by Darren Beyer
In a ship with a crippled jump drive in a system far from civilization, the crew would be trapped. A very long time would pass before rescue and anything could happen while they waited helplessly.
So on survey missions to under-explored systems, ships always planned their termination points at least four astronomical units further out than normal, minimizing the chance of encountering unforeseen anomalies. This longer inbound cruise of the Gaussian had meant plenty of alone time for Sophia to work on her algorithms for detecting NMOs and her other sensor experiments. That was why she had jumped at the chance to get on board.
Jans sighed and returned his focus to the screen.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The soft alarm from the main ACS panel indicated an NMO acquisition. A small red dot appeared on the main holo screen with an arrow indicating its velocity vector, while a similar line protruded from a large green triangle that represented the Gaussian. The two arrows met on the screen.
Sophia floated from her station to one of the bridge’s g couches and strapped herself in.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
A ship-wide alarm sounded, followed by an artificial voice. “SMS burn in 3–2–1.”
The maneuvering thruster initiated a point-three g burst for ten seconds, enough to push the Gaussian out of the path of the debris that the ACS had detected. Sophia unstrapped from the g couch and pushed herself back to the ACS panel. She had barely arrived when the alarm rang again.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
“SMS burn in 3–2–1.”
Unsecured, Sophia floated to the side of the bridge, a concerned look on her face. She arrested herself with a handhold on the ceiling and braced herself with her feet until the burn completed. Pushing herself back to the ACS panel, she studied it for a few moments.
“What the hell is going on?” called a gruff voice from the rear hatch. The ship’s captain pulled himself through onto the bridge, pushing toward the ACS station.
“I’ve been tracking this NMO for nearly half an hour—”
“Sophia, I’ve given you the latitude to run your experiments on off-shifts, but we can’t have the SMS thrusters bouncing us all around the Rho Indi system.”
Gong. Gong. Gong.
“SMS burn in 3–2–1.”
The two of them floated to the side of the bridge for another ten seconds.
“Turn that damn thing off! What’s happening?”
Sophia disengaged the ACS and projected data of her NMO onto the main screen. The readings didn’t make sense. The object was less than a gram in size. The first burn should have taken them well out of its path. The second, even in error, should have sealed the deal. The third—the ACS again tracked the object as an NMO on an intercept course.
“Captain, this can’t be. Three burns in a row—the ACS must be malfunctioning.”
“You’ve been tracking this for half an hour? Plot it.”
“The velocity vectors of the NMO have changed each time the Gaussian diverted from its path.” Sophia shook her head. “But nothing can change direction in space without some force acting upon it.”
“I don’t like this.” The captain scratched his chin, staring at the main display. “Not one bit. Sophia, strap into nav and turn us one five zero mark three zero. Prepare for a full burn on main thrusters.”
Jans, watching, knew that Sophia had her share of pilot’s training, as had everyone on the crew. Strapping herself into the navigation station, she punched in the vector and began the warm-up sequence for the mains.
The captain launched himself off the bulkhead. Deftly, he grasped the edge of his command chair and swung himself into place, securing the safety harness.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
“Main engine ignition in thirty seconds. All personnel to secure locations.”
A main engine burn typically didn’t happen on such short notice. Half a minute wasn’t much time for the crew to wake up and secure themselves. There could be broken bones or worse. Gong. Gong. Gong.
“Maneuvering thrusters in 3–2–1.”
The ship rotated to the new heading.
“Main engine ignition in 5–4–3–2–1. Ignition.”
The Gaussian shook as the three main engines each ramped to nearly one million Newtons of thrust, accelerating the ship at two and a half g’s. Sophia strained to lean forward to watch the tracking screen under the intense acceleration. The screen suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree as alarms rang out across the bridge.
“Captain, the NMO is accelerating.” Sophia had to raise her voice above the alarms. “Twelve g’s and climbing, vectoring for an intercept.” Her voice was strained but calm.
“Get me a mass reading,” barked the captain.
“Mass is now ninety-nine point one tons, and it’s hot. What the hell is going on?”
“Shit! Time to intercept?”
“Fourteen minutes, twenty-five seconds, at current acceleration.”
“Not enough. Sophia, turn us away from this thing. Maximize time to intercept, and if you can do anything to coax extra out of the mains do it. Now!”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“I’m on jump prep.” The captain turned to the small, jump-capable communications drones that were saved for last-ditch emergencies. “As soon as you’ve got the course set, fire up the CO2 laser and lock it on the NMO.”
“Sir, the laser’s meant for small debris. It can’t take down this thing.”
“Just do it! Computer, weapons override voice activation: Durand, alpha, seven, Romeo. Authentication: Zulu, victor, niner, eight, niner, tango, Charlie—”
“Sir, laser is locked.”
“Range to target?”
“Sixty thousand kilometers and closing fast.”
“Keep that lock and hold steady. Call it at fifty thousand. Fire on my order.”
Suddenly Sophia called out, almost screaming. “Captain, range fifty.”
“Fire!”
The laser lanced through the void of space toward its target. Unlike military pulse lasers, the Gaussian fired a beam that engaged for seconds at a time while zeroing in. Far more accurate than a pulse, it did less damage, used far more power, and created significantly more heat. Heat was the limiting factor, and the captain’s weapons override added to the load.
The laser connected with the first target just before the beam disengaged.
“Hit!”
The sensors showed a wobble in the object’s trajectory.
“No effect. It’s gone evasive, sir.”
“Fire again when ready.”
Sophia prepared the next shot, waiting for the heat in the weapon to dissipate.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding—
The main panel came alive. Twelve new signals showed on the ACS screen, all inbound at twenty g’s.
“Holy shit, Captain, it’s MiRV’d!”
A Multi-warhead Reentry Vehicle (MiRV) of Earth’s nuclear era defined a class of ballistic missiles that simultaneously released numerous warheads in space so that each reentered independently over its target. The term now transcended the century-old definition to mean any missile that spawned multiple smaller missiles.
“Target one of the new objects and fire.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
With the Gaussian weapon cooled, Sophia shifted targets and fired. Again the beam arced through space seeking its new target. It connected, and one dot fell from the screen.
“Target destroyed, sir.”
“Are the rest going evasive?”
“Negative, sir. All maintaining course and accelerating toward us.”
“Time to intercept?”
“Seven minutes, twenty-three seconds.”
“Drop the beam duration to point five and intensity to seventy percent.”
Jans nodded unconsciously as he watched Sophia. That would lower the heat buildup but also the laser’s accuracy and hitting power. The captain was one cool customer.
“Jump drive is warming up, seven minutes
minimum. We’ll get out of this, Sophia.”
“Laser reset and ready to fire, sir.”
“Fire at will.”
The laser again split the space between the Gaussian and its pursuers, and another target fell from the scope. Again and again, Sophia went through the painstaking process of preparing each shot as she waited for the heat to dissipate, while the remaining NMOs gained on the Gaussian. Again and again, the laser fired, and more targets dropped off.
“Two minutes, forty-one seconds. It’s taking us thirty seconds to cool down each time. Sir, how much time to jump?”
“Not quite enough. Keep firing!” The captain, red-faced, bent over the command station of the bridge.
“Three objects left, plus the original. Two minutes, eleven seconds, sir.”
“Fire at will.”
Sweat appeared on Sophia’s pale forehead under the line of dark hair, as she prepared another shot and waited again for the heat in the weapon to drop. She was composed, efficient, stoic.
“Hit! One minute, forty-one seconds, sir.”
Again she waited for the weapon to cool before firing.
“Hit! One minute, sir.”
She shifted her attention between the chronometer and temperature gauge and fired again.
“Hit! Just the original left, sir. Thirty-one seconds.”
“Jump in thirty-five seconds. Laser to full power, full beam, override heat limits and fire!”
Sophia scrambled to enter the new settings and engage the laser, as the captain fired off the very jump pod that brought Jans the recording of the last moments of Sophia’s life. Jans watched, frozen with his hand to his throat.
The recording momentarily shimmered. The pod had transitioned from direct feed to transmission as it sped away from the Gaussian.
“Object is losing stability! It’s breaking up, sir. What the—”
From the rear monitors, a pure white light bathed the bridge. Sophia turned toward the captain. Neither had time to scream.
The screen went blank.
Jans sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, fighting back sobs. He should count himself lucky, he knew. He had just watched the last moments of his loved one’s life. Friends and relatives of the seven other crewmembers would not have that luxury, not even the captain’s daughter. This holovid could never be shown to any of them. Like the true story of the Aurora decades ago, it must be kept secret. Too much was at stake.
Jans sat back finally with an intake of breath, his face wet with tears. Sophia had performed like a pro to the very last. He expected nothing less.
Chapter 7
Earth
The helo carried Mandi and the other passengers out of the game preserve and away from the wilds. Signs of civilization reappeared. The few snaking roads approaching a small town were choked with vehicle traffic. Their helo was now only one of many in the air or settled on the ground. It approached an open landing area near a well-adorned tent, rippling the fabric and blowing dust from the ground as it set down. Those close by to watch them arrive shielded their eyes.
As soon as the helo settled, the pilot came around the outside to unlatch their door. Cindi pulled Mandi out by the hand and rushed her through the swirling dust into the tent.
“We are quite late!” Cindi laughed. “Wait here while I will get our clothing.”
Mandi smiled as Cindi ran out through a flap in the side of the spacious room. Colorful fabrics adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling. Couches flanked the entrance, and native flowers filled the air with unfamiliar scents. Mandi paused and then sat on one of the couches. She hated to sit still. Turning on her comm, she scanned her personal messages and news stories. One caught her eye and raised her ire. “Any Chance of Coming Back Early?” Her boss was nothing if not persistent. She stared at it anxiously for a few seconds, but in a rare moment of spontaneity, abruptly moved it to the trash bin. An immediate feeling of guilt washed over her, and she blinked to retrieve the message.
“Mandi!”
Startled, she shut down her comm and looked up to see Cindi had returned, draped in red cloth, with sheets of white beads hanging from each hand and over her shoulder.
“I called my grandfather to tell him you were here. He is so happy that you will be participating today!”
Mandi smiled at her exuberance.
“These are for you.” Cindi handed over one of the small, silky red bands of cloth. Cindi stripped off her pants and slid a miniscule red skirt up her slender legs. She turned slightly, examining herself with a pleased expression.
Mandi stared. She had to wear that? In public?
“Come on, Mandi, we will be too late!”
Mandi undressed and, with Cindi’s help, stepped into her own brief red skirt with white beads. She looked down at her bare legs. She had to admit that the ceremonial white beads and silky red fabric were beautiful, contrasting against her light brown skin.
“Where’s the top?”
Cindi reached to her shoulder and tossed an arrangement of white beads across the room.
Mandi caught them, confused. Where was the blouse? Her mouth fell open. Gone was Cindi’s shirt, replaced by a pectoral necklace of white beads over her bare chest. Nothing was covered.
“But—”
“I will arrange you.” Cindi helped Mandi off with her shirt and strung the white beads neatly around her neck and over her collarbone. She lifted and dropped the heavy swath of white beads repeatedly until satisfied. Stepping back, she gave Mandi the once-over, flattening a few beads with her palm and brushing Mandi’s light brown shoulders.
“You are lovely!”
The girl’s genuine admiration calmed Mandi. Together, they made their way on bare feet through the large tent to the opposite exit. As they stepped outside, Mandi self-consciously covered her chest with her arms, until she saw thousands of women arranged in groups in the sunshine, each in her own brief skirt and other adornment, or lack thereof. Every group had a unique design to its costume. Some women, like Cindi, wore simple yet elegant beads and coverings. Others sported bright shades of red, blue, and yellow in sashes and swaths of beads, feathered shoulder coverings, and ankle bracelets. One group used flowing black cloth accented with swaths of orange, beige, and brown, a note of a higher elegance. Most of the women were barefoot on the patchy grass, although some wore beaded slippers. Everyone carried long bunches of reeds tied together along their lengths, with frilly natural tassels flowing above in the breeze.
Everywhere Mandi looked, women chanted and sang in angelic voices. Some blew odd whistles in key and on beat. She stood transfixed in the shifting crowd until Cindi took her hand and led her to pick her own reeds before joining their group.
The young women in their group were already singing, adding their voices to the mix of thousands. One chanted alone in the Zulu language, followed by the rest shouting a single word. They tapped their reeds on the ground, stepping to an intricate dance. Mandi watched at first, unsure of the steps, until Cindi held her arm to show her. Mandi mimicked Cindi’s sure motions, attempting to match her words and tone in the hypnotic chant. Before long, Mandi felt like a natural. She forgot about her lack of clothing and bare feet, and her self-consciousness disappeared.
“What does the chant mean?”
“This one,” Cindi said, pointing to the chanter, “asks ‘where will you find the perfect man?’ We all yell back ‘anghazi!’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“ ‘Hell if I know!’ ”
Mandi laughed out loud.
The chant reached its crescendo once more.
“Anghazi!” cried Cindi along with the others.
“Anghazi!” Mandi couldn’t stop laughing.
As the day progressed, Mandi all but perfected the dance. Eventually, the vast crowd of women walked and danced across the faded grass to the parade grounds, where the king waited. He was as big as any three dancers put together. A leopard-skin crown adorned his head, and a shawl covered his shoul
ders and chest. His belly pushed out in rolls over his skirt of zebra hide, while his hand rested on a large ceremonial club decorated with animal skins. Only his designer sunglasses betrayed he lived in the twenty-second rather than the nineteenth century.
Singing and dancing with her reeds swaying, Mandi earned a whoop and a cheer from the crowds when one of the strings tying her reeds snapped and splayed them in all directions. Cindi produced a new string to repair the bundle, which Mandi tested with two hardy taps on the ground, earning another cheer. One by one, the young women in their brilliant finery came forward and laid their reeds at the foot of the king in his native garb. When it was Mandi’s turn, Cindi accompanied her, and together they placed their reeds at his feet to a knowing nod from the king himself. Cindi giggled.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” she mouthed to him, smiling.
The rest of the day was a blur of singing, dancing, and ritual. Mandi had never known anything like it. She was a woman among thousands, her brown skin melting her into the chanting and stomping crowds. The experience warmed her.
Sitting cross-legged in the fading daylight at the end of the afternoon, she watched the celebration from the patchy grass in the dry ground. She couldn’t tear herself away, but her muscles ached, the sun was setting, and the air was growing chilly.
Chapter 8
Eridani
The thin young engineering analyst stood up before Jans and Dagan in the boardroom. His black hair tossed in clumps and his thick-rimmed glasses made him look stylishly unkempt. He cleared his throat with embarrassment. He was about to give a presentation on the loss of the Gaussian.
“Please, Peter,” Dagan said in his matter-of-fact tone. “You may start your briefing.”