by Rob Boffard
In the silence that follows, Hannah’s imagination goes to work. It’s easy to picture more ships out there: a coordinated attack on multiple targets from a hostile force – one with tech no one had ever seen before. She looks up through the dome again, at the endless, expanding debris field. At the cold stars beyond them.
“Hold on,” Everett says. “We’re not ruling this out, but I think it’s unlikely it was alien. The ship was … different, but it wasn’t that different.”
“Seems a little thin,” Lorinda says.
“I’m just saying. If it really was aliens, then why would they build a ship like that? It was too … human, I mean. Too us. And it had a gravity well.” He sees their blank expressions. “Alien life probably wouldn’t need the same gravity conditions we do. And even if they did, are you seriously suggesting they invented the same tech as us?”
“Exactly.” Jack finally wipes his mouth. “Thank you.”
Everett continues. “But more importantly, how’d they get here without using a gate? Could they have made their own wormhole?”
“No way,” Corey says. “We can’t do it.”
“Corey—”
“No, you don’t get it. We can’t make a wormhole ourselves, just use the ones that’re already there.”
“Everyone knows that already,” Malik says, sounding as if he wants to hurl Corey out of the airlock himself.
The pieces line up in Hannah’s head. Humans had first discovered a network of tiny wormholes dotted across their solar system a century before. It was the biggest discovery in history – even if it took a while to figure out how to make use of it.
Wormholes – Einstein-Rosen Bridges, to give them their scientific name – collapsed in on any matter that entered them, shredding it down to its component molecules. To send anything and actually have it survive the trip, you had to inject the wormhole full of exotic matter: special particles with negative mass.
It took huge energy to create the particles, using special colliders – and the larger the thing you wanted to send through, the more particles you needed. At first, anything bigger than a basketballsized probe was a no-go – it just took too much energy to produce the amount of particles needed to send bigger objects. In one of her more diligent moods, Hannah had tried to read up on the physics of it, and had given up after five pages.
Then a researcher in Moscow – Hannah always forgets her name – had figured out that you could widen the throat of the wormhole at the entry and exit points, meaning you could use the same amount of exotic matter to send much larger objects through. All you had to do was build a permanent, fixed gate at each end, stretching the wormhole throats open.
Now the probes being sent through the wormholes had a mission beyond just a look-see: construct the exit gates, using whatever resources happened to be in the area. With the gates in place, holding the wormholes open, actual ships with actual humans inside them could make the jumps, which in turn led to the Great Expansion.
Humans had spread not just to other planets in their solar system, but far beyond to it, to a hundred different worlds. They couldn’t choose where the wormholes led to, but they could choose which ones they built gates on, expanding to the most resource-rich sectors of space.
That, Hannah knew, was why the war had started in the first place, when the people who’d spent a large chunk of their lives making this all happen – the Colonies – decided they’d rather keep the resources they found for themselves than feed a solar system most of them had long forgotten. A lot of them had never even been to Earth. It might have still been the headquarters of the Frontier Senate, but they just saw it as a creaky old planet with a fucked climate, filled with old men and women trying to give them orders.
“So they came here through the Sigma gate.” Brendan sees Jack about to protest, and cuts him off. “They must have done. And my guess is they did to the defences what they did to us. So right now, they’re going back through the gate to escape. It’s logical.”
“Unless they’re hanging around and shooting every ship that comes through,” says Lorinda.
“Or they used one of those metal balls to blow the gate up after they jumped,” Malik mutters.
Everybody looks at him, and he drops his head. A chill settles over Hannah. Because Malik is right – they might have done just that, and there’s no way to know for sure.
“What if it came back?” Corey’s eyes are huge. He hops off his seat, spreads his hands. “Ships sometimes go missing when they jump through a wormhole. What if, like, a ship went missing, only when it came back, it thought no time had passed? And we were still at war? It’d see the station, and just … boom.”
A few seconds silence. Then Malik says, “That’s dumb.”
Corey rounds on him, but their dad gets there first. “It’s not dumb. It’s an interesting idea. But Corey, I don’t think that’s what happened. Ships have gone missing, all right, but it hasn’t happened in decades. And it doesn’t mean they got … trapped in time, I guess you’d call it.”
“But, Dad – what if it’s happened before, and we just don’t know about it?”
An idea pops into Hannah’s mind, bright and sharp. Surely they could send a distress call? What if …
Her shoulders sag. They’re in deep space, and even a message sent by a powerful transmitter would take at least a month to reach the nearest outpost. Maybe longer. The quickest way to deliver messages was still by using jump gates, travelling across the galaxy faster than any beamed message could ever go.
Could they send a signal to the gate? See if it was still there? Maybe … but she didn’t think the Red Panda’s transmitter was strong enough. Not on a ship designed to go no further than a few miles from the station.
“Hang on,” Jack is saying. “Frontier’s got trading ships coming into Sigma all the time, right? Right? So it won’t be long before someone realises something happened.”
“Assuming there’s still a gate for them to come through,” Anita says.
Jack ignores her. “Point is, we gotta stay here. If rescue does come, and we’re somewhere else—”
Everett clears his throat. “Actually, that might not be such a good idea.”
“Why not?” Seema says, folding her arms and looking Everett up and down. It’s such a theatrical, offended gesture that Hannah almost laughs.
“Well,” Everett runs a hand through his thinning hair. “According to military strategy …”
Seema frowns. “You’re a military strategist?”
Everett blinks, knocked off his stride. “No. I run my own business. I install home reactors. But I read military strategy sometimes—” a brief glance at his wife “—and this is a classic manoeuvre. They’ll destroy a forward-operating base, then wait for the rescue teams to arrive. Additional casualties, mass panic …”
“OK,” Hannah says, not sure where he’s going.
“What I mean is, they might still be nearby. If we hang around too long, we could get caught in another firefight. I’m not sure we can handle a second one.” He reaches out and ruffles Corey’s hair, awkward and hesitant.
“But that’s crazy,” says Seema. “Jump gate ain’t more than a few hours away. How long could it possibly take them? And who’s to say that if we make a run for it, that ship won’t take us out?”
“I’m just—”
“Yeah, OK, Evan,” Jack says. “We’ll pass on the analysis.”
“Everett.”
“Huh?”
“It’s Everett. Not Evan.”
“Whatever. Look, you’re not the one in charge here.”
“And you are?” says Anita, bristling.
“Let’s vote.” Hannah’s voice is louder than she intended. “There’s enough of us. We can decide together. How about it?”
Silence. Neither Jack nor Anita will meet her eyes.
“Fine,” Seema says, turning her headlight gaze on Hannah. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Alrighty,” Hannah says, folding
her hands in her lap. “All those in favour of staying here?”
“Maybe it should be a secret vote?” Lorinda says. “We could write on slips of paper or something.”
Brendan puffs out his cheeks, and Jack mutters something that sounds to Hannah like For fuck’s sake. They’re saved from having to debate this new wrinkle when Anita raises her hand. “I vote we stay here.”
Everett frowns. “’Nita, I’m not sure that’s such a good—”
“Seconded.” Jack flicks up his hand, the other one still twisting his shirt. Anita’s hand hovers in the air, an expression of confusion crossing her face – she clearly hadn’t intended to side with Jack on this one. Hannah half expects the vote to be retracted, but Anita says nothing, just lowers her hand to her lap, mouth set.
Brendan and Seema raise their hands, too. No one else does.
“Great,” Hannah’s hair is stuck to her forehead again, and she has to forcefully peel off a couple of strands. “And those in favour of heading out?”
She lifts her hand. So do Corey, Everett and Lorinda.
“Four on four,” Brendan says. “Now what?”
“Hang on.” Jack points at Malik. “He hasn’t voted.”
Everyone turns to the teen, who looks like he would do anything to be able to hide behind his holocam.
Anita nudges him. “Come on, hon. Your vote counts, too.”
Speaking very quickly, Malik says, “I vote we stay here. I vote we wait.”
“What?” Corey swings around in his chair. “Come on, Mal, you know that’s a dumb idea.”
“Well, Mom voted for it!”
“Maybe if you weren’t stuck with that stupid holo up your ass all—”
“Do not speak to your brother that way,” Anita says, rounding on her son. “Ev, tell him.”
Everett doesn’t tell him. For a moment, the two sides of the family just look at each other, as if waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Jack cuts in. “Doesn’t matter. We voted, all right, and it’s five–four to stay here. So could we—”
“What about the pilot?”
Jack turns to Lorinda. “Huh?”
“The pilot. She gets a vote, too, doesn’t she?”
“And if she votes to leave, it’ll be a stalemate again,” Seema says.
Lorinda refuses to look away. “Maybe. But we still need to do this right.”
“We could always flip a coin, if it comes to that,” Hannah says.
“Flip a …” Jack closes his eyes. “All right, you know what? I’m going to get a drink. Do whatever you want.”
He heads towards the stairs leading to the darkened bar. Corey and Malik are still hissing at each other. Anita and Everett have gone quiet, and Lorinda flashes Hannah a weak smile.
“Well,” Hannah says, with a conviction she doesn’t even remotely feel. “I guess I’ll go talk to the captain.”
Chapter 10
Hannah is about to open the door to the cockpit when she blacks out.
One second she has her hand on the door handle, cold metal under her fingertips, and the next she’s slumped against the passage wall. There’s a headache blossoming at the base of her skull, her tongue thick in her mouth.
“I’m OK,” she says, and then a wave of nausea stronger than any she’s felt before hits her. It feels as if someone has grabbed her stomach on either side, then twisted in opposite directions, like a person wringing out a wet towel.
She breathes through her nose, inhaling and exhaling, concentrating hard on each one. Slowly – very slowly – the nausea falls under control.
Suddenly, Hannah is mortified at the idea that anyone might see her. She looks up, but nobody has. Lorinda is deep in conversation with Malik, Everett and Corey. Anita is off to one side, arms folded. Brendan and Seema are muttering to each other, heads bent, and Jack is already in the bar, out of sight.
“I’m OK,” Hannah says again. She takes another harsh, sour breath, and steps into the cockpit.
The smell has become worse, cigarette smoke blending with the harsh tang of sweat. The one in Volkova’s mouth is fresh, only just lit. A cardboard coffee cup, balanced on the control panel, is half full of butts, swimming in a cold, black stew. For the second time, Hannah wonders why she doesn’t just smoke NicoSticks. Maybe she’s got used to the smell.
There’s something else, too: a bottle of clear liquid, propped up against a screen. Its label side is turned away, but Hannah can read the word водка through it. There’s a small trapdoor in the floor, the lid thrown back, exposing wires and blinking lights. Volkova must stash the booze down there.
The ship’s computer is speaking as Hannah enters – the same jovial male voice. It’s not an actual AI; more like a simple computer system, modded to make it sound human. Then again, it’s not like you’d expect a decent AI on a ship like this.
“Captain, the station command mailbox appears to be full,” the computer is saying. “Please communicate with other Sigma Destination Tours vessels to locate a clear quadrant, and await further instructions.”
“Is that you, Guide?” Volkova’s voice sounds as if she’s suffering a mountainous hangover. She doesn’t turn to look at Hannah, doesn’t lift her hands from the controls. The Red Panda is hovering a short distance from the ruined station, away from the larger chunks of debris.
Hannah licks her lips. Her mouth is still cottony. “Any sign of the other ship?”
“Nyet. Nothing.”
“That’s good, right?”
Volkova just shrugs.
“Captain,” says the Panda. “Contacting Sigma station control for further instructions. Station command mailbox appears to be full. Repeating attempt.”
Volkova ignores the voice. “What about the passengers? Are they good?”
Hannah leans against the control panel, perching on the edge. She almost slips, putting her hand out for balance. “Um, we … there’s been a vote.”
“A vote?”
As Hannah explains what happened, Volkova’s eyebrows beetle towards her hairline. “You’re crazy,” she says, when Hannah is finished. “Of course we’re staying here.”
“But—”
“But nothing. The Red Panda may not have radar equipment, but the enemy ship definitely has. No, we stay here, we wait. If rescue comes, we’re in right place.”
It unsettles Hannah to hear the captain echoing Jack’s thoughts. She pushes it away. “What if they don’t come? What if the gate …”
“Then we make another plan. But for now, we stay here.” Volkova turns back to the viewport. “Go tell the passengers. I’ll keep us from crashing into … what are you doing?”
The nausea is back, foaming, filling up Hannah’s stomach. This time, she isn’t sure she’s going to be able to keep it down. Thick, sour saliva coats her mouth.
“Yob tvoyu mat,” Volkova says to herself. Hannah hears her scramble up from her seat. There’s a thump, and then something appears in front of her face, a receptacle of some kind. “Here. You throw up, at least you’re not throwing up on the floor.”
Hannah raises her head, just a little. The receptacle is a slim cardboard box with thick sides – one that used to hold the Red Panda’s log book, an old-fashioned ledger with dog-eared pages. The book is on the floor now, spread open spine-down.
A few seconds pass. Hannah’s stomach subsides, but panic replaces the nausea, as raw as a piece of abraded skin. She closes her eyes, tries to get it under control. “I can’t,” she says. “Please, you’ve gotta talk to them. They won’t listen to me.”
“Let me tell you a story,” Volkova says.
The words are so out of place that Hannah almost forgets her panic. “Story?”
“Da.” Volkova keeps talking. “I was in the Frontier navy. Flew Scorpion fighters, during the war. We were in the Bellatrix system – you know where that is?”
“Uh …” It was one of the battles in the war – a distant one, over jump gates in a far-flung system. Hannah’s tu
tor had mentioned it once in a college seminar.
“Colony and Frontier forces converged for control of the jump gate,” Volkova says. “I was second-in-command of my squadron, and our mission was to defend the Frontier capital cruiser. OK?”
“OK …”
The captain takes another puff of her home-made cigarette, tilting her head back to exhale the smoke. “The battle went on for hours. Kinetic impactors everywhere. The Colonies had a big, big upper hand – they had ship-killer nuclear bombs, you know the kind? And very fast Crisis fighters. My commanding officer, he was on the other flank of our capital cruiser. I saw I had a clear path to the Colony frigate – one with their bombs. The Xi Jinping.”
Hannah nods. The details are coming back to her now.
“So.” Volkova points, as if sighting the frigate in the distance. “I asked our officer for permission to engage. She was much too busy – fighting off the advance by the Colony ships. I knew our window was going to close. We wouldn’t be able to take out the frigate at all if I didn’t do something. So I took two other members of my squadron, and made a run for the Jinping.”
She leans forward, locking eyes with Hannah. “They spotted us from ten kays out. Lit us up – pa, pa, pa.” She clicks her fingers rapidly. “But we were good pilots. Best in the Frontier. We dodged the ordnance, made it through the enemy lines, and we targeted the frigate engines.”
Volkova claps her hands together, making Hannah jump. “Jinping was destroyed. The Colony forces had no idea what to do. They just scattered.” She grins. “My commanding officer got very angry with me, but by then the battle was done.” She taps her chest. “President-elect Greenwald pinned my Victory Star, right here. Wingmen, too.”
Hannah’s eyes are wide, her panic forgotten. This explains how Volkova saved them – how she managed to pilot the Panda into the station, pull off those moves.
But then she frowns. “What does any of this have to do with—”
“Because,” Volkova pauses, lighting another cig with a metal lighter that looks like it, too, might have been at the Battle of Bellatrix. “You needed something to distract you. You’re acting like a crazy person, and this is not a time for acting crazy.”