by Allen Steele
Ana didn’t respond immediately. The late afternoon sky was beginning to tint purple with approaching sunset; a thin wind rustled through the high grass around the path. “The Maria Celeste was…is, rather…a shuttle belonging to the Galileo,” she said at last. “The first Alliance starship. The one that…”
“The one that disappeared.” Carlos felt something creep up his spine. “What’s it doing here now?”
“We’ll know soon enough.” Wendy walked quickly up the road toward Government House. “Time to have a talk with her captain.”
“Or whoever else is flying that thing,” Ana murmured.
The communications room was located on the ground floor of Government House. Packed with shortwave radio and satphone transceivers, it served as the major link between Liberty and the rest of the colonies, along with the Gatehouse and the Lee, now permanently stationed in high orbit. There was barely room for the four of them, and not enough seats for everyone; the radio operator on duty was clearly irate to have this many people invade his domain, but he said nothing as he pulled out a chair for Wendy, letting the others lean against walls or stand in the doorway.
“Maria Celeste, this is Liberty Communications, Coyote Federation. Do you copy? Over.” The duty operator listened for a moment to his headset, then adjusted the gain on his board. “Maria Celeste, this is Liberty Communications, Coyote Federation. Do you…?”
“We copy.” The voice that came from the wall speaker was male, fairly young, with a faint British accent. “With whom am I speaking, please?”
Wendy gestured to the headset she’d put on, and the operator nodded. “Maria Celeste, this is President Wendy Gunther of the Coyote Federation. Would you please identify yourself?”
A moment of static. “Theodore Harker, first officer of the EAS Galileo. Never heard of the Coyote Federation, ma’am, but all the same we’re glad to hear you.”
A gasp from Ana Tereshkova. Her face had gone pale. “He’s right,” she murmured. “Harker was the Galileo’s first officer. But…”
“But what?” Wendy glanced over her shoulder at her. “Tell me.”
Carlos knew. The Galileo disappeared in 2288, shortly after it jumped through an experimental starbridge to the Kuiper Belt. By Gregorian reckoning, it was now 2344. “How old was Harker?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Ana shook her head. “Thirty, perhaps thirty-five.”
“Does that sound like someone in his late eighties?” Carlos looked back at Wendy. “Don’t you get it? It’s been fifty-six years. Where has he been for…?”
“Liberty, do you read?” Harker’s voice came back online. “We know this must be a surprise to you, but we’re coming in fast, and we’d like to know where we can land. Assuming we have your permission, of course.”
“He can rendezvous with the Lee,” Ana said. “I’ll get in touch with my crew, tell them to change orbit…”
“Hell with that.” Carlos looked askance at her. “I want to meet this guy as soon as possible.”
“I agree.” Wendy glanced at Ana. “Can you send a skiff from the Lee to intercept them and guide them here? To Shuttlefield, I mean.”
Ana reluctantly nodded, and Wendy turned to the duty operator. “Put her through to the Lee on a separate channel,” she said, then she touched her mike again. “Affirmative, Mr. Harker. You have permission to land. We’re dispatching a craft to escort you to a nearby landing site.”
Another pause. “We appreciate that, Liberty. However, please advise your craft to maintain safe distance. Our drive may interfere with their control systems if they come too close.”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about.” Ana’s face registered puzzlement. “How could they…?”
“We copy, Maria Celeste, and we’ll take that under advisement.” Wendy hesitated, then spoke again. “Mr. Harker, the Galileo has been missing for a very long time. Where is it? And where are you coming from?”
Nearly half a minute elapsed before they received a reply. “The Galileo has been destroyed, along with most of its crew, including the captain.” Harker’s voice sounded tight. “Only three survivors, myself included…”
“Oh, my god,” Carlos murmured. Wendy shushed him.
“We made the jump from HD 143761,” Harker went on. “Rho Coronae Borealis.” Pause. “We’re very tired, and we’d just like to land. We’ll explain everything once we’re on the ground. ETA… um, about an hour or so from now. Maria Celeste, over and out.”
Before Wendy could reply, there was a buzz of static. No one spoke for a few moments; they simply stared at the wall speaker. “Did I hear that right?” she said at last. “Did he just say that he was landing in only an hour?”
“That’s impossible.” Ana was incredulous. “EA shuttles aren’t capable of…”
“I think we’ve just chucked ‘impossible’ out the window,” Carlos muttered.
It was sundown when the Maria Celeste landed at Shuttlefield, the burnt-orange glow of the setting sun casting its rays upon the spacecraft as it slowly descended upon the apron. Yet it did so in near silence. No blast of jets, no roar of engines being throttled back; only a low, almost supernatural hum from a pair of oblong pods mounted on the aft fuselage where the nuclear engines should have been.
Carlos found himself trembling as he watched the craft settle upon its landing gear. At first glance, the Maria Celeste looked very much like an old-style ESA shuttle. Yet although the hull was weathered, its underside scorched and dented from atmospheric entry, it no longer flew like anything ever assembled on Earth.
Perfect reactionless drive, he thought. No rockets, no jets. Someone has retrofitted this thing…
Recessed plates on either side of the mysterious pods went dark, fading from the deep blue radiance they’d emitted, and the humming lapsed into silence. A short distance away, the Virginia Dare came in for a landing, its VTOLs howling as they kicked up dust. By contrast, the Maria Celeste landed so peacefully that only the evening breeze stirred the wind sock upon its post.
“Spooky,” Carlos murmured. “Really spooky.”
“Uh-huh.” Wendy pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “I’m not sure if I like the looks of this.” Through the cockpit windows, they could see silhouetted figures, backlit by interior lights. She glanced back toward the gate, where a couple of blueshirts had positioned themselves inside the fence. “Do you think we ought to…?”
“Bring them closer?” Carlos thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “No, have ’em stay back. No reason why we shouldn’t trust them.” He paused, and looked at Ana. “Is there?”
Ana was quiet, studying the Maria Celeste with barely disguised awe. “There may be humans onboard,” she said at last, “but humans didn’t rebuild that ship.” She hesitated, “Leave the Proctors where they are. A show of force might make them nervous.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “It did for me, at least.”
Carlos nodded. Unlike when the Columbus had made its unexpected arrival nearly two years ago, no one besides the two Proctors had accompanied them to the landing field. Word had not yet gotten out that an unknown spacecraft was touching down in Shuttlefield, so there were no crowds to be kept back. For all he knew, the rest of the wedding guests were still at the party. Just as well. Until they knew what they were dealing with…
A grating noise from the underside of the shuttle, then a belly hatch opened and a ramp began to lower to the ground. “All right, then,” Wendy said. “Let’s see who’s come for dinner.”
“At least we’re appropriately dressed.” None of them had a chance to change out of their wedding outfits. Carlos started to step forward, then self-consciously stopped himself. “After you, Madam President.”
Wendy didn’t smile. Squaring her shoulders, she purposefully walked toward the Maria Celeste, Carlos and Ana following just a few steps behind. They’d just reached the spacecraft when they heard footsteps upon the ramp. A few moments passed, then three figures made their way down f
rom the spacecraft.
Two men—one in his mid-thirties, the other closer to fifty—and a woman in her late twenties. The younger man had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail; the older man was tall and thin, with a mop of grey hair receding from a high forehead. The woman was svelte and had short blond hair parted on one side. None wore ESA uniforms; instead, their clothes were long robes, off-white yet braided with ornate designs that softly glowed with an iridescence that seemed to come from the fabric itself, giving them an almost angelic appearance.
The three of them hesitated at the bottom of the ramp, almost as if reluctant to introduce themselves, then the younger man stepped forward. “President Gunther?” he asked. Wendy nodded. “Theodore Harker, first officer of the EASS Galileo.” A slight frown. “Or perhaps, I should say, former first officer. As I told you earlier, the Galileo is no longer with us.”
“I understand.” Wendy extended her hand, which Harker unhesitantly grasped. “This is my husband, former president Carlos Montero, and Commodore Anastasia Tereshkova, former commanding officer of the EASS Drake…”
“Now the Robert E. Lee, under flag of the Coyote Federation. It was our skiff that intercepted you.” Although Ana came forward, she didn’t offer her own hand. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Harker. The disappearance of the Galileo has become something of a legend.”
“I imagine it has.” Harker gave her a rueful smile. “Fifty-six years ago, or at least so I’ve been told.”
“You’ve been told?” Ana raised an eyebrow. “By whom?”
Harker took a deep breath. “A long story, believe me.” He turned to the others. “Jared Ramirez, astrobiologist, and Emily Collins, the Celeste’s pilot.” Harker took Collins’s hand; in that instant, it seemed as if the patterns of their robes changed to a warm yellow hue. “We owe much to her. She’s the one who brought us safely here.”
“Here from where?” Wendy couldn’t hide her bewilderment. “Mr. Harker, you said that you’ve come from Rho Coronae Borealis. We checked our star charts…that system’s over fifty-two light-years from Earth.”
“And fifty l.y.’s from 47 Ursae Majoris.” Ramirez’s face was solemn. “We know. We came through a starbridge.”
“But not one built by us, I gather.” Ana peered closely at him. “Haven’t I heard of you before, Dr. Ramirez?”
Ramirez looked away as if in embarrassment; the designs of his cloak subtly shifted to a purple color. “All in the past,” he said quietly. “A lifetime ago…”
“A lifetime, indeed.” Wendy let out her breath. “Look, I’m…we’re pleased you’ve managed to find your way here, but you must understand.”
“What happened to the Galileo?” Carlos couldn’t help himself. “Why were you fifty light-years from here? What—?”
“Did you make first contact?” Wendy’s voice was quiet, yet insistent.
Harker regarded her with faint amusement, as if she’d just asked an obvious question. Carlos noticed that his robe’s designs became scarlet. Apparently some sort of biomemetic feedback. “Of course,” he replied. “You haven’t figured that out already?”
Before anyone could interrupt him again, Harker raised a hand. “Look, you’ve got a lot of questions, and we’ll answer them all. But…” He sighed. “It’s a long story, and there’s something important you first need to know.”
“And that is?” Wendy asked.
The three surviving members of the Galileo expedition gazed at one another, as if uncertain who should speak next. “We’re not alone,” Ramirez said, his cloak’s patterns becoming off-white once more. “We know that now. There’s hundreds…maybe thousands…of other races in the galaxy. Most are younger than our own, and many of them are still struggling to survive. A few are more advanced than our own, and some…”
“The survivors are the ones who’ve learned how to leave their home worlds,” Harker continued. “The old theories…the Drake equation, Shklovskii’s and Sagan’s principles…are correct. A race that develops the ability to leave its place of origin is more likely to escape self-destruction than those who don’t. But by the same token, not all races who achieve interstellar travel are ones you’d necessarily want to meet.”
“There’s good out there,” Collins said, her voice low, “but there’s also evil.”
Something in the way she said this caused Carlos to shiver. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Nor should you.” Ramirez’s robe darkened. “Believe me, we’ve seen things straight from your worst nightmare.”
“But we’ve also seen things that give us hope,” Harker added. “And that’s just it. The elder races…the ones who try to keep peace in this part of the galaxy…have been observing us for quite some time.” He smiled. “Oh, not as long as you might imagine. They became aware of humankind only after one of their ships observed the Alabama, not long after it left our system.”
Carlos shared a look with Wendy. She, too, remembered the cryptic note left behind by Leslie Gillis. What he’d seen from the Alabama’s rec deck wasn’t an illusion; he’d indeed spotted an alien vessel. “We’ve had reason to suspect that, yeah.”
“But why haven’t they contacted us?” Wendy asked. “Why did they wait so long?”
“As she said, there’s evil out there.” Harker’s smile faded. “The other races have learned to be careful about whom they contact. They watch, they wait, they observe. And when they feel confident…”
“They find a way to make contact.” Collins smiled. “Which is why we’re here.”
Carlos stared at her, then at Harker and Ramirez. “I don’t…I mean, are you saying—?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Harker’s expression was calm. “They’ve been observing Coyote for quite some time now. Waiting to see what you’d do with it, how you’d treat another world once you’d settled it. What might happen once you finally developed hyperspace travel. Think of it as a test.”
“And we…?”
“Yes. We’ve passed. They want to talk to us now.” Harker paused. “Ready for the next part? Here it is…we didn’t come here alone.”
Carlos stared up at the Maria Celeste. “Are you saying…?”
“What you think I’m saying.” A sly grin appeared on Harker’s face as he turned to Wendy. “One of them is up there. A Coronean, if you want to call them that…although they refer to themselves as the hjadd. Heshe’s a representative, and heshe’d like to have a word with you.”
For the first time, Carlos noticed a shadowy form lurking just within the shuttle’s hatch. Bipedal, upright; vaguely anthromorphic, yet clearly not human. My god, he thought, it’s one of them…
Wendy saw it, too. Her face lost color, and she involuntarily took a step back. “I don’t…I mean, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” Carlos took his wife’s hand, and wasn’t surprised to find that it was shaking. “You’re the president, remember?”
He looked back at Ana, saw that she wore the same expression. The time had come to put away their fear of the unknown; they had to embrace wonder, find a way back to the things that had led them here in the first place. The stars beckoned, inviting them to join a plurality of worlds. The words of an old song came to him just then, a spiritual he’d heard long ago in his younger days. He didn’t know why he remembered it just then, yet nonetheless it was appropriate:
Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord, by and by,
There’s a better home a waitin’
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.
Wendy stopped trembling. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s my job…and yours, too.” She smiled. “C’mon. Let’s go meet the neighbors.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the ramp.
EPILOGUE
LIBERTY, NEW FLORIDA—MURIEL 91, C.Y. 17
The boy found the notebook on the wooden bench, its pages ruffled by the morning breeze. “Grandpapa, look!” he shouted, holding it up in his small hand. “See what I found!”
&nbs
p; “Oh, really? And what may that be?” His grandfather sauntered across the lawn, careful not to exert himself too much. He was still in good shape for a man in his mid-sixties, at least by Earth years, yet his right knee had been giving him trouble lately. His wife had given him a cane as a Liberation Day present—an elegant accessory, carved from blackwood branch—but he disliked using it when he was out for a stroll with Jorge. Perhaps it was only a matter of pride, but he didn’t want his grandson to think that he was more lame than he really was.
“Here! Look!” The boy rushed back to him with his prize, incautiously waving it above his head. “Someone left it behind over there!”
“Now, did they? Well, let’s see who it belongs to.” Taking the notebook from Jorge, Carlos opened it to the title page. “Oh, I think I know. This is Ms. Cayle’s…she teaches history at the university.”
“History?” A puzzled expression crossed his face. “If it’s written by a lady, then why isn’t it herstory?”
“Because…” Carlos caught the gleam in Jorge’s eye, gave him a mock scowl. “Okay, you got me again.”
The boy laughed, delighted that he’d once again fooled Grandpapa. Susan was right; for a kid just shy of his second birthday, Jorge was uncommonly bright. Making bad puns was a favorite game between them. “Maybe Ms. Cayle isn’t all she professes to be,” Carlos added, trying to one-up him, and Jorge rolled his eyes in disgust. “Well, then, perhaps we should return it to her. She’s an old friend, and she’s probably wondering where she left it.”
“Sure. Okay.” Jorge continued to eye the notebook. He seemed reluctant to surrender his find so easily. “But don’t you…? I mean, what’s in it, do you think?”
“Hmm. Good point. Let’s see.” Carlos walked over to the bench and sat down. Opening the book in his lap, he skimmed the handwritten notes.
Yes, it was all here. The hijacking of the Alabama. The arrival at 47 Ursae Majoris. The establishment of Liberty. His mouth tightened as he caught a brief mention of his father and mother as the first casualties—after all these years, he was surprised that the memory of their loss still hurt—and he quickly flipped to another page. The building of the Garcia Narrows Bridge. The beginning of the Revolution.