“Well, don’t let yourselves get discouraged,” said Allison. “It’s not like you’re translating Spanish.” She turned away and looked again at the translucent image of Billings. “Now for the main course. Steven, you’ve completed the preliminary survey of the artifact?”
“Yes, indeed. And we’re even further from understandin’ it than we wuz this mornin’.”
“That doesn’t sound encouraging. What have you learned?”
Billings’s image leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, the first thing we stumbled on is—”
CHAPTER 12
“—it has no power source.” Felix was breathless. He waved a frantic finger at a rough schematic of the artifact’s layout. It was standing room only in Felix’s lab as members of the Artifact Research Team, or ARTists, as they’d taken to calling themselves, listened to Fletcher’s preliminary findings on the raw data the Magellan’s crew had sent.
“Whoa. Slow down, Felix,” Eugene said. “What’s powering the transmitter, then?”
“No, that’s not the problem,” replied Felix. “It has power, plenty of it, in fact, but it’s not coming from anywhere. Here…”
He pulled the schematic from his tablet and transferred it to his lab’s holo-projector. A crude diagram of the artifact’s inside materialized two meters off the floor. He pointed toward the central shaft that bridged the two lobes of the artifact.
“Right there is where the power is coming from, then it travels down these conduits to the different nodes”—a spiderweb of power lines fluoresced—“but there’s nothing connecting back to the generator. There’s no fuel tank, no reactor mass, nothing that I can find actually being converted into electricity.”
“That’s weird,” Eugene said. “A battery maybe?”
“No way. There’s almost forty megawatts coming out of that thing, and that’s just at idle. I’ve estimated that it must have peaked at almost a full gigawatt when it had its gravity drive running. It’s just not physically possible to achieve that kind of energy storage density.”
“An ol’-fashioned fission plant?” Dr. Kiefer asked while absently arranging beads on his abacus.
“Nope. Geiger’s flat. There’s limited waste heat, but no radiation means no fission.” Felix shook with excitement. “Energy just flows out while apparently nothing flows in. But it gets even better.”
“Or worse, depending on how much you value maintaining a comfortable little bubble of preconceptions about the universe,” Jeffery said.
“Anyway. From mysterious free energy to inexplicable inefficiency.” Felix was moving too fast to pay attention to Jeffery’s wit. If Felix’s mind were a hamster, the wheel could have powered a house. “Magellan’s crew has also identified the transmitter. It’s located on the other side of the buoy in the opposite lobe.” Felix threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Here’s the problem. The transmitter’s using a majority of the forty megawatts that mystery ‘generator’ is cranking out. For that amount of power, the signal should be exponentially more powerful. Apparently, energy comes from nowhere, flows into the other lobe, just to fall into a bottomless pit. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Felix was becoming visibly upset. The whole situation offended his finely honed sense of reason and logic. Space-based engineering was all about efficiency and getting the most out of every kilogram. For all he could tell, the buoy ran counter to this fundamental ethic. Using a transmitter so huge in both size and power consumption relative to its observed output was as wasteful as burning stacks of first-edition books so you could read the paper.
“Calm down, my lad,” said Eugene’s round face. “Not everything makes sense at first glance. Now, have you found anything that we can learn from? Something to build off of?”
Felix willed his arms back down to his sides and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ve had a close look at the scans of the antigrav device.” He moved to the other side of the suspended hologram and enlarged the spiraling component.
Several of the physicists leaned in hungrily.
“It is very compact, maybe small enough to build into a large aircar, and there are a number of ingenious design shortcuts that contribute to its small size that we could take advantage of immediately.” He circled the hub at the center of the spiral. “Look here. The graviton pathway in the amplifier grows in diameter relative to the intensity of the beam. Ours are a constant diameter, which means they’re actually too big for most of their length. That’s a big waste of both size and thermal efficiency. I’m already growing a prototype.”
“What about how it’s producing antigrav? That would be nice to learn,” Harris said.
“I don’t know yet. The design is recognizable as a gravity projector immediately. But there are a number of noticeable differences in the layout. Any or all of them may explain how it makes antigrav.”
“Can’t you just reverse the polarity or something?” asked Harris.
Felix grinned. “Can you reverse the polarity to make a bullet jump back into the gun? I really wish it were that simple, but that sort of thing only works in the vids.”
To his credit, Harris didn’t seem the least bit flustered. He was smart enough to not be embarrassed by two things: the limits of his knowledge and the questions he needed to ask to expand them. “One more miracle for the pile, then.”
“Don’t start talking like that,” Eugene said, “otherwise some crazy cult will spring up to worship this thing. They’re like weeds waiting for a good rain.”
“Speaking of weeds and the sorts of things that crawl through them, I’m fairly sure I picked up a tail last night,” Harris interjected.
“Well, good on ya, boyo, but I don’t sees what your bedroom conquests gots to do with our work here,” Dr. Kiefer said impatiently.
Harris looked at the wild-haired physicist with amused disbelief. “Not tail, a tail. What I meant was, I’m almost certain someone tried to follow me home last night. It could be nothing, or it could mean someone is trying to gather information about our little extra-credit project,” Harris continued. “We’ve all got to be especially careful about our operational integrity. We need to guard against unintentional leaks and be very careful to whom we speak and where. Always be aware of your surroundings and the possibility of eavesdropping. Under no circumstances is anyone to discuss the project over an unsecured phone line, and not at all over the Web.”
Dr. Kiefer stirred. “That all sounds prudent, but we farm out loads of number crunchin’ to the dispersed AESA hypercomputer network. That ’as to go through the ’net.”
“I’m talking more about the public Net, hologs, AR virals, that sort of thing,” Harris explained. “But still, from now on, everything sent around the AESA internal network needs to be sent with a minimum of Q4 encryption.” The Q stood for unbreakable quantum encryption. The 4 indicated the fourth generation, because hackers had broken the first three.
Eugene put a hand on Harris’s shoulder and looked at the rest of the crowd. “All right. I think we all understand the importance of discretion, and I’ve asked Sergeant Harris to keep a very close eye on that aspect of our operation. He’s officially head of security as of this morning. So everyone please defer to his expertise on security issues.”
Eugene patted the marine. “However, we can’t lose sight of our main goal. We need to be cautious, but wringing maximum knowledge from the artifact is our job. Toward that end, I want everyone to break up into their research groups and start working on the issues we’ve identified today. That’s all for now.”
The room emptied quickly as the group scattered to the four winds. Only the nucleus of Eugene, Jeffery, Harris, and Felix remained. They looked at one another for several long moments with equal parts consternation and satisfaction.
Jeffery broke the silence first. “Quite the little production we’re running here,” he said, “and the real work has only just started.”
“And the vultures are already circling,” added
Harris.
“Were you serious about being followed, Tom, or was that a line?” asked Eugene.
“Oh, no, I was serious. I spotted a tail while doing some grocery shopping.”
“Wow, that’s really surprising,” said Jeffery.
“The tail?” asked Harris.
“No, the grocery shopping. I just figured you plugged into a wall at night.”
Harris rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t. Anyway, when I realized what was going on, I ducked into the employee lounge and waited for him to go by, then I started to trail him. Oldest trick in the book. It was total amateur hour. Got a look at him, too.”
“Did you get a clean memory flash?” asked Felix.
“Only of the back of his head,” answered Harris.
“Can you think of anyone who’d want to tail you personally, Tom? For reasons outside of our work here, I mean,” Eugene said.
“My stalkers are usually of the feminine persuasion,” Harris added with bravado.
Jeffery snorted.
“All right, Casanova. Very good,” said Eugene. “Jeffery and Tom will try to ID our mystery guest, and I’m sure Felix here will be too busy trying to strangle answers out of the artifact to get into any real trouble.” He looked at Felix, who’d already stopped paying attention in favor of frenetically scribbling notes on his tablet. Eugene shook his head. “Meanwhile, I have appearances to maintain. There’s an AESA strategy conference in Berlin tomorrow, and the administrator can’t really be absent without raising suspicions. So while my heart will remain here, my ass needs to go home and pack.”
Felix looked up from his display. “Should we keep you updated on any breakthroughs while you’re gone?”
“Ever the optimist, hmm?” said Eugene as he stroked his beard. “You’d better not. I’m going to be inundated with mission plans and budget proposals most of the time I’m away. Besides, that’s just another message someone could intercept. The technical work is largely your responsibility, Felix. I rely on your judgment to guide the direction of everyone’s work.” Eugene checked the time. “Oh my. We’ve run quite long. I must bid you all adieu.”
“Tom and I should get cracking on the interloper. Need anything, Felix? Coffee?” Jeffery asked.
“Nope, I’m good. Good luck with the search.”
“Same to you,” Harris said.
As his coworkers and friends left, silence once again blanketed Felix’s lab. All that remained was the low hum of the holo-projector. Felix turned his head toward the suspended image of the artifact, laced his fingers, and cracked his knuckles.
“All right, sweetheart,” he said. “You and I are going to have a little fun.”
CHAPTER 13
“Our fuzzy patch is still there, ma’am,” Ensign Wheeler said.
“Blast,” Allison said. “Nelson, are you sure all the bugs are worked out of the internal sensors?”
“I triple-checked the connections, Captain,” the engineer’s mate said. “If there’s a fault somewhere, it’s buried deeper than I can find.”
“My own diagnostics show no evidence of irregularities in Mr. Nelson’s repairs, Captain,” Magellan added.
“Great.” Allison sighed and her unease raised a notch. “Oh, it’s not you, Nelson. I was just hoping your efforts would clear up this little mystery. Tell your people they did well and then take the next two shifts off.”
“Thank you, Captain.” His image disappeared as the link was cut.
“Where’s Chief Billings?” Allison asked.
Prescott searched for the engineer. “PT in the pool.”
“All right. Leave him be for now. Just drop him a note to see me when he’s free.” She stood up from her chair at the center of the bridge. “Ensign Wheeler, you have the bridge. I’m headed for Bay Two.”
“Aye, ma’am. I have the bridge.”
Allison stepped into the transfer tube and keyed her destination. As the tram snaked its way through Magellan’s bones, Allison found herself brooding. Nelson’s repair work had hit a few unexpected snags, meaning his team had spent an extra day crawling around on the floor ripping up deck plating. Meanwhile, Jacqueline had learned the shuttle was more damaged than her initial estimate once they really dug into it. Work continued.
Compounding her concerns, the fuzzy anomaly wasn’t just a side effect of the damage to the internal sensors as Wheeler had guessed. That still left the projector imbalance Billings had suggested, but it was another unknown. When it came to her ship, Allison found unknowns as comforting as a wool sweater on fresh sunburn.
The tram doors opened. Allison turned right in the direction of the shuttle bays. As always, she was grateful for the tall ceilings her builders had afforded Maggie. Designers of interstellar ships made runway models look positively nonchalant about weight. Every single gram that could be cut meant less fuel to carry, greater range, higher speed, or more available payload. As a result, weight-saving holes were cut into everything from frame members to fork handles. Floors were not solid but grated. Ceilings went uncovered, leaving plumbing, ductwork, and electrical lines exposed. Most interstellars looked as though their skin had been picked clean by mechanical vultures, leaving their innards exposed. The dimensions of everything from hallways to living quarters trended toward claustrophobic. It had taken forcing a team of prominent designers into a six-month tour on board one of their creations before concessions were made for secondary concerns like preservation of the crew’s sanity.
As a result, a person two meters tall could stride confidently through Magellan’s corridors without bashing his or her head on a gray water return pipe. Two people could pass each other in the same hallway without turning sideways and rubbing their reproductive organs together, although some did anyway.
Allison neared Shuttle Bay Two. Progress, of a sort, was being made on their study of the artifact. One of the engineering rankings had somehow tripped two more maintenance panels, making direct access and observation of the interior much easier. They’d mapped the major components and had a good idea of the function of many of them, although the physics of the power plant continued to elude them.
Unfortunately, they’d gotten nowhere with the translation. In some respects, that was to be expected. Deciphering an alien language, with its arbitrary sounds, symbols, and opaque cultural context, was necessarily more challenging than determining the purpose of a bit of machinery, but without the language, the intent of the artifact’s builders would remain a mystery.
Allison found herself spending more and more time staring at the runes and listening to loops of the two messages. They were stuck in her head like an annoying jingle. She knew she was not alone; she’d heard Prescott humming a familiar … melody wasn’t the right word.
She arrived at the airlock and keyed it open. The inner door closed behind her and the air cycled a bit, then the outer door opened. The bay echoed with the sounds of a dozen conversations, clanging tools, shuffling feet, and the occasional curse word. To her right was the artifact. Techs, with probes and cameras in hand, swarmed over it like ants on a piece of candy carelessly dropped by the gods.
To her left was the damaged shuttle, its maintenance panels strewn about the floor. Allison saw a short set of legs, which she was fairly confident belonged to Lieutenant Dorsett, sticking from one of the openings. She walked over to the shuttle.
Jacqueline was nose-to-purge-valve with an attitude control thruster inside the shuttle. Her small stature and delicate hands made her a perfect fit for the sort of tight spaces mechanics were always getting into.
“Mitchell, hand me an eight-millimeter torx-head socket, will you?” echoed Jacqueline’s voice from the hole.
Allison looked around, but Mitchell was not in sight. Allison looked at the worktable next to Jacqueline’s feet and tried to locate the requested tool. Finding a strip of hexagonal sockets, she quickly found the one marked eight millimeters and offered it to Dorsett’s waiting hand.
“I said torx-head, Mitchell. C�
�mon, do I need to use my teeth?”
“Sorry, I haven’t had much wrench time,” Allison said, amused.
There was a sound of inrushing air and a metallic clang.
“Oww!” shouted Jacqueline.
“Are you all right, Jackie?”
“Um, yeah. Sorry, Captain, I didn’t know you were there.”
“That’s all right,” Allison said evenly. “Explain to me what you need.”
“It’s an eight-mil socket, except it’s a six-pointed star. On the left side of the top of the cabinet.”
Allison picked up the tree in question and found the correct attachment. She handed it to Jacqueline.
“Okay, that’s it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How much longer before it’ll fly again?”
“Five hours, tops.”
Allison looked at the parts, panels, and wires surrounding her feet. “Are you sure? There seems to be a lot left to do.”
“It always looks worse than it really is. Is Mitchell out there with you?”
Allison scanned the bay for wayward specialists. “He appears to be flirting with the cuter of the two xenobiologists.”
“What? Excuse me for a moment.” Jacqueline shimmied out from the hole and marched across the deck to her subordinate.
Allison smirked as Jacqueline passed. She looked away as Jacqueline explained to Mitchell several important distinctions between a duty shift and recreational time.
Allison looked back at the worktable and its myriad of tools when something caught her eye—a maintenance manual. It was printed on a stack of actual paper almost six centimeters thick, sandwiched inside a grease-stained three-ring binder. Digital page readers had replaced most printed technical manuals almost three centuries earlier because of the ease with which they could be updated. Jacqueline must have printed the pages out and assembled them herself.
It was a strange duality, Allison thought. Jacqueline spent her entire career working with technology, studying it, repairing it. Yet this manual and the book she had gifted to Allison some weeks earlier were from a bygone era.
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