Trish fought her heart rate back to normal. “Maybe you haven’t been paying attention. Tal and I haven’t been the best of friends since she sided with that little quetzal.”
“Yes. Difficult, isn’t it, when your idol doesn’t quite fulfill some of your deepest expectations? But would you have felt quite as stung had it been Step or Yvette who stood up for Rocket?” He smiled enigmatically. “Ah, I suspect not.”
“A quetzal’s a quetzal.”
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Shig sighed, clapped hands to his thighs, and slipped down off Talina’s chair. “Until you’re ready to become the pathfinder and guide, to dare the unknown, you’ll never step into her shoes.”
With that, Shig turned and walked away, his glass untouched.
19
Dortmund hadn’t slept for three days. At most he’d caught short naps, only to be driven from sleep by his racing mind. Beneath it all, he was powered by a conflicting hope and rage.
The culmination of his life’s work lay down on that planet. Orbiting it was a ship. But whose?
Alien? Human?
Either way, his entire life’s aspirations lay on the line. If it were aliens, then of course he was the man who would make contact.
If the ship were human, they were despoiling a sacred jewel for which he had prepared his entire life to save.
Obsessed, he had devoted every hour to two very different action protocols.
For the aliens, he had composed a fifty-page outline delineating each step he and Vixen’s crew would take to not only initiate contact, but to carefully develop the relationship so that there would be no misunderstandings; no communicable diseases passed—the quarantine protocol was twenty pages alone; how a mutually intelligible communications system could be devised using the periodic charts; information exchanges based on biology; even a first meeting scenario that would ensure that neither side might be slighted by posture, approach, or implications of lower status.
It would be a model—one studied for centuries by scholars of humanity’s first contact.
His second paper, running to seventy-five pages, was based on the hypothesis that a group of human miscreants had commandeered a ship, traveled to Capella III, and were now in the process of looting the planet’s resources.
First he laid out the legal ramifications of such an action vis-à-vis Corporate law. This was a criminal enterprise, after all. The Advisor would have full discretion, by law, to document, evaluate, and consider the extent of illegal actions taking place on the planet.
After that came a comprehensive list of methods necessary to document each and every infraction. How evidence should be recorded, who should record it, and how the chain of possession should be documented for later action back in Solar System.
He had gone through the Vixen’s crew manifest, detailing specific tasks for the two security personnel on board. Too bad that neither had more than the most basic training in law enforcement and criminal justice.
And then he had enumerated the possible scope of damage the interlopers could be doing to the planet, its wildlife, habitat, and ecosystems. Everything from the introduction of terrestrial organisms to the egregious exploitation of the native fauna. This he outlined down to the actual footprints of the looters as they tromped, heedless, upon the inoffensive native flora and fauna.
Blinking, haggard, he was putting in the final touches when the com announced, “Meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes. All scientific staff should be present.”
Dortmund wearily ran fingers through his oily hair. Glanced down at his wrinkled overalls. No. No time to change or shower.
Marking both of his papers as “Draft,” he promptly mailed them to his colleagues. No matter what the determination, alien or human, he needed his team to have access to whichever report was pertinent to the new information. This way they could just call up the paragraph or section to which he referred in the meeting.
With a grimace, he also forwarded copies to the Advisor. As if the man could or would read them through.
Stepping out into the corridor, he realized he was famished. How long since he’d eaten? Some vague part of his brain recalled a tray of snacks. He couldn’t remember if he’d gone for them, or if one of the others had delivered them.
He stepped into the conference room, his head muzzy, a weariness like lead in his bones. But with it was mixed a feeling of satisfaction. He had a plan for either contingency.
A part of him was crying, “Please, let it be aliens!”
If it turned out to be looters, then it would be with the realization that Capella III had been partly despoiled. Unable to direct the protection of the planet, he would at least be in a position to ameliorate the impact, and implement containment policies that might prevent any further damage.
Part of him hoped that the reason the ship hadn’t answered was that some terrible contagious bacterium or parasite had infected the crew, killing them to the last person before more than a handful had set foot planetside. Fitting justice for daring to violate Corporate law.
“And the wages of greed turned out to be death.” He smiled as he whispered the words. True poetic justice.
Sax and Jones were already seated. Shimodi walked in, followed by Benteen and the captain.
“Good day,” the Advisor called, taking a seat at the head of the table.
Dortmund seated himself. Noticed that Shanteel sniffed, shot him a sidelong glance, and surreptitiously slid her chair to increase the space between them.
“What’s the latest?” Dortmund couldn’t help himself. “I assume we’re close enough that optics have given us additional data? Perhaps something has come in on the ship’s sensor array?”
“It has.” Benteen studied him thoughtfully. “You look all-in, Dr. Weisbacher.”
“I haven’t had the leisure of waiting for additional information. I have put together two separate reports, one for the possibility that we’re dealing with an alien—”
“It’s human,” Benteen cut him off. “Not just human, but Corporate.”
Dortmund felt his guts sink. “Looters then. Very well, I have prepared a complete plan to deal with—”
“Apparently it’s a bit more complicated and perplexing than that,” Benteen told him, then shifted his gaze to the others. “Long-distance scan has determined that the ship is a Corporate interstellar cargo ship. A big one. Even more perplexing, we have no records of any such ship. If what we suspect is true, only three models of this series of ship have been built and a fourth is in the yards under construction. This one sports the registration number of twenty-seven.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Shimodi said.
“Okay, we’re lost,” Sax agreed. “You’re saying this ship is from the future?”
“That’s preposterous,” Dortmund snapped. “Advisor, this is a scam. The looters changed the registration, that’s all. Pirates and raiders have always tried to hide the identity of their ships.”
“Pretty dumb move on their part,” Captain Torgussen said wryly. “If I were a criminal I’d pick an ID for an existing ship. If anything, this cries out, ‘Hey look at me!’ Like broadcasting, ‘I’m also stupid.’ No, Doctor, they’re not trying to hide anything.”
Dortmund blinked, trying to think through the fog in his brain. It seemed so hard to redirect his thoughts from an organized outline to data that didn’t fit.
“What else have you got?” Shimodi asked, twirling her blond hair around a finger as she studied Benteen.
“Radio sources,” Torgussen told them. “Two hot spots on the planet and occasional broadcasts from the surrounding areas.” He made a face. “We’re close enough now to monitor them.”
Benteen took a deep breath. “The mystery deepens, people. This isn’t some covert mining and looting party. Apparently it’s a colony. And it’s been on Capella I
II for years.”
“Impossible!” Dortmund barked.
Benteen’s lips bent with amusement. “Well, these protocol papers you’ve been slaving over might be worthless given the current turn of events, but we’ve still got the problem of who these people are, how long they’ve been here, and where they came from.”
Dortmund struggled for words, couldn’t find them. “You don’t understand. There must be some mistake.”
Benteen’s oddly solicitous stare hinted that there wasn’t.
20
When Tamarland stepped into the astrogation center, it was to find both Torgussen and Ho bent over the holo projection from the sensor array. Both men looked perplexed to the point that Ho was pulling on his ear.
On the main holo at the front of the room was a projection of the mystery ship. It now filled the forward screen, bathed in Capella’s light. Just hanging there in space as it was, it looked somehow eerie. A peculiar shiver slipped down Tamarland’s spine.
“Gentlemen, you asked to see me?”
“Advisor,” Torgussen greeted warily. As quickly he returned his attention to the holo, adding to Ho, “Can you shift the frequency down ten hertz?”
“Been there, done that, Cap. Still nothing.” Ho reached back and massaged his neck.
“What seems to be the problem?” Tam asked, irritated that they’d disturbed his reading.
“That damned ship.” Torgussen tossed a hand toward the image. “We’re a survey vessel, right? Got one of the best sensor arrays in Solar System, if not the best. We should be able to image every deck, bolt, washer, and seam in that bucket of air right down to the atomic composition of the sialon. Instead, we can get a reading on the hull, and after that, it’s as if that thing’s eating the beam.”
“What do you mean, eating the beam?”
Ho looked up, frown lines marring his forehead. “Photonic sensing works on entanglement, right? We accept that the universe is filled with entangled particles. Even after all these years we still call it Einstein’s ‘spookiness at a distance.’ You might know it as Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen effect. EPR effect is all about entangled particles. By observing an entangled particle here, we can understand the state of its twin aboard IS-C-27. By observing the relationships between a host of them, we can generate a partial image that we can fill in with fractal geometry.”
He pointed at the screen. “We can read anything around the ship, but once we focus our sensors inside the ship, nothing. It might be perfect vacuum. But, particles appear in vacuum, right? That’s part of the multiverse theory. Just not inside that bucket. According to the photonics we’re seeing, that ship’s like a black hole.
“We’ve tried focused microgravity. Bathed that thing in waves that should have given us a readable resonance. Nothing. It’s like the hull is absorbing microgravitational waves. Which defies everything we know about materials physics.”
“And then there’s neutronic radiation,” Torgussen added. “Neutrinos pass through everything, right?” He plastered an irritated smile on his lips. “Our detectors don’t read anything on the other side. It’s as if that ship out there is swallowing them.”
“And here’s the other peculiarity,” Ho continued. “We know what that ship’s albedo should be, given the emissions we’re measuring from Capella. Somehow, some way, that ship is absorbing thirteen percent more solar energy than materials physics says it should.”
“That’s a lot of energy,” Torgussen said bluntly. “And it’s not being radiated back into space. The only conclusion, then, is that the hull is acting like a heat sink, which means that ship should be hotter than the hubs of Hell. Instead, the surface averages two hundred and ten kelvins. About normal for a starship’s radiation given our levels of insulation and interior temperature.”
“So where the hell is that energy going?” Ho raised frustrated hands. “The first and second laws of thermodynamics didn’t just jump up, hold hands, and skip away.”
“The thing’s like a snot-sucking black hole,” Torgussen repeated under his breath.
“Maybe that’s why they didn’t answer our photonic or hyperlink hails?”
“Then why is the radio beacon still broadcasting every thirty seconds. Granted, its antenna is well above the hull, but so is the photonic communications array.”
“Maybe some kind of deadly radiation on board?”
“We wish. We have sensors for every form of radiation in the spectrum. If that ship was emitting so much as a crippled quark, we’d have it.”
Tam spread his hands wide. “Gentlemen, I have nothing to tell you. According to my briefing we’re supposed to find a virgin planet and conduct a detailed survey for the Board. Ghost ships aren’t part of my experiential realm.”
Torgussen arched a questioning eyebrow, but was bright enough not to pursue the question of what Tam’s experience was.
“What about the planet? Is it as baffling?”
“No, sir.” Torgussen straightened. “Well, let me clarify that. It poses its own problems. Especially in light of those mission parameters you just repeated to me. We’re close enough we’ve got good resolution. Based on radio signals, we’ve plotted both of the source points. Give me a second and I’ll bring up the visuals.” A pause. “Dr. Weisbacher isn’t going to like this a bit.”
The ship on the main holo faded out to be replaced by an aerial shot of what was clearly a settlement. Oval shaped. Surrounded by what looked like a ditch and agricultural fields. A shuttle field, complete with a grounded shuttle and a small mountain of stacked shipping crates stuck out on one side. The buildings were basically gridded, mostly with various sizes of white domes, but had been filled in with rectangular structures of what had to be local manufacture.
A thin line ran north through the speckling of trees beyond the perimeter—obviously a road that led to an open-pit mine. A big one. Tiny dots of equipment that had to be haulers and excavators could be seen.
A smaller lot on the west side of the perimeter ditch was cluttered with what had to be aircars.
“That’s the northern and largest settlement.”
Torgussen ordered up a second image. This one was in thick forest, an impenetrable carpet of treetops that mantled a tall line of ridge that trended to the west. In places on the heights, up-thrust peaks of bare stone could be seen. On the shoulder of the mountain, a flat had been created. Several domes—what had to be shops, a dormitory, another shuttle, and what was obviously a waste dump—could be seen. Below the ridge lay a broad floodplain. Five kilometers to the north, on the shores of an oxbow-laced river, a smaller plot had been hacked out of the forest. The small square building, shuttle pad, and plot of agricultural land were connected to the mine by a tram line, though at this scale the details were hard to see.
“Another mine,” Torgussen said. “Those are the two major settlements. We’ve picked up a scattering of what look like isolated camps. Most of them within a hundred kilometers of the northern settlement.”
“Who are these people? This doesn’t make sense. It’s only been ten years since Tempest was here.”
“Want me to let Dr. Shimodi look at this?”
“Sure. She’s a geologist with a mining specialty. She’ll make more out of it than you or I will.”
“Yes, sir.” Torgussen watched him warily. “Want us to signal them? Let them answer the questions for us?”
Tamarland chewed his lips, trying to think it through. Whatever this was, they were walking into a functioning colony world. It had been one thing to be in charge of a survey team on a virgin planet. But to find towns, mines, not to mention the giant cargo ship? That was something entirely different.
So where does the advantage lie?
He couldn’t answer that question without additional data. If there was a government here, it would be rudimentary. Just like when he was plotting with Artollia, he needed to know w
ho was in charge, how the colony’s government was structured.
For the first time since leaving Solar System, a genuine thrill ran through him. He might be under a death sentence back in The Corporation, but they wouldn’t have a clue here.
“Can you monitor their radio transmissions?”
“We have been for the last day. Not much to go on. Talk about medicines and machine parts mostly. Nothing really of substance. Some guy called Two Spot at Port Authority and some woman named Tallia O’Hanley at Corporate Mine.” A pause. “Oh, and there was mention of a Supervisor. Some woman named Aguila.”
“So they are from Solar System.”
“Yes, sir. No doubt about it. Not that that makes any damn sense at all, assuming we’re in the right place.”
“Or the right time,” Ho added darkly.
But the transition had been instantaneous. One minute they were off Neptune, the next they were in the Capella system.
Tam stopped short, wracking his brain. “A Supervisor? I knew them all, or had at least heard of them. None of the Supervisors were named Aguila. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, sir,” Torgussen said. “None of it does. Not that ship, not that mine, and certainly not a Corporate colony on a supposedly empty world.”
Once again, the question was begged: Who the hell are they?
21
“Ta Li Na.”
The words brought Talina wide awake. The first graying of Capella’s dawn illuminated the shed’s interior. Not that she needed it; her night vision was just fine these days, thank you.
She lay on a mattress she’d pulled out of the old dormitory and lugged to the storage shed where she’d parked her aircar. The faint odor of quetzal mixed with the stronger scents of dew, cherry and squash blossoms, and rich damp earth.
She sat up, senses clearing as she reached for her rifle.
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