“I thought I’d find you here,” Rochford said. “Did anyone ever tell you that thinking too much is a bad habit?”
“My first commanding officer, actually. He was living proof that thought was no requisite to promotion.” Scott chuckled, then asked, “Is there anything wrong upstairs?”
“Nothing, all systems fine, the crew’s functioning as well as can be expected in the circumstances. Which is pretty damned well, actually. They’ve all faced the Exterminators before, they all know what they have to do, and they’re getting good at doing it.” He paused, then added, “The waiting’s the problem, of course. Six more jumps before we get to wherever it is we’re going, with no guarantee that it’s the end of our journey at that.”
“I very much doubt that it is,” Scott agreed. “Whatever we find is probably going to lead us somewhere else.” He frowned, then asked, “How would the crew take such an extension?”
“They’re expecting one, skipper. I wouldn’t worry about the crew. I’m not. Right now, I’m more worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Clyde.”
With a wry smile, Rochford replied, “That might just about play with the rest of the crew, Mike, but not with me.”
Taking a deep breath, Scott said, “I just don’t know where the end of the road is. Not any more. I’m not even talking about the Exterminators now. The aliens we ran into…” He paused, sighed, and said, “They wouldn’t even tell us their name. Hell, I’d expected to have to deal with a barrier, some sort of block, to not be able to easily communicate with them, but we could talk to each other. They just wouldn’t listen. Is that how it’s going to be, the next time we run into another alien race. We dreamed so long about meeting other sentient life, and now we have…”
“Now we have, we wish we hadn’t,” Clyde said with a smile. “Hell, that’s a natural enough way to feel. I’m sure we’ve all felt the same way, on and on.”
“You didn’t hear Silva, down in the post-briefing. Talking about how we’d have to put up an offensive stance, prepare for another war, perhaps even start it ourselves to guarantee the defense of Earth, and the worst part was that I found myself agreeing with her!” Tugging at his uniform, he continued, “Our job was to keep the peace, Clyde. To defend mankind from whatever was out there. Well how far does that go? How long do we have to fight to guarantee that peace?”
“As far as we need, I guess,” Rochford replied. “Hell, I could probably make an argument that the Exterminators actually did us a favor. We ran into the big existential threat early enough to do something about it, and before we hit something like our fanatic friends back there who we might have struggled to deal with. With the fleet as it is now…”
“You really think we’re going to beat them?”
“Sure. We’ll find a way. There must be one. We’ve beaten them time and again, and…”
“And I’m beginning to wonder about that. The Folk never did, and I might buy that we could catch them by surprise once, but twice? Three times? No other race that we know of has managed to get that far, and just why haven’t they already thrown everything they’ve got at us? Either their resources are far more limited than we could dare to hope, or there’s some other reason. Maybe we’re being lured into a trap.”
“We’ve theorized that they weren’t expecting us the first time, that we might have caught them by surprise…”
“Hell, Clyde, we just ran into the living proof that they did, and thinking about it, humanity is proof as well,” Scott interrupted. “Think about it for a minute. Why didn’t they wipe out the fanatics when they destroyed the other world in the system? There must have been some sort of contact, and it wouldn’t take much of a psychologist to work out what might happen. Earth was on the outer edge of the Folk’s wormhole network. Which means that at some point in the distant past, an Exterminator ship visited our system and decided that we didn’t pose a threat. They didn’t just blindly stumble into our territory all guns blazing. They aren’t some sort of kill-crazy berserkers.”
Taking a sip of his coffee, Rochford replied, “I suppose there might be something to that, but the reality is, we’re still guessing. Though with a technology level that high, there are all manner of ways they could wipe us out…”
“Exactly. They don’t need to come in all guns blazing. If they have reliable access to black holes, to the point that, God help me, they’re actually able to build them, then they only need to throw a few at Earth to do enough damage to wipe us out completely. So why don’t they?” Shaking his head, he added, “The more we learn, the less I understand. It was so damned simple first time. Big evil spaceship heading our way, one that had to be stopped at any cost. Now it doesn’t seem so simple. Why aren’t we already dead?”
“More to the point, why don’t they seem to care that we’re heading deep into what must be their territory.”
“We don’t have any idea how that is defined, either. We don’t know whether or not they have any planets, systems of their own, or whether they just run around the galaxy in those ships of theirs. We don’t know if they’ve got a single government or they’re a collection of warring tribes. We don’t even know why they want to destroy us.”
“We know something important, though, Mike. We know that they won’t stop until we’re dead. We’ve seen enough proof of that. Did you hear that the deep survey found another wrecked world before we left, dating back a hundred thousand years? That makes seven, just in explored territory, and there may be a few more out there we don’t recognize. Go back far enough, and we’ve got no way of knowing whether worlds we thought had suffered natural catastrophes might have instead been subject to attack.”
“Something’s wiping the slate clean,” Scott said, “though in such a way that the worlds might one day be usable again. Perhaps that’s the key. Destroying a planet with a black hole is permanent. There’s no way back, and the gravitational effects could cause all sorts of damage to the rest of the system. Simply scourging the surface, well, the bulk of the atmosphere will stay, and outgassing will replace what was lost, albeit with a different mix, and enough extremophiles would probably survive to kick things off again someday. Even if it took millions of years.”
“Millions of years,” Rochford repeated. “Hard to think of it in those terms, isn’t it. We’re not really equipped to consider that long a timescale. Whether or not we’re wiped out by the Exterminators, humanity will likely be dead and gone long before then.”
“What makes you say that?” Scott asked. “Come on, Clyde, we’ve had a good run already and we’re only getting better. In a thousand years from now, we’ll be building our own black holes, have colonies and outposts half-way across the galaxy. There’s nothing we can’t accomplish.”
“Including defeating the Exterminators. There has to be a way.” Rochford paused, then asked, “Do you really think the Folk might have the answer, though?”
“Probably not. I always did think of this more along the lines of a rescue mission than a panacea for instant victory, and I think the Professor’s coming around to that way of thinking now as well. Though it might give us a lead, and a chance to actually talk to them, find out what they tried, maybe see what tricks we can come up with if we blend our two technologies together, that might be worth a try. Assuming this isn’t just a wild goose chase.”
“We’ve certainly chased them far enough if it is.” Looking out at the stars, Rochford continued, “Strange, isn’t it? No human has ever gone this far from home. Maybe nobody will ever do this again, head out into the dark like this. Hundreds of light-years beyond the frontier. It might have been decades, centuries before we reached this far if the Exterminators hadn’t arrived.”
“It would have been longer than that. It’s been, what, fifteen years since the last of our wormhole probes was launched? Less than ten before the last one finishes transit? If we hadn’t found the shadow network, we might never have made it out this far.” Reaching for his coffee, Scott added, “A part of
me wishes we never had.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Except that we’d never have known what was out there, good or bad. If we’d just sat in our few systems, looking out into infinity, we’d have lost something. Something important, way down inside. Maybe that’s enough to make this mad chase worthwhile. Though I still wish we could actually stop to take a close look at some of these strange new worlds we’re racing past.”
“Maybe on the way back, things might be different. We can but hope, anyway.” Reaching for his datapad, Rochford added, “I’ve got something else for you. Given that we’re talking about what might be waiting when we get home.” He passed it across to Scott, and said, “Naturally, it won’t take effect until the war is over.”
“Your resignation?” Shaking his head as he scrolled through the text, Scott said, “Clyde, come on. You’re a safe bet for an Admiral’s star with the expansion, and right now…”
“I’m getting too old for all of this, and by the way, so are you. Our conversation here is proof enough of that.” Draining his drink, he said, “I’m tired, Mike. Worn out. I guess I had one last big push left in me, and I’ve just about reached the end of the line. Don’t worry, you can count on me for this mission, and if we end up going into a death or glory ride back at Earth, if this war goes on a while, I’ll stay in uniform. I just want to make sure nobody gets any crazy ideas about promoting me. I’m not the one.” Looking into his old friend’s eyes, he said, “That goes for you, just as much.”
“I’m fine.”
“So you keep saying, but we both know that is a lie. You’re out here now because you’re the only man who can do this, because you’ve convinced yourself, probably correctly, that humanity needs you here. Whether or not you are right about that, as soon as this war is over, you need to leave, if you’re to have any hope of keeping control of your own destiny. The brass will push you into some highly-unimportant desk job, assuming you don’t go from one high school to the next on a recruitment drive.”
“What exactly do you intend to do, when this is over and you get back into civilian clothes?”
“Collect my pension and find some nice, quiet corner of the universe. Like I did before all this began. I’ve done my time and I’ve done my duty.” Looking at Scott, he added, “Perhaps I might meet up with an old friend at the bar from time to time, where we can put the universe to rights once again.”
“Maybe.”
“You know I’m right, Mike. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe,” Scott repeated. He passed the datapad back, and said, “File this again when the war’s over. If you still feel the same way, I’ll sign off on it. Though for the sake of that pension, you might want to consider accepting a star for a year or two.”
“Not a chance. One fight to the death should be enough for any man’s life, and I’m on about my tenth.” He paused, then asked, “Will you think about what I said?”
“I will,” Scott said. “You have my word.” He looked up at the stars again, and said, “For the present, will you join me in the Mess? All this pondering the imponderable has given me an appetite.”
Chapter 10
The bridge was as tense as Scott had ever known it, every station manned, any officer with even the remotest excuse on duty either in Leonidas’ command center or down in Astrogation, waiting to see what was out there at the target system. Long-range scans hadn’t revealed anything of interest, but the last wormhole transit had been on the long side, more than twenty light-years, meaning that any information they might have gathered at such a range would be out-of-date. Anything might have happened in the intervening decades.
Cunningham waited at the helm, his hands poised for action. In theory, he was meant to be off-duty, waiting below, but he’d managed to trade shifts in order to be here with the rest of them, and both Scott and Rochford had opted to turn a blind eye in the interests of having the best officer possible at the ready. The same compromise with regulations had taken place all across the ship, either quietly or with the connivance of the department heads. There had been no need to ask permission, not this time. The whole crew was ready for whatever might await them in the target system.
“Five minutes to go, sir,” Cunningham said. “Evasive course plotted for emergence.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” Scott replied. Reaching for a microphone, he said, “All hands, attention. This is the Admiral. Well, it’s taken us the best part of a month, and two tries, but it looks like we’ve finally made it to our target system. We have no idea what we’re going to face on the far side, but we do know that it represents our best chance of bringing this war to a satisfactory conclusion. I don’t need to tell you all what’s at stake. You know that already.” He paused, looked across at Rochford with a smile, and said, “All hands, battle stations.”
The bridge crew raced to complete their preparations, all of them having anticipated the order and made themselves as ready as possible. Rochford walked over to the status indicator, nodding in approval as one green light after another snapped on, each department reporting that they were prepared for anything they might encounter.
“Close to a record,” he said, as the last department’s status light winked to green. “Damned close.”
“My complements to the department heads,” Scott said. “Same drill as before, Clyde. Full sensor scan as soon as we arrive, and don’t worry about hiding ourselves. I want anyone in the system to know we’re there. Have the First Contact package loaded and ready, and let’s hope we have more luck this time if we run across anything. Or anyone.” Turning to Cunningham, he added, “Stay loose, helm. Unless you see an Exterminator ship, I don’t want any aggressive moves, nothing that might start a war. Keep acceleration low, keep us close to the wormhole. As far as we know, this is a dead-end system, so the only way out is the way we came in.”
“Great place for an ambush, Admiral,” Silva warned.
“The thought had occurred to me, Lieutenant, which is why we’re going into the system at full combat alert.”
Nodding, she replied, “All weapons are ready, firing computer running and true.”
“Sensors, show us the projected system ahead,” Scott ordered, turning back to the viewscreen. The target was a desolate brown dwarf, a star so small that it had never managed to spark, with only a thin outer halo of debris so distant that it might as well not be in the system at all, the remnants of the failed formation of the primary. Just one of millions, perhaps billions of similar stars in the galaxy, destined to wander alone through the universe forever. There seemed little reason even for it to be connected to any wormhole network at all, which only convinced Scott still further that there was something significant waiting for them, something important. It would make an excellent staging area for a fleet, a place nobody would ever think to go.
“All sensors are ready for full-active scan upon emergence,” Rochford reported. “Our science team is standing by for data interpretation, and Shuttle One is ready for immediate launch if we find anything worth looking at more closely.” Turning to Scott, he added, “Think we’ve missed anything?”
“Probably, but we’ll have to find it out the hard way,” Scott said with a smile. “How long, helm?”
“Two minutes, ten seconds, skipper,” Cunningham replied. The helmsman frowned, then added, “Getting a little gravitic turbulence on entry interface. A lot worse than normal.”
“Can you ride it out?”
“I think so, sir, but it’s going to be chancy.” Turning to Scott, he added, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, skipper. The egress path should be smooth as silk.”
“Clyde…,” Scott began.
“On it, Admiral,” Rochford said, moving to a wall terminal and logging into the library computer, wormhole schematics flickering onto the display. “First glance, dimensional distortion in the target system, a change to the local gravitational constant. Could be a black hole, sir.”
“If it is,” Chen rep
lied, “and it’s waiting for us at the threshold, we’ll never even know what hit us.”
“Mind your station, Lieutenant,” Scott replied, turning back to the viewscreen. Chen was quite right, of course, and Scott’s mind started to churn with ideas of how a wormhole might possibly be anchored close to a black hole, to be used as a trap. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The singularities used by the Exterminators were small enough that they would evaporate unless maintained, and if there was an enemy ship waiting for them, there had been no sign of it when they entered the wormhole. With so little matter in the system ahead, anything unusual would have been easy enough to detect.
Except that all their information was twenty-one years old, and they had no way of knowing how accurate it was today. Two decades was a long, long time, enough time for a trap to be set and armed by some unknown force. He looked up at the countdown clock, urging the seconds to tick away, longing to get the waiting over with. He’d been planning this mission for months, and now it was finally about to come to fruition. Assuming nothing else went wrong.
“Thirty seconds, sir,” Cunningham said. “We’re going to have to come out at speed. Turbulence is increasing.”
“I can’t feel anything,” Silva replied.
“If you did, ma’am, you’d be dead a picosecond later,” the helmsman retorted.
Turning to Scott, Rochford said, “Professor Watson suggests that there has been significant dimensional activity in the system ahead, in the very recent past. Weeks at most, maybe less. Could mean the passage of a lot of ships through this area, Admiral. Potentially hundreds of ships, large ones.”
“Helm, if you see any sign of an Exterminator fleet on the far end of this sleigh ride, don’t wait for the order, just execute a full emergency turn and get us the hell out of there.”
“Thrusters primed, sir, ready to place the ship on an escape vector if needed. Five seconds to egress.”
“Hold on, everyone!” Scott said, gripping onto the arms of his chair. Normally, emergence to normal space was smooth enough that you barely felt it. This time, it was as though every molecule in his body was engaged in a violent disagreement with every other, and he gasped for breath as Leonidas dived through the wormhole, a slight spin on her as she tumbled into her home dimension, Cunningham struggling through his evident nausea to return the ship to an even keel, Silva’s hands poised on her weapons controls.
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