabbing a brace, turned to the assistant. "What do you say, Archil?"
"I'll say that their girls are beautiful. I will also say that they are familiar with deception, intrigue, and the concept of a threat. None of that surprises him." Commodore nodded at the screen. "And something else... something..."
"Hypocrisy," Tojo suggested.
"Yes, correct. You threatened him, he threatened you, but not openly. Just waved his fist behind his back."
"Plus the bribe attempt," one of the analysts added.
"He promised too many boons," another one said. "I don't believe these Binucks."
"Neither do I," Timokhin nodded and looked at the tactical light tablet. The Faata starship hung in its depths, a finger-sized cylinder, surrounded by the tiny gleaming arrows of the cruisers. So small, but concealing destructive power... He suddenly remembered the Chilean astrodrome and Gunther Voss, the joker from the CosmoSpiegel. He'd said something about lasers and missiles... Comedian! But on the ball, the first to sniff out the Chinaman's observations. Although no one could say now what that Liu fellow had seen; was it even a flash, and was it connected to the alien ship? Maybe to the Lark, after all? But the Barracuda hadn't found anything: no debris, no radioactive dust, absolutely nothing...
He nodded again, at Shengelia this time.
"Summarize the information, Commodore, and have the report on my desk. I'll be in my quarters."
The hatch closed behind him, with the marine standing on duty saluting. Grabbing the braces and looking forward to rest, Timokhin headed to his quarters, but thoughts of the Lark would not leave him. What had happened there, near Jupiter? Could the Binucks know something? This intermediary? He scowled and grunted gloomily. If he did, he wouldn't say... One word: deceiver, hypocrite.
This time they were conferring telepathically. Iveh, the Speaker with the Bino Tegari, was next to the transmitter, Keeper Tiych was in an isolated cavity of the nerve node, where it was easy to communicate with the Ship, Kaya, the Guardian of the Heavens and the Strategist, was submerged into the contact substance, which allowed him to control hundreds of large and small modules. The Pillar of Order himself floated near the observation sphere, where twelve silver sparks glittered, the pathetic fleet of the Bino Tegari.
"Your conclusions, Intermediary?" Yata inquired. His thought was cold and demanding.
"They will not let us pass to the inhabited world. Their Strategist is confident in their superiority and that the group that have sent him is the most powerful. Effectively running their planet."
"What do you suggest?"
"Teach them a lesson, as the humans call it."
"Destroy?"
"Yes. But, before that, send a message to Earth, to all the conflicting groups. Do not skimp on promises. Their social system is unstable, billions live worse than our t'ho. They will see the destruction of the fleet as an act of just retribution."
"Accepted," Yata said. "What do you have, Guardian of the Heavens?"
"I require three-quarters of a cycle to reactivate all modules. But thirty-two are already prepared. That should be sufficient."
An emotion of joyful exhilaration came from Kaya; like all Strategists, he was fierce and lived in anticipation of battle. Yata's responding thought cooled him. He squirmed in the contact substance in displeasure; the substance looked like green jelly, and thirty-two t'ho pilots in the reactivated modules felt the pulse of anger.
"Do not rush, Strategist. One who rushes small things slows down the step of the great things. Allow Iveh to send our promises to Earth. Wait. You will strike in a cycle."
Then the Pillar of Order addressed Tiych, the fourth in the Sheaf, touching his mind.
"Have you located the escaped Bino Tegari?"
"He lost us among thermal sources. Perhaps we should check clusters of them?"
"The t'hami halls are being patrolled. He is also not in cargo and reserve cavities. What else can we do?" Yata emitted dissatisfaction, and the Keeper shuddered.
"Nothing yet, Pillar of Order. The Ship is not informing us where the escapee is, but its reactions are normal otherwise. I will come up with some means, but this will require time. It is not easy to deceive the Ship."
It was not, Yata agreed silently. The quasi-sentients had strange whims, as each of them was almost a living being and, thus, a redundant system. Redundancy was the price of reliability and flexibility, which a dead mechanism lacked. He remembered that, because of such devices which were trusted too much, the two previous Phases had collapsed.
"Search for him, but carefully," Yata ordered the Keeper and finished with the traditional formula. "Let us never again see the darkness of an Eclipse!"
They broke the connection.
"This is JBC, and with you, as in the previous days, is once again Patrick McCaffrey with a news overview. Over the past several hours, nearly a hundred and forty news agencies, TV and radio channels, possessing powerful orbital antennae, distributed a message received from the Bino Faata. Yes-yes, you heard right, this is not another USF bulletin that we receive in a censored state, but a message from the aliens themselves. I will note that the video is absent; all we hear is a female voice addressing us in flawless English. But the possibility of a hoax is out of the question: the transmission is directed, and all the antennae are oriented in the same direction: to the part of the celestial sphere where our cosmic guests and the ships of the Third Fleet are located at this moment. I am certain that this is not a joke played on us by Admiral Timokhin or his subordinates.
And so, what are the aliens telling us? In the first part of their message is a reproach which, we can assume, is addressed to the UN, the Security Council, and the USF. As it turns out, the Third Fleet is blocking the Faata advancement to Earth, and the negotiations regarding this matter are still fruitless. The aliens believe that the USC, the UK, the EAU, and the other nations dominating Earth's society are determined to use the advantages of the contact, receiving unilateral technical and scientific information that is meant for all countries and nations of Earth. The second part I would call the Big Promise, as it lists a number of technologies planned for transmission to humanity. For the next hour, we will analyze all the items on the list, from new materials with unique properties to the antigrav, meaning a device that regulates gravity, but first I will touch on a particular position. Particular, for its influence on our society will be enormous and unparalleled in the history of civilization! As you may have already understood, I am speaking about life extension, and not by ten or twenty years, but at least double or triple. As the Bino Faata are claiming, they are physiologically identical to humans but live five, six, or more centuries, which is achieved by a set of measures: wave therapy, cryogenic procedures, and a number of medications slowing down aging. Will that be accessible to humanity? Our guests from space say 'Yes!' And that means that humanity's age-old dream..."
Patrick McCaffrey's overview, highly informative and full of optimistic forecasts, was nonetheless not heard by everyone. That same night, Boris Sergeyevich Gorchakov was conversing with Asadin on a secret channel; the time had finally come to discuss the mandate to extend the military base in Syria. Jozef Kalikh, the Martian Mariner station's traffic controller, was sleeping, and the pretty communications worker Christina was quietly snoring next to him. In this region of Mars, cold, darkness, and night reigned, but the Copernicus planetologists, sitting in the hotel bar, continued their old argument: what was the Great Red Spot: a spatial singularity or a temporal wormhole? They weren't interested in other topics; at least until they resolved this issue. Aboard the heavy cruiser Taiga, there was no time for McCaffrey's overviews; the ship, approaching Eros, was maneuvering to match her velocity to the whimsical motion of the lump of rock. Commander Chernov, the senior communications officer, was still stuck at the receiver, but he was not fishing out news but arguing with the geophysicists from the asteroid division. They wanted for the cruiser to hover right above the camp, near peaked mountains, and turn to put the cargo hatches towards the herd of mining machines and drill robots. John A. Bradford, the former director of the Kepler Observatory, had spent the last four days not listening to the radio or watching TV but pumping himself full of brandy, cursing Liu Chang and mourning his career. Admiral Chavez on the Lunar Base and Admiral Haley, approaching Mars, were not interested in either McCaffrey's overviews or the JBC network in general, since they had access to more serious information: secret documents, reports, statements of experts and analysts.
But Angelotti, the head of the CosmoSpiegel, and Clemens, the chief USF spokesman, were listening to the overview from the first dazzling smile to the last word. Both were professionals, both worked with the news, sensationalism, and scandals, and both remembered that the JBC was an influential network, which meant that Patrick McCaffrey was an important persona. Of course, in the opinion of the head of the Spiegel, he was an amateur compared to Gunther Voss.
On Post 13, immured into the rocky surface of the Tartarus Plateau, people were also stuck to their receiver. Suffering from the stuffiness and the heat, Sviridov, Demeskis, and Durant were catching Patrick McCaffrey's voice through the crackle of interference, and they were gripped by the feeling of involvement in the great and unprecedented events. All three of them were young, which meant that the coming times were their era, and the new world that would rise on Earth after the Arrival was their world. Sviridov thought that he would, most likely, live for at least three hundred years, and he would bet everything that Durant and Demeskis were pondering the same topic. The genie, released from the bottle by the aliens into the human society, seemed very seductive.
Juan Arego, the miner from Outpost 13044, partook in the news at the bar, between the second and fourth mugs of beer. Then, pulling on his EVA suit, he headed for the mine to work off his shift. During a break, which was required every forty minutes, Arego brought Sydney Birk, his partner, up to date. He, however, remained indifferent to the aliens' good deeds and merely muttered, "Screw them, Juanito! There's no such thing as a free lunch, and, besides, we won't get a damn thing. Those goddamn capitalists will grab it all up!" Juan Arego thought for a moment and decided that his partner was right.
Lieutenant Stig Olsen, commander of the fourth marine team attached to the cruiser Asahi, was not listening to McCaffrey's overview, as he was wandering with his people through the Hindu Kush, on the borders of Afghanistan and Pakistan, in the most outlaw, villainous areas. A day earlier, a pod from a Lunar shuttle, piloted by an inexperienced cadet, had missed the landing on the astrodrome near Türkmenabat and ended up in these damned mountains. There was an instructor with the cadet named Serov, a decorated marine, but way past his prime; according to the message from the craft, something had happened to him during the flight: either a heart attack or a stroke. The pilot, apparently, attempted to render him aid, but had lost control, and, as a result, both ejected. Olsen found the crashed pod and now, along with the other teams and with the support from aerial reconnaissance, was scouring the gorges and mountain slopes. A day later, he would stumble onto the Tigers of Islam and the bodies of Serov and the cadet, drawn and quartered, with pierced eyes and flayed skin, then get enraged and order the captured terrorists be bludgeoned to death with rifle butts. For that, he would be court-martialed upon returning to the Singapore base.
Evening was approaching in Singapore, and life on the USF base, behind the triple row of wire and laser fences, was coming to a standstill. Besides the purely military function, the base was intended for marine rest and health restoration, so the most impressive structure here was the hospital unit. It was surrounded by palm trees, pools, flowering shrubs, and two-story bungalows with balconies, large windows, and air conditioners, who fought an unsuccessful battle against the daytime heat, but promised a ghost of coolness closer to nighttime. Behind the spa complex were the barracks, equipment hangars, landing pads, the headquarters building, and several buildings for officers. In one of them, in a tiny apartment, still hot from the daytime heat, a man lay on the couch, known under the name Roy Bunch, a special assignment officer.
However, he was not really a man, although, being in a human body, experienced all the required sensations. At the moment, they were the stuffiness and the heat; the climate of Singapore did not facilitate productive thoughts.
Getting up, Bunch dropped his uniform jacket, pants, and boots, approached the door, and spoke into the answering machine's microphone.
"I went to the city for the night. For entertainment."
Then, stepping into the hallway, he stretched his arms along his body, froze, and, a second later, vanished.
He reappeared thousands of kilometers from Singapore, in Brussels, in a home beyond the Maasdam Canal. It was summer afternoon here, but, behind the concrete walls and the wooden paneling, it was cool. Sighing in relief, Bunch stuck his feet into slippers, put on a robe, and, stepping to the computer desk, sat down in the chair. His features and figure changed; he no longer looked as tall and powerfully-built as the special assignment officer, his body becoming drier, his face becoming older, even his hair becoming lighter, turning blonde instead of brown. While this metamorphosis was happening, the former Bunch sat still, staring at the empty computer screen. The desk in front of him was covered by stacks of disks, notebooks, books, reference guides, voice recorders, and the last several issues of the CosmoSpiegel, but he did not appear to intend to work. In this spacious old home, he could think much better than in that Singaporean sauna.
He felt good; he was not mistaken in selecting his chosen one. He'd spent many, many years studying humans, these fussy creatures, their past and future, their motivations, desires, dreams, and that which they called their mind and spiritual essence. Now he learned to understand them and correctly predict the reactions of their social structures, even specific individuals. A stubborn but promising race! If they got access to new technology, someone would have to make room... Perhaps the Llyano, but the Bino Faata most definitely...
But he shouldn't overestimate them. No, definitely shouldn't! Just take the captive... He felt him as a cluster of feelings and thoughts, like a shadow looming millions of kilometers away, where he could only reach with great effort. The captive had figured out how to use the kaff, slipped away to freedom, and even managed to communicate with the Ship. But that was it! His psychic potential was negligible, there was nothing that could be done with that ancestral heritage, but if he lacked innate talent, it was necessary to use his brains. His mind, unfortunately, was not flexible, and his character independent: too proud, stubborn, not imagining humans as symbiotes. And he could have taken control over the situation... so simple, so easy!
Then the mind that had only recently been called Roy Bunch, thought that humans had plenty of time to get smart; of course, only if the aliens did not incinerate them. A few thousand years, and the whole galaxy would recognize them as fully sentient... But, for now, the goal of the humans was not very complicated: merely to survive. The escapee had an even simpler one: to survive until the Ship got close to Earth. The distance at which he could teleport large objects was four to five times the diameter of Earth, and he was unable to reach the Ship from the planet.
For all their imperfections, he liked humans. He understood that their virtues stemmed from their flaws: for example, stubbornness and pride were the sources of bravery, which, in turn, bore self-sacrifice. The idea of self-sacrifice was foreign to his people, and while he could understand it with his mind, he could not accept it on an emotional level. Life was too precious to cut its thread, which reached for twenty thousand years... Besides, he could always put someone else's life instead of his own.
He already knew how he would do it. Standing up, he descended into the basement, to his hiding place, checked the readiness of the necessary device, then came back up, selected a suit, shirt, tie, appropriate for a diplomat, and changed. His skin darkened, the hair became black and curly, the face altered: full lips, slightly flat nose, dark eyes with swollen eyelids. Looking himself over in the mirror, he nodded contentedly: the suit fit perfectly.
… The time in New York was close to 10 AM, when Umkhonto Tlume, the representative of the Free Zulu Territory appeared out of a bathroom at the UN building. The hallway was quiet and deserted. He quickly crossed it, came out to the elevators, and went down. Five minutes later, Tlume was walking towards the Security Council conference room, looking at today's agenda on the way. The first item on it stated "The expansion of the military presence of the EAU in the Middle East, specifically in Syria."