by Rick Cook
Sharon shrugged, not willing to share the secret of the song with anyone. “It’s an old lullaby. In Irish.”
He swam forward and for a while they both stared out at the sun before them and the star field all around.
“Limbo,” Father Simon murmured at last.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said Limbo. Souls floating suspended between Heaven and Hell.”
“But no Eden,” Sharon said.
Father Simon turned to her. “You expected one?”
“No, not really.” But I hoped. “You know, it’s funny. We knew that Earth-type planets would be rare, but we expected intelligence to be rarer yet. And of course we always assumed where we found intelligence we’d find Earthlike planets. But here we’ve found intelligent beings and we still haven’t found our first Earthlike world.”
“Still even without the aliens there are planets here for you to study.”
“Yes. Mars-type planets.” Sharon shrugged. “Oh, the work on the Martiform planets is valuable, but we’ve seen those before, more than fifty of them in the last eight years. Still, I’m sure there will be things to learn here.”
“But you hoped for more.”
Sharon sighed. “Yes, Father, I had hoped for more. It would have been tremendously exciting to find an Earth-type planet for a change.”
“So far there is only one of those.”
“I know,” Sharon said quietly.
“You’re a Spacer, aren’t you?” Father Simon asked.
“I am now. Originally I was Irish.”
Father Simon nodded. Ireland had escaped the worst of the War in Europe, but conditions were still brutally hard. The bombs that had brought an end to thousands of years of European culture had not completely spared Europe’s westernmost outpost. There were a lot of Irish in space.
“How long has it been since you’ve been to Confession?” he asked.
“I said I was Irish; I didn’t say I was a Catholic. My family was originally from Belfast.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Sharon shrugged. “No problem. One of the things the War did was put an end to a lot of the sectarianism.”
Along with most of the Irish, thought Father Simon.
“Anyway,” Sharon went on, “I became a planetographer because I hoped—” she smiled deprecatingly—“I hoped we might find someplace where we could get a second chance.”
“A new Eden? That’s what drew you to this expedition?”
“Well, in a way.” She shrugged. “Oh, I knew by the time I finished my studies how unlikely that was. But I always hoped.
“And besides,” she concluded practically, “by that time I was committed to my career. Making an interstellar voyage is a considerable help in my career.”
They both fell silent again under the light of alien stars.
“And you?” Sharon asked at last. “Why did you come?”
Father Simon smiled nervously. “Well, astrometry is my field, after all. The chance to get a longer baseline was nearly irresistible. When the opportunity arose I was fortunate enough to be chosen to represent the Vatican Observatory on this expedition. No great story there, I’m afraid. I was available, I was called, and I came.”
“You’re not an exile, then?”
“Far from it. But are there exiles among us?”
“Lots of them. Major DeLorenzo, Dr. Takiuji. Maybe a third of the ship’s complement are exiles in some way or another.”
“Even Dr. Aubrey?”
Sharon smiled. “Especially Dr. Aubrey. You know about the disagreement in the Scientists’ Union?”
“No,” said Father Simon, “I didn’t know.”
“You are a member, aren’t you?”
The priest looked a little embarrassed. “As a matter of fact, no. I’m not much of a joiner, you see.”
“Oh,” said Sharon, slightly taken aback. “Well, there was a considerable contest for the presidency in the last election and Aubrey lost. So they offered him the leadership of this expedition.”
“Exile? That’s rather heavy punishment for losing an election, isn’t it?”
“Dr. Aubrey called it an ‘opportunity’,” Sharon said. “Besides, it wasn’t just the election. There were some complaints about tactics, you see.”
“My goodness, I wasn’t aware that scientific politics got that rough. It sounds like astronomers trying to get telescope time for their projects.”
Sharon smiled. “There is a lot of similarity.”
“Still, it seems like an odd punishment. To send astronomers out to study the stars.”
“Oh, it’s not punishment, not exactly. It’s just that certain governments or institutions function better when some people aren’t around. It’s a convenient way to getting them out of circulation until things cool down.”
“I see.”
“We should be thankful, actually. It had a lot to do with the decision to give this expedition to the Americans, Europeans, Japanese and some of the other lesser powers.”
“I thought that was a matter that was worked out nationally.”
“It was, but having the leaders of the Scientists Union backing the American proposal on the condition that Aubrey go along didn’t hurt.”
“You seem very knowledgeable on all this,” Father Simon said.
Sharon shrugged. “I’m a people watcher. Or maybe a gossip.” She paused. “I guess I’m going to get the chance to watch more than people this time.”
“So it would seem.”
They stared at the stars for a while. “What do you think they’re like?” Sharon asked at last.
“The aliens?” The priest spread his hands. “I really haven’t any basis to form an opinion. Besides, you’re the planetologist.”
Sharon made a face. “That doesn’t make me a xenologist. I can probably tell you more about their home world than I can about them.”
“Well, we certainly have a mystery,” Father Simon said. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”
“Doesn’t it scare you?”
The priest considered before answering. “There is a certain unease. But it is confirmation that God’s creation is at least as rich and diverse as ever we dreamed.”
She turned back to the viewing bubble. “Wonder what they’ll make of us?”
“And we of them,” Father Simon replied.
PART II: JOSEKI
The conversation sounded like a panic in the zoo, with roars, snarls, shrieks and bugling mixed together. To humans it would have been deafening. To those in the room it was merely normal.
Far, far back on their ancestry had been a thing analogous to a tree-climbing dinosaur. Like the hadosaurs of the Late Cretaceous, these creatures had elaborate hollow crests which could modulate their roars. In their descendants the crest had disappeared and the only resonating chambers were left in the much-reduced snout. Still, their language was as much an outgrowth of the climbing reptiloids bellowing out their territorial challenges from the trees of extinct forests as human languages had grown out of the mating and foraging calls of apes ranging across equally extinct savannas.
“We first detected the object, here,” a taloned finger tapped the chart, “when it emitted a strong burst of interference. We examined it and determined it was an orbiting artifact of unknown origin. It was obviously powered, probably crewed and like nothing in our records.”
The superior one grunted.
“A ship was launched toward it,” the Master of Skies said delicately. “Then permission was granted to use the High Drive to reach it even faster.”
The superior’s beak twitched open at the reminder, as if to rend someone. The first one hurried on.
“Then, one revolution ago, the thing disappeared.”
“You mean you lost it?”
The other tossed his head in negation. “I mean it vanished from our instruments.”
The other remained impassive. “And then?”
Again the talon tapped on the chart. “Then
it reappeared here, within home space.”
The superior one froze, neither moving nor blinking. “You are certain you did not lose it? That there are not two of them?”
“It might be possible to lose the thing out here,” he gestured to the first position. “But it could not approach here without being detected.”
“And you conclude?”
The Master of Skies hesitated, hunching slightly in anticipation of what was to come.
“It apparently travelled faster than light.”
His superior tossed his head and his beak clacked like a gunshot. The underling flinched away. Then the most powerful being in the system froze in contemplation.
“A complication,” the superior said at last.
There were cultures who built faster-than-light ships, but not many of them and usually not for long. FTL ships were wasteful, ruinously expensive and disruptive. It took the resources of an entire system to build one and the craft was as large as a colony.
Still, any culture that travelled by FTL ship was a culture to be treated respectfully. They were obviously young, powerful and suicidal.
“Do we know the lineage?”
The Master of Skies gestured negation. “The design is unfamiliar to us.”
His superior indicated assent. That was hardly surprising. Lineages so foolish as to build starships seldom lasted more than a few handfuls of cycles.
“What do they want?”
“They have not communicated with us. They give no sign of wishing us to communicate yet.”
“How large is the vessel?”
“We are still trying to find out,” the Master of Skies said. Actually he had a figure, but he was not about to trouble his master with it until it had been checked. Very thoroughly checked.
With variations the scene was repeated in more than a dozen floating cities scattered about the solar system.
Captain Peter Jenkins felt rumpled. His stomach was sour from all the coffee he had been drinking. He had been off the bridge for eight hours but the caffeine and his worries had left him with only fitful sleep. Externally he knew he looked as trim as ever, but he felt rumpled.
“Are there any signs of anything being launched toward us?” Jenkins asked DeRosa as soon as he reached his station.
Iron Alice shook her head. She looked as neat and calm as always, he noted with just a twinge of jealousy, even though she was coming off watch rather than going on.
“Not that we can tell. Of course the inner system’s thick with traffic, but nothing seems to be coming our way.”
“Any sign of communication?”
“None of that, either. It looks like our hosts are lying low. Maybe they want to see what our next move will be.”
“The next move’s up to them, unless the Ship’s Council decided otherwise.”
His title meant, roughly, “The Leader,” or more precisely “The One Who Rules As The Embodied Will Of His People.” His name identified an exact place in his lineage, although it no more indicated that he held that place than a human named “Smith” necessarily worked at the shaping of metal. It was irrelevant and simply a tag. Like all of his kind, he preferred to be known by his title.
“It is how large?” he demanded.
“No more than one-twentieth the size of a small Colony,” his Master of Skies said.
The Leader did not clack his beak. Instead he froze and stayed immobile for a space of three breaths.
“Indeed? The others know of it, of course.”
That was rhetorical. Space contains few secrets from those with the right instruments.
“We could not estimate accurately at its former position. Now we are certain. It is undeniably a starship and many times smaller than any known starship.”
The Leader turned his great yellow eyes on his subordinate, as if measuring him for challenge.
“I thought that was impossible.”
The Master of Skies’ only reply was the alien equivalent of a shrug.
“Something utterly new then? A new kind of drive.”
“It would seem so. Our libraries make no mention of the roar of electromagnetic noise that accompanied its move. Also it seems to reappear with excess velocity which must be bled off to achieve orbit. There is no mention of that either.”
Again The Leader froze, for even longer.
“A prize,” he said at last. “A very great prize. We must act boldly and decisively now.”
“We have already acted boldly in launching a ship without the Council’s permission.”
The Leader made a dismissing gesture. “We will act more boldly yet, now that we know this thing’s worth. Open communication with this ship immediately!”
“There is a difficulty.”
“Do not pule to me about difficulties; do it! And do not fear the Council.”
“It is not the Council. These creatures do not respond to our invitations.” He paused. “They may not be a known species.”
Now The Leader did snap his beak. “It does not matter. Initiate communications.”
“Uninvited? But—”
“But do it! You say they may be an unknown species? Then assume they do not follow the conventions. Now leave me.”
As the Master of Skies bowed out, The Leader was already beginning to pace the room, his inelegant springy stride carrying him nearly off the floor in the lighter gravity of his headquarters.
The alien turned again to look off the terrace and out over the patchwork under the ruddy sunlight.
The Citadel was a great shining sphere partly buried in the end of the cylinder. From the terrace the surface fell away sharply in a series of steep steps to the floor of the cylinder which stretched away almost as far as the eye could see.
From the floor of the cylinder the Citadel stood out like a sun. It was at the sunward end of the habitat so that every waking when the traditionalists rose to give homage to the sun they also honored the Citadel and the one who inhabited it.
It was not accident that it was so.
Even though The Leader despised the traditionalists and their mire of ancient rituals, he continued to live in the Citadel and did nothing to discourage the waking Rite.
Far, far off, almost lost in the misty distance at the opposite end of this cylinder, he could barely make out the brownish smudge that marked the huddle of workers’ quarters where he had been born and grown to adulthood. From there, stretching almost to his feet, was an expanse of carefully landscaped vegetation, an artificial forest hiding the administrative complexes, the home groves of the powerful sublineages and other centers of wealth and power.
The sight soothed him. It always did.
The Council President was not soothed. “So small?” he demanded of his Master of Skies. “This thing is so small and travels between the stars.”
“So it would appear.”
The Council President’s talons twitched, as if to anchor himself more firmly to a tree while a storm blew through the forest.
“There is more,” the Master of Skies said deferentially. “We estimate,” he stressed the word hard, “that these beings’ drive must be at least five hands of hands more efficient than the star drive we know.” He paused, waiting for a reaction.
“Which means?”
“Which means that—assuming the estimate is correct and the device is not unbelievably difficult to fabricate—faster than light travel to other stars is economically feasible.”
The Council President froze, not even breathing, until the Master of Skies almost moved to shock him out of it. Then he inhaled a deep ragged gulp of air and turned back to his subordinate.
“Are you sure?”
The Master of Skies tossed his head. “No, but it seems likely.”
“We will have this drive. Open communications with this lineage at once. Do not wait for them to talk to us. Now. Immediately!”
The Master of Skies bobbed low and scurried out the door, leaving his master staring and shaking in his wake.
The Council President lowered himself back into his seating sling. His hands were shaking. What a prize! All-Father what a prize!
With a drive like that his lineage could spread throughout half the galaxy in a few generations. And the daughter colonies would be securely tied to the Mother no matter what star they circled. He had to have that drive! Somehow he had to get the secret from these strangers.
There must be a meeting of the Colonial Council, he decided. We must coordinate, plan together. And in doing so, he added to himself, he would have to make sure his own Colony came out on top.
To begin, he would act in the Council’s name. He would open communications with the aliens without waiting for their invitation. Improper, perhaps, but it was an extraordinary circumstance and demanded extraordinary measures.
“It looks like things are picking up,” Pete Carlotti told the group. “In the last twenty-four hours we have gotten modulated laser light from no less than six colonies.”
Once again a dozen people were packed into the small forward conference room, halfway up toward the hub at the very forward edge of Spin, including Carlotti, Sharon Dolan, Autro DeLorenzo, Father Simon (for reasons that were obscure even to the priest) and, of course, Andrew Aubrey and C.D. MacNamara in their roles as president and vice president of the Ship’s Council—plus Jenkins and Ludenemeyer, at the captain’s insistence. They had been constituted a committee by the Ship’s Council to oversee contact with the aliens.
For the last three days all they had done was watch and speculate. The huge floating cities throughout the system had remained mute.
“What do you make of it?” Jenkins asked.
“It looks like they are trying to talk to us.”
Aubrey nodded. “Can we answer them?”
“Not like that,” Carlotti said. “We don’t have a laser in that frequency or any of the equipment we’d need to make it work.”
“All right then, reply by radio.”
“Do you think they will figure it out?”
Jenkins smiled grimly. “One thing I think we can count on, Doctor, is the intelligence of our hosts.”
“There’s one other problem,” Carlotti said. “A linguist. I’ve checked the files and we don’t have anyone on board who is trained in linguistics.”