A Sword Into Darkness

by Mays, Thomas A.

  She smiled at his nervous fumbling. “How about I just follow your preplanned response? All those and more are already listed in the contact section. Remember? You wrote it before going senile a couple of minutes ago.”

  “That would probably be for the best.” He tried to return her smile, but only got half of a crooked grin out.

  Melinda shook her head and came up to the desk, reaching out to put one hand over his in reassurance. “You did it, Gordon. That’s what this means. The Promise is a success.” She squeezed his hand and then left, off to inform the company and the world that first contact had been made.

  Shocked, Gordon continued to just sit there. He looked at his desk as if it might explode. Accessible within its active electronic surface was everything he had hoped for, prayed for, and feared for the last 22 years. He was a few keystrokes away from answers to questions that had consumed his life, but now at the critical moment, he was frozen in trepidation.

  Besides, he reasoned, he really should wait for the others. It would mean more, experiencing it all with that highly elite crowd. That was the right thing to do.

  He would not allow himself to be turned into some petulant child the night before Christmas. There would be no shaking of presents on his watch.

  Gordon refused to spoil this.

  No way.

  Then his half grin broadened and lifted into an uncomfortably feral smile. “Yeah, right. Screw ‘em if they can’t handle being second.”

  He tapped a capacitive control flush with surface of his desk and an integral keyboard and touchpad swelled out of the desktop, while a large expanse of the black lacquered surface became a wide monitor. Gordon logged on to Windward’s secure global network and clicked around until he was into Castelworth station’s server. There he performed a second login, scrolled over to the active and waiting telemetry streams and found a single icon that caused his heart to beat noticeably within his chest: the Promise.

  Gordon held a breath for a moment and selected the icon. Streams of memorized pseudorandom digits tumbled forth from his fingertips and the decryption algorithm began to un-spool the compressed, jumbled data into several channels, all transmitted more than a year before.

  One was a telemetry stream, which would help evaluate the health of the probe and the details of its encounter, but which would be completely unintelligible until processed by systems mirroring the probe itself. Then there was a communications log and a recording of all transmissions sent and received, the robotic equivalent of a cockpit voice recorder. Gordon hovered his cursor above this stream, anxious to hear what exchange there might have been with the aliens, but he did not select it. One of the other streams held an even greater allure.

  The video log was an overview of all visual data and telemetry. He could see the encounter with the Deltans from the very moment Promise turned on its cameras. Though not as detailed as what would be found in the telemetry stream, it was immediately accessible.

  Gordon selected it and saw that 43 minutes of video had been received, with more streaming in. He laughed. Due to the limits of relativity, from his perspective, Promise’s encounter was still “live”. Even though it had been transmitted a year before, to Earth it was as fresh as breaking news. To him, first contact was still going on. No one on the planet was as close to the Deltans as he was now.

  Gordon started the video stream and leaned in, getting as close to the log and its various inset cameras as his in-desk monitor would allow. His eyes grew wide and he gasped in awe when the object of all his speculation swung into view. “It’s not a ship at all. Good god . . . .”

  The probe grew closer to its quarry and he sighed, the only sound he made for minutes as history unfolded before him. Ten minutes later, he said to the empty room, “So that’s it. I was right—Lagrange points. Huh.”

  Nothing happened after that, and Gordon grew impatient. He fast-forwarded the stream a bit, watching the encounter happen at four times the normal speed. Then, in minutes, he slowed again. “Here we go. Enough of this timid crap. Transmitting. Our first official words to the galaxy.”

  After that, he froze, unable and unwilling to speed it up anymore as events unfurled faster and faster. His heart began to beat harder, growing from a noticeable thumping in his chest to a pounding pulsation in his ears, and then a burning agony that failed to subside. Sweat rolled from his face and Gordon clutched his chest as if to contain a heart that threatened to burst from him, but he refused to look away.

  On the screen, the video stream ended with the abruptness of a filmstrip ripped from the projector. Gordon saw nothing but static, but the last images would be burned into his mind for the rest of his days, not that he really had any of those left.

  Nathan pulled up to the house with a spray of displaced gravel flying out from his truck’s tires. He noted with a wince that Kris’s motorcycle was already there, but then smiled when he saw her rushing up the front steps. He jumped out the door and ran across the driveway, pushed by the twin drives of future history and the need to not let Kristene beat him inside.

  He was up the steps and standing next to her before she had even finished knocking. He gave her his most dazzling smile, and she responded with a shake of her head and a half-smile of her own. “I still won,” she said.

  Nathan shook his head. “Noooooo. I believe the taunt was, last one inside’s a rotten egg. No inside-eee, no win-eee.”

  “You cheated. You started out twice as close as me. I had to get over here from the shipyard, through worse traffic.”

  “While no doubt doing about Mach seven. It all evens out. I drive a truck bound to the laws of physics, while your little turbine-cycle follows rules no one’s ever thought about defining. Tell me, do you outrun the police or just teleport out of their jurisdiction?”

  Kris smiled. “Neither. I’m invisible to radar when I’m up to speed.”

  “Ah, that explains it.” She reached forward and knocked again. “Besides, it’s not as if one of us will actually see the video before the other. Gordon’s probably going to wait until we all get here so he can make a grand event out of it—the Great Unveiling of my Mad Endeavour.”

  Nathan laughed. “Of course, he’s probably watched the whole first transmission himself by now.”

  “And marked all the good parts,” Kris added.

  They both nodded and said together, “That’s Gordon for you.” That made them both laugh, and Nathan took a half-step closer to her, to which she responded with a half-step of her own to keep the space between them. It was a subtle little dance they shared but never acknowledged, the legacy of Nathan’s rejection.

  For a month after their confrontation in his hospital room, Kristene had avoided any and all contact with him, and he despaired that not only was their friendship doomed, but the project was as well. She could not stay mad forever, though. It was anathema to her nature.

  What had begun then was a gentle return to the status quo. They were friendly, but it was work-friendly, not the exciting and playful friendship of a pair of acquaintances on the verge of becoming something more. She resumed her bright, joking effervescence, but now without any hint of flirtation.

  And Nathan missed it terribly.

  The project was on track, their interaction was pleasant, and there was little to no awkwardness, but where before the future had lain significantly before them, now there was only the present and the memory of a discarded past. He knew he had perhaps made his life’s biggest error.

  Nathan opened his mouth to say something, anything to her, but the door finally opened and Melinda waved them inside, a cell suite tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She said into the phone, “Thank you. Yes, we’re all assembling at the estate, and we’ll review the files when everyone arrives. No, you don’t all have to be here—just a representative, though Mr. Lee is quite anxious for everyone to view it and give their opinion. Yes. Thank you, Dr. Chen. We’ll see you soon.” She took down the suite from its perch atop her shoulder and smiled
at Kris and Nathan. “It’s so good to see you two. What I just said only applies to the riffraff. You can both go in and take a look now, if he hasn’t seen it all a couple of times by this point.”

  Nathan smiled. “Thanks, Melinda. I think we’d both like to get a look at the telemetry before the huddled masses begin arriving. Is he in his office?”

  She nodded. “Just knock and go in. I’ve got a few dozen more calls and e-mails to make, and I haven’t even gotten to the official government contacts yet.”

  They nodded to her and both began walking through the house. As they made their way through the rooms and corridors, they shared a glance and a nervous smile. Kristene began walking faster, edging ahead of him. “Big day, don’t wanna be late.”

  “You’re going to be the late Ms. Muñoz if you make me run through Gordon’s pretty house.” Nathan took longer strides and kept pace, causing Kris to jog forward a few steps as preface to a run, but then she bumped a table and rebounded limping and cursing. Nathan shook his head and slowed his walk to match her now much slower gait.

  They reached the estate’s home office together. Nathan knocked and held the door open for Kristene. He opened his mouth to say something, but it died away unsaid when he heard Kristene’s cry and saw for himself the scene in Gordon’s office.

  Gordon lay on the floor in a pile of papers, face up and gasping, trying to raise himself up by pulling on the desk. His cheeks were sunken and a gray pallor covered his face. Static played on the surface of his pill-strewn desktop, and his chair was knocked over on its side.

  Nathan rushed in, knelt at his side, and immediately felt the old man’s neck. The pulse was so rapid and light it was nigh indiscernible. He turned to capture Kristene in his gaze and commanded, “Call 911! Then get Melinda in here with the defibrillator. Go!”

  She rushed out the doorway without a word, and Nathan laid Gordon flat on the floor, grasping his hand firmly, and catching the suffering man’s panicked gaze with his own eyes. “Gordon, lay still, we’re getting help.” He glanced at the top of the desk and saw all the little white pills scattered over its surface. “Your medication? Did you take your pills, Gordon?”

  It took a moment for Lee to get control of his pained, gasping breath, but eventually he said in a harsh, broken whisper, “—es … took ‘em … no good.”

  “Okay. Just lay back and rest. Melinda’s getting your AED and Kris is calling for an ambulance. You just stay still and concentrate on not dying, all right? The last thing you want is me giving you CPR, you know?”

  Gordon grinned behind a mask of pain. “Ugliest … damn nurse … ever had.” He winced, arched his back and clutched his chest and left arm as another attack hit him.

  Nathan looked desperately to the doorway as he held Gordon still, but no one appeared there. “Melinda! Hurry up!”

  Lee reached up, grabbed Nathan’s arm and dragged him down close. He seethed through his clenched teeth, hissing, “Listen … saw it … bad. All bad … worse than I feared.”

  “Gordon, lay still and calm down. Don’t worry about that now.”

  “Not a ship … worse … cathedrals … burning stars for engines … Nathan … you have to go … soonest … have to test them … must start now.”

  “We will, boss. The ship’s ready, and the crew’s ready, but don’t worry about that now! You’ll be there to see us launch and you’ll be there when we get back.”

  “Don’t understand … government … wasn’t real before … is now … they’ll take it … from us … can’t let them … our ship … not theirs.”

  Nathan felt Gordon’s grip slacking off. His eyes took on a faraway look as he lay back down. Nathan followed him to the floor, straining to catch every increasingly softer word.

  Melinda and Kris ran into the room, frantic, eyes lined in red, but working together in quiet confidence. Melinda broke open the large orange case of a portable Automatic External Defibrillator and began to lay out the unit next to Nathan and Gordon, ripping off plastic wrapping and peeling the paper off a pair of sticky panel electrodes while the unit charged up. She pushed Nathan to one side and ripped open Gordon’s oxford shirt, exposing a smooth chest with unnaturally yellow and grayish skin. Melinda attached the electrodes as Nathan moved out of her way, still keeping his ear close to Gordon’s mouth.

  The old man’s words were little more than breathy whispers. “Take up my sword … you must … take up my sword … save us … how’s it go … liberty … or death.”

  With that, his pupils dilated and the last hint of rosy vitality faded from his skin. He seemed to deflate slightly and the AED, which had been giving Melinda verbal instructions unnoticed by Nathan, spoke out again in a calm, female contralto, “No cardiac rhythm detected. Unable to regulate rhythm. Perform CPR until rhythm re-established.”

  Melinda and Kris cried openly. Nathan moved the secretary over and then settled his hands over a point an inch or so above the base of Gordon’s sternum. He locked his elbows and then pushed down and released, pushed down and released. He kept it up for a count of thirty and then sat back, looking to Melinda, who was still fiddling with the AED, trying to get it to magically bring their employer and friend back to life, instead of just repeating the same unhelpful statement over and over again.

  “Melinda!” Nathan said sharply. “Breath for him. Two breaths.”

  She nodded and wiped pendulous tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. She tilted Gordon’s head back, lowered her lips to his, and breathed for him, twice. Nathan rose up to begin chest progressions again, and paid no attention to the tears that coursed down his own cheeks. He and Melinda alternated back and forth, listening to the AED repeat itself and watching Gordon’s unchanging body without hope.

  Kristene looked from one to the other, shaking her head and moving gently in to relieve either Nathan or Melinda if their will began to flag. The three of them kept it up for ten minutes, silent for the most part, until the ambulance and EMT’s arrived, ready to do all that was possible to hold Gordon to the corporeal realm.

  But Gordon Elliot Lee, who had cast such a large shadow for such a slight man over the course of his 68 years, had already left this world for the next, surpassing even the Promise in the scope of his final journey.

  Hours later, Nathan re-entered the house and shut the door numbly behind him. He stood still and listened. No one was there. Melinda had gone home from the hospital with Kris in tow, both of them discussing funeral arrangements in somber, quiet tones. The paramedics, police, and a baker’s dozen of reporters were gone, their questions asked and answered with quiet respect and understanding, for the most part. The house staff, who always tried to be pretty much invisible, were indeed gone, the object of their labors no longer having the need for such care.

  Nathan was alone.

  He listened deeply, trying to block out the sound of his own breathing and the movement of his clothes. All was silent. There was nothing left. Gordon Lee could fill a room with his presence, and his spirit could keep it brimming with excitement even after he left, but none of that lingered now. Gordon was gone and not even a ghost remained to shepherd them through what lay ahead.

  He shook his head, returned Gordon’s keys to his pockets and walked over to the immense terracotta warrior that dominated the foyer. Nathan looked up at it, bowed his head slightly in respect, and then proceeded on through the darkened, quiet interior of Gordon’s former home. He moved with a purpose, for he had one, but nostalgia and grief gave him a halting gait as he passed objects which had been merely part of the background, but now took on the significance of a thousand memories.

  After the pain of losing his place in the Navy, this place had become his life and his home. It was not where he lived, but it was where his life had regained meaning. Gordon had given him something beyond any mere job or project. Gordon had given him purpose, had made Nathan matter again to the world, and made the world matter to Nathan. It was a debt he had not even realized he owed before, and n
ow it was too late to ever repay it.

  Nathan reached the home office, lit only by the frozen static on the desk screen. The stream was still logged in. He knew that the telemetry stream had already been viewed by almost everyone on the short list with access to the server, but he himself had not had a chance to review it yet. Nathan stepped carefully around the desk, self consciously avoiding the spot where Gordon had died, and sat down. He shook his head and scrolled the cursor around, clicking to begin the video log again.

  The static cleared and a video divided into four images began. First was a visible spectrum, light-enhanced view out of the main camera. Next to it was the same scene, but in a false color, multi-spectrum view. Below the first images was the video from the sub-probes Promise had launched, switching from one unit to another every few seconds. The last image was a view of the Promise itself, taken from a spar extended from the main hull.

  The probe looked to be in decent shape—discolored slightly, with multicolored burns and pockmarks around the shielded nosecone, but nothing appeared to be broken or missing. The other images showed nothing but stars and space. Then the main views rotated and the Deltans were revealed for the first time.

  They filled the images. Either the probe was extremely close, the magnification was all the way up, or the approaching aliens were really, really big. Nathan’s jaw fell slack and he forgot to breathe for a moment. The “ship” was unlike anything he had expected. And it was not really a ship at all.

  The most immediate feature was the Deltan drive. It was not a photonic drive or rocket as they had surmised, though it might ultimately produce a similar effect. This was, for all intents and purposes, a sun.

  It appeared as if someone had lassoed a star and forced it to radiate in only a single direction. Blue white light blasted forth from one pole of a distended ball of plasma. The tortured sphere of the drive had its own roiling purple white and golden red radiance, but it was far outshone by the thrust of the drive. Where the “star” was constrained, brilliant ropes of silvery light bound it, forcing it out of its natural form and putting it to work for the ornate bodies orbiting it.