by Darren Beyer
“No, I did not.” Dagan looked around the tarmac then stepped close.
Ground crews were offloading the shuttle, heaving Jans’ luggage into a waiting van.
“Come, I have a vehicle. I will tell you there.”
The two crossed the dark tarmac together. Dagan moved a little slowly but carried his age well, an elderly man capable of quick action. When they reached the van, Dagan swung into the driver’s side, while Jans slid into the passenger’s seat. Dagan powered the van and began to maneuver between maintenance vans and cargo containers toward the chain-link spaceport gate.
Jans noted that the auto-drive controls and electronics were non-functional. He flashed his head of security a look of annoyance.
“You know I do not like self-driving vehicles,” Dagan said sheepishly. “They can be tampered with—I like them to be off the grid.”
“Danny—” Jans smiled.
“One can never be too vigilant, Jans.” Dagan’s voice took on a serious tone.
Dagan drove out of the spaceport perimeter and turned down the dark, single-lane road toward New Reykjavik. Jans crossed his hands in anticipation. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dagan beat him to it.
“We have lost another ship, Jans: the Gaussian Surveyor.”
Jans felt as though he’d been punched. The thought of another crew lost to the depths of space made him dizzy.
That would make five ships gone in the past year, all to unknown causes. And not a speck of wreckage had been found, no clues surfaced as to what had caused the disasters. That he personally knew most of the crews made it that much more difficult to stomach.
“I know how you feel, Jans. The captain was a good man, a friend, one of our best.” Dagan stopped the van.
“What are you not telling me, Danny?”
“This disaster is different.” Dagan spoke slowly in his heavy Israeli accent. “We have some evidence. One of the Gaussian’s emergency jump pods made it back to us.” He paused, the silence hanging heavy. “It was damaged, and it will take some effort to pull data, but it is clear that the Gaussian was deliberately attacked.”
Jans let out a deep sigh. He’d suspected as much about the other losses, although there had been no evidence. AIC had come under attack before, but it had been financial, corporate espionage, and—as AIC grew—political. There had never before been physical attacks.
“Who? Outer Sphere terrorists? Pirates?”
“The Gaussian was on a mission of first exploration into the Rho Indi system. It is very remote.” Dagan looked forward and tightened his lips. “The scoring on the pod’s casing indicates a helium nuclear-mass weapon.”
“Jesus,” Jans breathed out. “That was no pirate attack.”
“I should think not. It indicates someone with far more capability, resources, and access to restricted materials. This is why it is critical to seek the wreckage of the Gaussian.”
“I’m not inclined to send another ship to its demise, Danny. We’ve lost enough good people already.”
“Nor am I, Jans, which is why I suggest something capable of defending itself.”
“By ‘something,’ you mean Dauntless?” Alarms rang in Jans’ mind.
Dagan shrugged.
“There is a whole host of reasons why that’s a bad idea.” Jans shook his head. “Not the least that Dauntless is not ready for anything beyond a shakedown cruise.”
“The first stage of jump trials has just been completed,” Dagan corrected him. “The hyperium coils could use additional tuning, but otherwise Dauntless is performing above standard operating parameters.”
“I don’t know, Danny. You saw what I went through on Earth, what the press is doing to us there. There were ugly protests in front of our Washington office. The people of Euramerica don’t like that we’ve left home. They think we’re doing everything from siding with Pan Asian to supplying Outer Sphere militants. If it got out that we were violating interstellar law by arming a jump-capable ship—especially one with Dauntless’ capabilities—I’d be back in front of the Assembly again, and this time in chains. I’ve been able to dodge, release pressure, to get us to this point.” Jans gestured with his right arm toward the lights of New Reykjavik. “It could all be torn down with just one misstep.”
“I understand the risks, but I fear that the risk of doing nothing is greater. We have evidence that one of our ships was attacked. This makes me suspect the loss of the other four. I am to blame.”
Jans raised an eyebrow.
“I believe we have a leak in our Operations area. I have suspected it for some time. To me, this attack—or attacks—confirm it. You and I have spoken of technology leaks as well. If for no other reason, we must recover what evidence we can and uncover who has beaten our security. Today it is a ship’s flight plan, a piece of technology. Tomorrow it could be—”
Helios, thought Jans. The small moon hidden in Ascension’s outer clouds must be kept secret.
Dagan paused as though reading his thoughts. “We must, at all costs, stop any more leaks.”
“I suppose you have a plan?” Jans dipped his head, rubbing his forehead between thumb and forefinger.
“I am working on one.”
“You have position data on the Gaussian? I thought you said the jump pod was damaged.”
“I have one of my experts attempting to extract the data. I am hopeful that at least the telemetry is intact.”
“Let’s say you get it. Then what? I’ve read reports on nuclear-mass weapons, seen some of the test footage. It’s basically a super-sized helium shotgun with a nuke as the charge. There tends to be not much left to recover afterward. Even if there were, the Rho Indi is a big system, and there’s no telling how far the blast wave would have thrown the Gaussian.”
“Let us see what data we can acquire. Then we can make determinations as to what the Gaussian’s condition may be, where we may attempt a search. And—”
“And?”
“And I now have a very small circle of employees whom I trust. This mission must be kept black.”
Jans began to protest. Dagan’s black ops tended to be expensive in both money and political capital.
“Jans, we know we have leaks.” Dagan lowered his square chin and eyed him from under his brows, his trademark look. “If we send a ship—even one as capable as Dauntless—and someone knows we are coming, it can only end badly. I might say, beyond all recovery. This must be done.”
“I don’t know, Danny—”
“There is one more thing, Jans,” Dagan interrupted in a low voice, his eyes glistening. “The sensor operator of the Gaussian was a last-minute scratch. Chickenpox, of all things.” Dagan let out a sigh. “You know Sophia and her sensor experiments. She’s been trying for some time to get on a mission. And with you gone—” Dagan stopped.
Jans felt a sudden sense of dread.
“Jans, Sophia was on the Gaussian.”
Chapter 5
Earth
Mandi fidgeted, waiting at the Johannesburg heliport for her fellow passengers scheduled to take the chartered helo to Nongoma.
As happy as she was to be on vacation, the text exchange with her anonymous contact had her investigative instincts on overdrive. Biting her lip, Mandi glanced to her upper right at the clock of her comm display. She had decided to go to the ceremonial Zulu dance the South African man on the plane had told her about, and she was in danger of missing it. She half hoped that the flight would be so late she’d miss it altogether. She wanted to connect to her roots, but couldn’t shake the underlying trepidation that she was getting too close to her mother.
The terminal attendant had mentioned in passing that a Zulu prince was traveling to the dance on the same flight. At first Mandi had been impressed. She’d never met an African prince before. But as the minutes had passed—then nearly an hour—she had grown annoyed. She imagined Prince Kwanele as a self-important figurehead who could make others wait while he dallied.
When the helo began to sp
in up its turbines, she turned to see a sleek white limo pull through the heliport gate. Mandi stood as an attendant in a blue uniform rushed to open the limo door. Out stepped a large man in an impeccable white suit. Black sunglasses partially hid his features, although his graying hair betrayed his age. He took an exaggerated deep breath, thanked the attendant, and held out his hand to another in the limo. A tall, slender, young woman—little more than a girl—gracefully exited the limo holding his hand.
Mandi flattened her lips, but she reminded herself not to judge. In many cultures, such an age difference in a relationship would cause no comment. The two walked hand in hand to meet Mandi at the helo.
“Ms. Nkosi, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Prince Kwanele removed his black sunglasses and flashed a guilty smile. “I must apologize for our delay.”
Mandi raised an eyebrow, taken off guard at his use of her name.
“I am Kwanele Zulu. And this,” he said, gesturing toward the slender young woman, “is the most beautiful Sindisiwe.”
“Cindi,” the young woman interrupted with girlish awkwardness, abruptly extending her hand.
“I’m Mandi.” She shook Cindi’s hand. “Mandisa Nkosi.”
“I know. Father told me about you.”
Mandi choked a bit. She had certainly misjudged and smiled in embarrassment.
“There will be plenty of time to talk.” Prince Kwanele gestured with his black sunglasses. “We are late.” He shot a look of mock annoyance at his daughter. “Someone could not miss her football match, and there was extra time in the game.”
“We won on penalty—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Prince Kwanele interrupted. “Later.” He turned to allow Cindi and Mandi to precede him to the helo. The pilot helped Cindi into the prime seat, while Mandi took a place opposite her. Prince Kwanele nodded graciously to the pilot as he sat on the other side. The pilot closed and latched the helo door, ducking under the spinning rotor blades to run around and climb in on the other side.
The pilot put on his headphones and adjusted the controls. The helo rocked back and forth and lifted off in a rush of wind.
Mandi sat transfixed at the sight of the sprawling city falling away below. Unlike more planned cities in the Euramerican Coalition, Johannesburg was crowded and chaotic. Many of the environmental controls taken for granted elsewhere had not yet been implemented. The building tops—a mix of modern architecture and designs dating back more than a century—were almost concealed within a pervasive haze above the skyline. In the distance, the Olympic Complex stood out, with its aging arches and patches of green pitch contrasting with the otherwise gray backdrop.
“What do you think of our city, Ms. Nkosi?” Prince Kwanele interrupted the low drone of the helo’s turbines, his dark face smooth and polite above the impeccable white suit.
“There are a lot of people. I must admit I feel a little claustrophobic.”
“I’m afraid you won’t get much relief at the Reed Dance.” He smiled graciously. “Last year, more than fifty thousand people attended. We expect a larger number today.”
Mandi stifled a groan.
“Will you be participating?” Cindi turned in her seat toward Mandi, her face alight.
“I hadn’t thought—”
“You aren’t spoken for, are you?”
Mandi paused, confused.
“A man?”
“No.” Mandi stifled a laugh. “I am—unattached.”
“Then you must dance with us—”
“Cindi,” Prince Kwanele interjected, “she does not know the dance.”
“I will show her! We can get her beads and a costume.” Cindi’s face was beaming.
Mandi didn’t see how she could say no. And what better way to connect with her heritage than to participate in a centuries-old ceremony?
Prince Kwanele sat shaking his head and chuckling.
“All right, Cindi, but only if you’re with me.”
Cindi gave a childish squeal and grasped Mandi’s hands.
“What have I just done?” Mandi turned to Prince Kwanele.
“You have no idea.” The prince was still chuckling.
“I must ask,” Mandi said, “how do you know me?”
“We are a people numbering more than fifteen million, Ms. Nkosi,” replied Prince Kwanele. “And yet we are a close-knit community. When I saw a Nkosi on the passenger manifest—and from America, no less—I had to see for myself whether or not there was a relation. Imagine it! That I might find you to be the daughter of our own Gisela Nkosi.”
“You know my mother?” Mandi tried to hide her derision.
“I would say that I know of her. Many here do.” Prince Kwanele’s voice took on serious tone. “You might not realize this, but many of us still find great difficulty in excelling in this world in which we live. Your mother overcame the severe challenges of our people and rose up. For one of the Zulu to be part of the first interstellar mission is a source of enormous pride, especially for our young women.” Prince Kwanele looked at Cindi and mussed her short hair.
“She left me when I was a child,” Mandi said curtly. “I don’t know where she is now or what she’s doing.”
“I understand.” Prince Kwalene forced a knowing smile. He put his arm around Cindi, pulling her close against his pressed white suit.
As they flew over the folds of the hills, human settlements grew more sparse, the land more wild and uneven. Below, Mandi saw a large moving herd in the open.
“Are those antelope?”
“Here?” Prince Kwanele glanced over. “More likely cattle. We are not so near the nature preserves. You have not seen animals in the wild before?”
Mandi shook her head.
A small smile crossed his face as he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned forward to speak to the pilot. The helo banked left and dropped down into a valley, picking up speed as the steep slopes rose to tower over each side. Mandi grasped the armrests in a death grip, her stomach lifting into her chest.
“I’ve asked the pilot to take us toward a game preserve.” Prince Kwanele steadied himself with a hand on the cabin’s ceiling. “It is not so far.”
“Are we allowed?” Mandi glanced to the side at what seemed to be valley walls closing in.
“I do not see why not.” Prince Kwanele shrugged. “The animals are accustomed to it. And, you understand,” he smiled and gestured toward the cockpit. “I own the helo company.”
The valley opened out, and rugged hills gave way to rolling terrain, green vegetation altering to a patchwork of green trees and brown savannah.
“What’s that?” Mandi squinted at another dark mass in the distance. Cindi craned her neck.
“It is hard to say,” said Prince Kwanele. “Most likely wildebeest.” Leaning forward, he tapped the pilot’s shoulder and pointed.
The helo banked toward the herd, diving this time to less than two hundred meters. In a single coordinated motion, the herd of wildebeest took off on flashing legs, shifting direction as the helo caught up with them and passed. Mandi all but leapt to the opposite window to catch the view. Cindi and Kwanele smiled at her excitement and pointed out more herds as the helo sailed over the savannah: antelope, zebra, wildebeest, even elephants with their giant gray frames standing out above all else. Mandi’s mouth opened with joy. Africa was an amazing place.
Chapter 6
Eridani
Jans raised his hand toward the holo screen controls, paused, then pulled it back and ran his fingers through his hair. For long moments he held his hand on his head then abruptly reached for the screen again and turned it on.
Sophia was there, dark hair soft around her features. She moved from the sensor station to hover in front of the Gaussian’s Anti-Collision System (ACS) panel.
The ACS was one of Jans’ early babies. Large spaceborne objects are both rare and easily detected, and thereby avoidable. It is the small stuff that the crews of spacecraft worry about, the Near-Miss Objects, NMOs. Objects of very littl
e mass cause catastrophic damage when traveling tens of thousands of kilometers per hour relative to a ship. In the sixties before the discovery of hyperium, the AIC transport ship Aurora had reportedly been hit by an object no larger than a few grains of sand, which had shattered one of the bridge windows and explosively decompressed the ship. It was lost with all hands. That had been the government’s story, anyway, although Jans had known better. The Aurora incident had intensified his mission to escape Earth and the Euramerican Coalition government.
With Sophia’s help Jans had spent years after the incident modifying the mass sensors on his ships. Their work had skyrocketed AIC to the forefront of the space race. By focusing its beam and rapidly scanning their paths, ACS-equipped ships were able to detect such NMOs—small debris that could cause a deadly impact.
The bridge of the Gaussian appeared empty behind Sophia on the holovid screen. Jans knew that the graveyard shift suited her. The rest of the eight-member crew of the Gaussian must have been either sleeping or recreating off-duty. This mission to map Rho Indi’s sixth and outermost planet had been Sophia’s first to an under-explored system and, as such, her longest. Jans knew that she craved the alone time so tough to find in the cramped confines of a long-range survey ship.
Jans rubbed his head.
A jump drive powered by embedded hyperium coils created the wormholes now used to carry ships between star systems. Hyperium was at the root of the unprecedented advances of AIC technology and also the reason for Jans’ testimony before the High Court on Earth. It was the target of space-alien conspiracy theorists obsessed with the unexplained phenomenon of hyperium, which could only be mined in quantity on Saturn’s moon Hyperion. Jans knew of another location. Helios, the secret moon hidden in Ascension’s mantle, held an even larger deposit—and so much more. It was the core of AIC’s wealth, Jans’ dreams for New Reykjavik, his company’s very presence on Eridani. So much revolved around the hyperium coils that could create wormholes in space.
However, jump drives were still highly sensitive. They reacted poorly to either initiating or terminating a wormhole jump near objects of significant mass. Strong gravitational fields disrupted the wormhole to cause any number of undesirable outcomes, from an aborted jump to a change in termination point or worse. The higher strain that such a disruption put on the ship’s jump systems could, theoretically, critically deplete the hyperium coils and damage the jump drive.