by John Grant
"I would," she said, turning back to the Pocket.
"Mars lies in Heaven's Ancestor," she lied smoothly, "and Tau Ceti II is in the Milky Way galaxy, which is probably too distant for your rudimentary technology to have detected. We are merely pausing in The Wondervale to observe." She sniffed, wondering if Nightmirror was able to translate body language as effectively as spoken words. "So far, we don't much like what we've observed."
Yes. The face in the Pocket looked affronted. "There are no developed species in Heaven's Ancestor," it said.
"You're so sure?" said Strider. "Release that bolt," she subvocalized to Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
IF YOU SAY SO.
"I do."
She moved across to the next Pocket and dipped her head into it. The miniature replica of the alien craft sprang quickly into view. Even as she watched, its defense shields flared briefly red. An implosion bolt, she knew from the Images, had the effect of draining energy and matter from the vicinity of wherever it impacted. It could travel well in excess of the speed of light, as could most of the Santa Maria's new, Image-built weaponry: they'd incorporated the tachyon drive into, it seemed, everything that moved. Can't have hurt those shits too much, she thought, but with luck it'll have given them one hell of a shock.
It evidently had, she saw the moment she returned to O'Sondheim's side in front of the communications Pocket. Earlier, the scene behind the reptiloid face had been calm. Although she hadn't been much aware of it, she had sensed that various creatures were methodically going about their duties. She wished that she'd concentrated more on what had been happening in that background: she might have gained useful information. Now, it was impossible to make out much except that there was a frenzy of motion.
"I didn't want to do that," she said quietly to the face. "I wouldn't have, if you hadn't fired on the Santa Maria first. That's the very least of our weaponry—if we wanted to, we could disintegrate you from here." She swallowed. She was alarmed at the ease with which she was lying. Call it "bluffing," Leonie, she said to herself. It sounds so much more respectable. "But, as I told you, we're on a peaceful mission. We don't want to interfere with your people unless we have to."
"We should talk further," said the face tightly.
"Indeed we should. Tell me about your tinpot little dictator—and about yourself. I've identified myself and my craft: pay me the respect of doing likewise."
She gestured to O'Sondheim to bring her a seat, then sank gratefully into it. She closed her eyes while the Pocket instantaneously adjusted its height.
"I am . . ." The face paused, seeming uncertain, then carried on. "I am Maglittel. This quadrant of The Wondervale is under my command. I control it on behalf of Kaantalech, who is herself the emissary of the revered Autarch Nalla."
Strider stopped herself from laughing aloud. Humanity, that much sneered-at species, had learnt long ago that it was pointless for individuals to try to control large areas by force or terror. In due course one of two things happened. Either the survivors of all the thousands or millions of people you had annihilated killed you, sometimes with outside help, or you died and those survivors killed all your cronies instead.
"Why did you attack us?" she demanded.
"Because you are trespassing," said Maglittel wearily.
"No. We're visiting."
"You appeared in my quadrant of The Wondervale without permission." Maglittel was recovering some of its poise. So were the others in the chamber behind it, which looked uncomfortably like the interior of a cesspit. Strider gestured to O'Sondheim that he should start observing it keenly, to see if he could see anything of use.
WE ARE RECORDING EVERYTHING, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. YOU CAN STUDY THIS LATER AT YOUR LEISURE.
"Watch it anyway," Strider whispered to O'Sondheim. "We don't know how long 'later' is going to last."
To Maglittel she said: "We didn't know we were likely to find anyone here. It's so rarely that you find intelligent lifeforms in an elliptical galaxy."
She let this new fabrication sink in, then said: "How did you discover us so quickly?"
"We're alert. We have to be. The enemies of the Autarch are numerous, and sometimes resourceful."
I THINK WE SHOULD START TO RETREAT, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free inside her head. I SENSE THAT THIS ALIEN IS BRINGING TO BEAR UPON US THE MOST POWERFUL OF ITS ARMORY. OUR CHANCES OF SURVIVAL WOULD STILL BE IN EXCESS OF NINETY-FIVE PER CENT, BUT I THINK IT UNWISE TO GAMBLE ON THE FIVE PER CENT.
"Too right," Strider subvocalized. "But I thought you said that the Autarch's people would be able to follow us."
WHILE YOU HAVE BEEN TALKING WITH MAGLITTEL, NIGHTMIRROR HAS BEEN ANALYZING THAT SHIP'S AGGRESSIVE CAPABILITIES. THEY ARE MARGINALLY SUPERIOR TO OURS. I, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAVE BEEN INVESTIGATING ITS DEFENSIVE ABILITIES. THESE ARE INFERIOR TO THOSE WHICH THE SANTA MARIA NOW POSSESSES. THERE IS A WAY IN WHICH WE COULD ESCAPE MAGLITTEL—AT LEAST FOR A WHILE.
Strider hesitated.
MAGLITTEL IS UTTERLY RUTHLESS, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. THE CREATURE HAS DESTROYED HALF A THOUSAND WORLDS. IT CANNOT BE TRUSTED.
"You mean it speaks with forked tongue?" subvocalized Strider, looking at the hideous reptiloid face. She wondered if it found her equally hideous.
IT HAS NO TONGUE, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free primly, BUT YOUR METAPHOR IS UNDERSTOOD.
"Then I think we should go," Strider said.
#
Their initial experience of the tachyon drive was terrifying for the personnel aboard the Santa Maria. The first that you knew of it was that you were being seemingly wrenched out of your existence like a tooth out of its socket. For a few seconds there was the sensation that every thunderstorm in the history of creation was being played out simultaneously. And then there was utter peace.
"You could have warned us about this!" said O'Sondheim bitterly to the Images.
ABOUT WHAT? said Nightmirror.
Strider explained tersely, at the same time opening her mind to the alien. It was clear that the Images had felt nothing of what the humans had experienced. O'Sondheim was all the while muttering into his commline, telling the personnel in the main habitat that there was nothing to worry about: this had been merely a test of the new drive; in future there would be warnings given, but . . .
Nodding her head into a Pocket, Strider could see quite how far they'd come: several thousand parsecs around the edge of The Wondervale. Clearly the difficulty with the tachyon drive was not how fast you could go but how you could move a bit more slowly—not an unexpected disadvantage, bearing in mind the properties of tachyons themselves.
"That was pretty impressive," she said, as unconcernedly as she could.
Maglittel's face reappeared suddenly in the communications Pocket.
"We were in the process of having a conversation, Captain Leonie Strider," said Maglittel.
"Shift again," Strider said to the Images.
Again there was the wrenching feeling. In the Pocket beside her she could see the Santa Maria's new position in The Wondervale.
"Are we outside this thing's much-vaunted quadrant yet?" said O'Sondheim.
"Watch the comm Pocket," Strider replied.
It was empty, and it remained that way for several minutes.
I THINK MAGLITTEL HAS DECIDED TO ABANDON THE CHASE, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. AT LEAST FOR NOW.
The Image was wrong. Maglittel suddenly reappeared in the communications Pocket.
"This is like some kind of anxiety dream," said O'Sondheim.
"I wish only to speak with you," said Maglittel. "I withdraw my earlier demand that you surrender yourselves to me."
MAGLITTEL HAS BEEN CHECKING WITH HEAD OFFICE, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. YOUR CLAIM TO BE FROM AN ADVANCED CIVILIZATION IN HEAVEN'S ANCESTOR HAS PROBABLY SCARED THEM WITLESS.
"I don't trust the creature, nevertheless," subvocalized Strider. "What if you're wrong? What was this plan of yours for getting us rid of it?"
WE CAN STARDIVE.
"Will you permit me to bring my vessel closer to yours? It would facilitate our communications."
"I see no need for that," Strider replied stiffly.
"But I do," said Maglittel. "Transmitting to you by fast-tach over a distance of a light-month is taxing our energy supplies to the limit." The creature's face shimmered in the communications Pocket, as if power were about to be lost.
Strider swithered. The explanation sounded vaguely plausible, and yet . . . and yet, if someone without warning and for no particular reason fires a lazgun at you for a while and then promises to stop doing so, it's reasonable to be suspicious.
"No," she said.
"That is a considerable pity," said Maglittel. The image faded from the communications Pocket.
Three seconds later the Santa Maria shuddered as a far bigger blast than anything that had gone before hit it. This time the shock was enough to make Strider stagger and drop to her knees.
"Do whatever it was you said!" she yelled.
STARDIVE? said Ten Per Cent Extra Free calmly.
"You bet!"
RIGHT.
#
At many times the velocity of light, although far more slowly than it had been travelling before, the Santa Maria began to move towards the nearest red giant, a mere 1.5 parsecs distant. It would reach the star in about seven minutes.
Strider nodded another Pocket into activity so that she could watch what was going on. She could see a small area of local space, hanging in the middle of the Pocket. Beyond it there was a graphical display of the situation. The Santa Maria, indicated by a blinking green light, seemed to be crawling through space, with the winking red of Maglittel's craft following it closely. The alien vessel was pulling closer to the Santa Maria, but cautiously. It had already tasted an implosion bolt, and presumably Maglittel had no desire to invite something heavier—some product of that superior technology of which Strider had boasted. Every now and then the Santa Maria shook as another piece of weaponry struck its defensive shields.
"Hit them with another implosion bolt," said Strider.
THAT WOULD BE UNWISE.
"Why?"
WE WANT THEM TO FOLLOW US.
"Couldn't one of you just hop across to that bloody ship and bugger up their systems?" said O'Sondheim suddenly.
NO. MAGLITTEL AND ITS KIND CAN SEE US MORE CLEARLY THAN YOU PEOPLE CAN. THEY HAVE DISCOVERED HOW TO HARM US. This time the Images were speaking in their earlier mock-unison, something they hadn't done for a while. Strider sensed they were more worried than they'd been letting on. Heartfire must have joined the other two on the deck.
"How safe is this stardiving idea of yours?" she said.
VERY SAFE, the Images warbled together.
The reply didn't reassure her at all.
"What does it entail?"
YOU WILL FIND OUT IN ABOUT TWO AND A HALF MINUTES. PLEASE DO NOT DISTRACT US WITH YOUR QUESTIONS. THIS IS A COMPLICATED OPERATION.
"Who's the boss around here?"
There was no reply.
In the Pocket, Strider could see the green light of the Santa Maria beginning to accelerate directly towards the red giant. After a moment, the alien ship accelerated as well to compensate.
"Have you any idea what's happening?" said O'Sondheim.
"I have a horrible idea that I do," said Strider. She looked up from the Pocket and out through the view-window. Directly ahead there was a single reddish glow. As she watched, it grew from being point-sized to become a visible disc.
"Are you sure our systems are up to this?" she asked the Images.
Again there was no reply. She hoped this was because they were concentrating hard and not because they were unwilling to answer her frankly. She turned back to stare into the Pocket. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them off on her jumpsuit, but it didn't seem to make any difference.
"Tell the rest of them that we're going to go through a few more odd times," she said to O'Sondheim. "And call Nelson and Leander up here: we're maybe going to need them. Oh, yeah—tell Holmberg to get here as well. It's about time he saw some of the things we have to do. It might shut him up for a while."
O'Sondheim turned away and began once more mumbling into his commline.
The graphic display on the base of the Pocket told her that they were within fifty-two seconds of reaching the red giant. Fifty-one. Fifty. Forty-nine.
Just what in hell had the Images done to the Santa Maria?
"You're going to park us in that star's atmosphere," she said, "and hope that Maglittel won't dare follow us. That's it, isn't it?"
NOT QUITE, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. Strider's heart quickened as she realized that the Image's voice sounded weary. She pushed her fingers back through her hair. O'Sondheim, finished on his commline, was chewing on a thumbnail.
She glanced up at the view-window. The disc was growing larger. Back to the Pocket, and the estimated time of arrival was fourteen seconds. Back up to the view-window, and the star seemed to be exploding towards her.
"Oh, Umbel," she said under her breath. "The Images are taking us right into that . . ."
The view-window was a sudden frenzy of fire. No, it was worse than that—for fire moves: it has flames that beat and waver. This was just a hostile flare, pressing itself tightly to the view-window, seemingly trying to force its way in so that it could devour everything it discovered. Here, inside the star, the light wasn't red at all: it was white. Strider realized she and O'Sondheim would have been blinded instantly had the Images not in some way dimmed the window.
She nodded her head into the Pocket and called for greater amplification of the scenario.
The Santa Maria was hanging about two-thirds of the way into the red giant. Maglittel's craft had halted some way above the star's outer atmosphere.
An alarm klaxon sounded on the deck just as Nelson and Leander arrived. They looked as if they had been rudely woken, which was probably the case. O'Sondheim's secondary retinal screens were emitting a narrow little whine of protest: even the dimmed light of the star's interior was overloading them. Nelson and Leander, each of whom were currently wearing only a single secondary screen, swiftly clapped a hand over it. O'Sondheim turned himself away from the view-window, and the whine ebbed.
"Darling of the night skies," said Nelson, breathing hard, "just where in the hell have you taken us now?"
Strider gestured towards the Pocket beside her. She didn't feel she had the strength to explain. The heat was building up in here—and presumably throughout the rest of the ship. The klaxon was still sounding: she knew almost without looking that the systems were complaining that the internal temperature was too high, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had handed over her command to the Images. Probably the Images didn't feel heat, but they were certainly aware that human beings did. She shrugged. All she could do was trust that the Images had everything under control.
WE HAVE, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free, but the voice still sounded strained.
Strider looked back into the Pocket. No change. Maglittel's ship was still lurking outside the stellar atmosphere.
WE CAN DESTROY THAT VESSEL NOW, IF YOU WISH, CAPTAIN LEONIE STRIDER, said the three Images in their almost-harmony. MAGLITTEL WILL BE EXPECTING NOTHING. IT PROBABLY BELIEVES THAT WE ARE DEAD—THAT WE SUICIDED RATHER THAN FACE ITS WRATH. There was the definite impression of a titter.
Strider hesitated. The attacker's craft contained who knew how many sentient creatures, born of a civilization of which she knew nothing. Humanity's first encounter with alien species, other than with the elusive Images, had been with the occupants of this craft. Was it right simply to destroy it? Even though the aliens had announced their presence by attack, should she not attempt some further form of negotiation? This should have been an historic moment. Aliens were by definition alien: despite first appearances, perhaps their civilization had much to commend it.
Then she reme
mbered what Ten Per Cent Extra Free had said earlier: The creature has destroyed half a thousand worlds.
No: if Maglittel's culture had anything whatsoever to recommend it, it would not tolerate genocide on that scale. Any cultural grouping that desired the deaths of innocent others, on whatever grounds and over whatever differences, was in Strider's viewpoint a nest of wasps to be swatted.
"Give them everything we've got," she said. "I want that fucker in bits."
She shook herself inside her jumpsuit. The cloth was sticking to her flesh. The temperature was still climbing. In the Pocket she saw five, six, a dozen or more tiny sparks climb away from the starbound Santa Maria towards the alien craft. As they emerged from the stellar atmosphere, two were almost immediately obliterated by retaliatory sparks from the hovering vessel.
But the remainder sped on.
She amplified the display in the Pocket, so that she could see Maglittel's ship like a silver needle. She didn't want to see it more clearly than that.
THE FOREMOST MISSILES ARE IMPLOSION BOLTS, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free, now sounding more relaxed. MAGLITTEL'S VESSEL CAN WITHSTAND THEM. THE CREATURE WILL NOT BE TOO CONCERNED WHEN THEY IMPACT, AND WILL PROBABLY DECIDE TO RIDE OUT THE ATTACK. THE FINAL TWO, HOWEVER, CONTAIN THE LAST OF THE ANTIMATTER FROM YOUR EARLIER DRIVE. WE THINK THAT—
The Image hadn't finished speaking before the Pocket was filled with a mass of flame, brighter even than the malevolent fire pushing against the view-window.
"I think it worked," said Strider. She felt miserable, all the more so for knowing that she ought to have some sense of elation: the enemy had been destroyed. Instead it was as if she had destroyed that wasps' nest: something highly complicated, put together by living beings, had been annihilated just because their kind and her kind couldn't get along.
The other three on the deck, however, were whooping with delight. O'Sondheim tried to gather her into his arms, but she angrily fended him off. Let the three of them dance on graves: it might do them good, help Nelson and Leander form a better team with O'Sondheim. But she herself wanted no part of this.
"Can we goddam get out of this goddam star pretty goddam fast?" she subvocalized to the Images.