by David Mack
She averted her eyes and focused on her console. “Aye, sir,” she said, with a vibrato of grief in her voice.
As he and Yacavino left the transporter bay, Foyle noted his lieutenant’s tensed jaw and brooding glower. They didn’t speak of his lie to the ensign as they moved down the corridor and entered the turbolift, and with every step they took, Foyle became more certain that they never would—because Yacavino was a good soldier, and he knew that war made its own demands.
* * *
Karl Graylock had only the vaguest idea what the machines in the Caeliar apparatus were, and he had no idea how the aliens made the system work. The Caeliar seemed to direct it by thought alone; so far as he could tell, it had no physical interface. The symbols that streamed past on the enormous liquid sheets that the Caeliar had produced in midair were gibberish to him.
He cast a wary look at the alien closest to him. “How do I know you’re programming the variables I asked for?”
The scientist had to twist his upper body to look at Graylock. With their ever-frowning, impenetrable visages, the Caeliar always looked disdainful, and their hauteur always conveyed a degree of condescension. As this one answered him, however, he couldn’t mistake his obvious contempt. “Shall I have the formulae translated into your primitive alphanumeric code?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Graylock said, answering sarcasm with more of the same.
On the silver sheet above and in front of him, a ripple transformed the alien script and symbols into Arabic numerals and Earth-standard mathematical expressions. It was the most beautiful thing Graylock had ever seen. It was elegant and economical, it was mathematics and physics and temporal mechanics fused into one and reimagined as poetry.
He looked around, hoping to share his wonder with one of the other members of the Columbia landing party—and then he saw Thayer, lying on the floor, her jumpsuit soaked with her own blood, which still seeped from the ragged and meaty mess that used to be her left foot.
A Caeliar scientist said, “It is ready.”
Graylock turned back to the formula and its creators. “Then let’s proceed. Open the passage.”
The apparatus resonated with a deep droning, and Graylock felt it vibrating the fillings in his molars. Several liquid displays indicated sharp increases in power output, and another set its puzzle of Caeliar symbols racing. As they began to melt into a blur, he imagined he could almost see in it numbers and notations he understood. Then the image dissolved into a view of a dazzling rift in space-time, in orbit of Erigol. Looking like a speck poised on its event horizon was the Columbia.
“Mein Gott,” Graylock said under his breath. “We did it.” For a moment he could only stare in fascination at the temporally shifted subspace tunnel. He was unable to fathom how much raw energy was being expended to keep it open and stable. Recovering his wits, he called over his shoulder to Pembleton, “Hail the ship! The road is open.”
* * *
The last time Hernandez had visited the Quorum, the Caeliar had seemed aloof and reserved. Now, as she and her loyal officers ascended with Inyx into the center of the hall’s main level, the clamor in the soaring space was deafening. Scores of sliver-thin, levitating liquid screens raged with riots of color and sound. The hall was lit by thirty-six sunlike orbs, arranged in a circle high overhead, near the pyramidal chamber’s peak.
None of the Caeliar spoke. Instead, they filled the air with an atonal humming punctuated by deep, vibrato drones, like the low groan of a didgeridoo she had once heard on Earth, in the silence of the deep Outback.
Fletcher stood on her right, Metzger on her left, and Valerian was close at her back. Inyx stepped a few paces ahead of Hernandez and spread his arms in a submissive gesture before the eastern tier, where the scarlet-robed tanwa-seynorral looked down at them. Ordemo Nordal appeared to be the only member of the Quorum who wasn’t lost in the throes of a droning swoon.
“Captain Hernandez,” said the first-among-equals, “you told us a short time ago that you and your kind posed no threat to us.” A wave of his hand united the many liquid screens around the hall into one enormous floating wall of quicksilver. An image rippled into focus—it was a Caeliar city being consumed in a fiery flash. When the blinding glare faded, it revealed an image of the MACO-led hostage crisis taking place in another city’s apparatus control center. Her cheeks burned with shame as she watched her mutinous crew coerce the Caeliar by threatening the already wounded Lieutenant Thayer. “It seems you underestimated your people’s capacity for brutality.”
The Caeliar leader continued, “Inyx, these savage beings were welcomed into our home at your urging. Now they have extinguished countless lives, minds that were integral to the gestalt, and they have interfered at a critical moment during the great work. Our link to the far galaxy has been corrupted.”
Inyx bowed low from the waist. “Forgive me, tanwa-seynorral. I sought only knowledge and understanding.”
“I trust that you will remember this the next time you are tempted to indulge your curiosity at the expense of our safety.”
“I will,” said Inyx, the top half of his body still parallel with the floor.
Hernandez stepped forward. “Can we play the blame game later, please?” Inyx straightened and looked back at her in surprise, and Ordemo seemed taken aback by her tone. “We need to act quickly if you want to stop this from getting worse.”
Ordemo’s contempt was bilious. “What do you propose?”
“Let me talk to them,” Hernandez said. “Now.”
“That seems ill-advised.”
She gritted her teeth and sighed to dispel the swell of anger in her voice. “They’re manipulating you,” she said. “You’re not used to dealing with strangers, so your people told us anything we wanted to know. My men are using that knowledge to make you help them. You don’t understand us well enough to put an end to this. But I do. Stop cooperating with them and open a channel, and I’ll try to end this.”
Ordemo replied, “I find it difficult to believe you are so concerned with our well-being.”
“You’re right,” Hernandez admitted. “I’m not. But I know how seriously you take your privacy, and I have a good idea what you’ll have to do to my homeworld if I don’t put a stop to this. I like Earth where it is. I’d rather not see it displaced.”
Inyx interjected, “She sounds sincere, Ordemo.”
Hernandez got the impression that Inyx’s support did little to bolster her position with the tanwa-seynorral. Regardless, a few seconds later Ordemo turned toward the image of the ongoing hostage situation and declared, “Your people in Mantilis can hear you now, Captain.”
She surveyed the scene, noted that Foyle and Yacavino were both absent, and surmised that the two MACO officers had likely already beamed up to the Columbia. Technically, Gray-lock was the ranking officer on the scene, but the one in charge was obviously Sergeant Pembleton. He was in command of the MACOs, and the one with whom she would have to negotiate. “Sergeant,” she snapped, “this is Captain Hernandez. Stand down.”
Pembleton looked up and around until he obviously found a screen near him that was displaying the captain’s face. “I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t do that.”
“Yes you can, Pembleton. Ask your men if you’re still in contact with the Columbia.” She waited while he looked to Private Mazzetti, who fiddled for several seconds with a communicator, then shook his head and frowned at his sergeant. Hernandez continued, “The scattering field’s back up, isn’t it? Take my word for it, Sergeant: The Columbia’s not breaking orbit today. You’ve failed. Tell Private Steinhauer to let Thayer go.”
He seemed ready to falter, just for a moment, and then he lifted his weapon to his shoulder and pointed it at Thayer. “No, Captain. Major Foyle’s orders were clear.”
“What did the major order you to do?” she asked.
“Whatever I had to,” Pembleton said. “As long as I secured the Caeliar’s cooperation.”
Hernandez found it tel
ling that Pembleton was reluctant to elaborate on Foyle’s orders. She suspected that part of him regretted what he was doing. His hesitation and general unease told her he was rationalizing his way through this mess. “So,” she said, “you were prepared to wound Thayer. But are you ready to kill her? Because she’s bleeding out, you know. A wound like that’s fatal if it’s not treated.”
“We’ll treat her as soon as we reach the ship,” he said.
“You’re not going to reach the ship, Sergeant. And neither is she. So you might as well kill her now, and let her death be quick instead of drawing it out like this.”
Ordemo interrupted, indignant, “Captain, we cannot permit your sergeant to—” A vicious glare from Hernandez quelled his protest, and the tanwa-seynorral cast a long, silent look at Inyx, who responded with his own icy stare of reproof.
Pembleton intensified his focus on Thayer as he said to Hernandez, “Don’t bother trying to bluff me, Captain. I’ll do what I have to. I’m going home. I’m gonna see my boys again.”
“No, you’re not, Gage. I’ve asked the Caeliar not to cooperate with your demands. But I can’t stand here and watch Kiona’s life drain away like this. Let me make it easier for you. This is an order, Sergeant: Kill Lieutenant Thayer.”
He looked perplexed. “Sir?”
“You heard me, Sergeant. Kill her. When she’s dead, you’ve got nothing left. You can’t kill Graylock, you need him to help the ship make the trip through the subspace tunnel. I don’t think you and your men are ready to start killing one another. That makes Kiona your only pawn. So let’s just end the game here, shall we? Kill her.” Hernandez waited a few seconds. When, by the end of that interval, Pembleton had done nothing, she feigned disgust. “Fine, pass the buck, Sergeant. Private Steinhauer: Cut the lieutenant’s throat. That’s an order.”
Only now did Hernandez notice that the din of the Caeliar had faded to silence and that a tense silence hung over the Quorum as everyone waited for the reaction to her stratagem.
Steinhauer removed the blade from Thayer’s throat, dropped it on the ground, and sank to a sitting position on the floor. Without him to hold her torso upright, Thayer collapsed onto her back. Pembleton, sensing the surrender of his men, lowered his weapon and pulled his hand over his face, wiping away sweat, grime, and fatigue. In the background, Graylock leaned against one of the machines and covered his eyes with one hand.
“Private Mazzetti,” Hernandez said, “get a first-aid kit and start treating Lieutenant Thayer’s wound. We’ll get the doctor to you as soon as we can.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Mazzetti, who took off his backpack, opened it, and removed the first-aid kit. He jogged over to Thayer and started taking steps to stanch her bleeding.
One of the Caeliar scientists in the Mantilis facility neared the comm interlink and addressed the Quorum. “It will take time to dissolve the temporally shifted subspace aperture,” she said. “The Earth ship should be restrained until the phenomenon has been disincorporated.”
“Understood,” said Ordemo. “Proceed with haste, Sedín.” The massive silver screen vanished, leaving a faint mist that lingered in the air like a rain shadow. Ordemo looked down at the visitors and said, “Inyx, see the humans’ physician to their wounded comrade in Mantilis.”
Hernandez cut in, “One thing first: Let me talk to my ship. I need to have a few words with Major Foyle.”
* * *
Foyle didn’t seem to care that he was making a scene on the bridge. “I’m not interested in excuses, I want answers!”
Lieutenant Commander el-Rashad, the nominal commanding officer of the ship, shoved past Foyle on his way to the science console, which had once been his regular station. Punching buttons to skim several screens of data, he said, “If I had answers for you, Major, I’d give them to you. But all we know right now is that the scattering field is back, and we can’t get a transporter lock.”
“What about the subspace tunnel?” Foyle asked, pointing at the image of the dazzling passage on the main viewer.
“Stable,” said el-Rashad, who lurched away from the science console to join Ensign Oliveira at the communications panel. “For now.” To the ensign he added, “Patch in the boosters. Maybe there’s a lingering frequency gap we can exploit.”
The major stayed close behind el-Rashad, who was quickly tiring of his irate shadow. “We should go now,” Foyle said, “while we still can.”
“That wasn’t the plan,” el-Rashad said. “We’ve already lost the captain and the XO, I’m not leaving any more of our—” He was interrupted by the beeping alert of an incoming comm signal. “Oliveira, report,” he said, moving back to the command chair.
Oliveira made some quick adjustments on her panel. “Signal from the planet’s surface, sir.”
“On-screen.”
The image of the subspace tunnel was replaced by the faces of Captain Hernandez and Commander Fletcher, who stood with Ensign Valerian and Dr. Metzger inside a huge, ornate chamber. “Mister el-Rashad,” said Hernandez. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise, Captain,” el-Rashad said, confused at seeing his commanding officer and XO alive after receiving Foyle’s report of their demise. “What are your orders?”
“Don’t take the ship into the subspace tunnel, Kalil. If you do, the Caeliar will have to retaliate against Earth, and I can’t allow that. Understood?”
El-Rashad nodded. “Aye, Captain.” He felt the two MACO officers on the bridge staring at him, their malice a tangible presence. “Captain,” he began, uncertain how to phrase the next part of his report, “Major Foyle …”
“Ah, yes,” said Hernandez. “Major Foyle. He and Lieutenant Yacavino are charged with mutiny, conspiracy, assault on a superior officer, assault on flight officers, and the attempted murder of Lieutenant Kiona Thayer. And tack on disobeying the orders of a superior officer.”
“Aye, sir,” said el-Rashad, his resolve galvanized by the captain’s surety. He turned to his acting XO. “Mister Hexter, place Major Foyle and Lieutenant Yacavino under arrest. Ensign Siguenza, help the XO take our prisoners to the brig.” Siguenza drew her sidearm and faced Foyle and Yacavino. It was a testament to the two MACOs’ respect for military tradition that they showed no sign of resistance. Both men surrendered their sidearms with care to the XO, who directed them with a nod into a waiting turbolift.
After they had departed, el-Rashad felt a moment’s regret that the plan to go home and erase the Columbia’s lost years would have to be abandoned. Then he cast aside those selfish desires and reminded himself that this was the captain’s call to make, not his. The Columbia was her ship; he was just watching over it until she came back. “Sir?” he said, easing into his question. “We’re running low on provisions up here. Is there any chance the Caeliar might let us settle on the planet’s surface if we stay out of their cities?”
Hernandez sighed. “I don’t know, Kalil. That’s a ver—”
The signal went dead.
Then something hammered the Columbia, and el-Rashad realized that the ship’s near-empty galley had just become the least of his problems.
* * *
Hernandez had sensed the reduction in tension among the Caeliar in the Quorum hall as soon as Pembleton had lowered his weapon. She hoped that her role in ending the crisis might persuade the Caeliar not to take punitive measures against her ship or against Earth for the crimes that Foyle and the others had committed.
Her thoughts drifted while she watched el-Rashad direct the officers on the Columbia to arrest Foyle and Yacavino. How am I supposed to make amends for this? How do I apologize for the deaths of millions?
She was pulled back into the present moment by el-Rashad asking, “Sir?” She blinked once and looked up at his larger-than-life image on the liquid wall high above her. “We’re running low on provisions up here,” he said. “Is there any chance the Caeliar might let us settle on the planet’s surface if we stay out of their cities?”
After what we just
did? She sighed. “I don’t know Kalil. That’s a very good—”
A thunderclap rent the air, the glowing orbs at the top of the chamber were extinguished, and a flash reddened the night sky beyond the crystal-walled pyramid. Tremors shook the floor under Hernandez’s feet and knocked her down. The other Columbia officers fell beside her. The liquid screens evaporated and rained down like stardust. Inyx and the other Caeliar levitated upward, and then Hernandez saw why—the tiers on which they had been seated were collapsing, shearing away from the crystal walls of the pyramid with sharp splintering sounds.
An earsplitting crack made Hernandez wince, and when she opened her eyes again, a ragged fissure had bifurcated the magnificent, fractal starburst pattern that adorned the floor.
Over the steady rumble of an earthquake, she called out, “Inyx! What’s happening?”
Despite the tumult erupting around them, Inyx’s voice resonated clearly, as if it were amplified. “It’s a feedback pulse from the galaxy we contacted,” he said. “A million times more powerful than we expected.”
The reddish glow that suffused the chamber brightened. Outside the pyramid, the night sky had become almost bloodred.
Valerian shouted to Inyx, “A feedback pulse did this?”
“It disrupted all our technology, including our deep-solar energy taps,” Inyx said. “The gestalt is trying to contain the damage, but the signal appears to have been crafted with malicious intent. Please excuse me while I commune with the gestalt.” Inyx turned away and stared into space with the other Caeliar. Outside, lightning blazed across the sky. Then Inyx looked back at Hernandez and her officers. “We are unable to contain the reaction. We have very little time left.”
Fletcher traded a terrified look with the captain and asked their Caeliar liaison, “Until what?”
“Until this star system is destroyed.”
* * *
Karl Graylock stared in anger and disbelief at the Caeliar scientist and asked, “Are you serious?”