The Eridani Convergence

by Alastair Mayer

  “I’m surprised there’s anything. We had a ship in just a couple of days ago. I’m afraid it headed back this morning, so there won’t be anything for you unless you’re staying a while.”

  “No problem. I plan to head to Tau Ceti, Skead, next. Anything for there?”

  The man—the name-tag on his shirt read “Bill”—looked thoughtful. “Very likely. We haven’t had a ship headed that way in a few weeks. I’ll have to check.”

  “No rush,” she assured him. “I’ll be around for a day or so anyway.”

  “Fair enough. Your ship need any servicing? She’s a Sapphire class, right? Weren’t you here a few months back?”

  “You’ve got a good memory. Better than mine; I don’t remember meeting you.” Which was odd, because she usually remembered spaceport folks; they were usually her kind of people.

  “Oh, no worries, we didn’t meet, I just remember your ship. My wife’s name is Sofia.”

  “Ah, no wonder. Yes, a Sapphire. And thanks, but I just need the tanks topped off. She was overhauled recently.” Roberts glanced at the omniphone wrapped around her wrist. “Anyway, I have other things I need to get to. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “All right, Captain Roberts—”

  “Call me Jackie, please,” she said with a friendly smile.

  “All right, Jackie. I’ll see what we have for Tau Ceti. You enjoy your evening.”

  “Thanks, Bill. And give my regards to Sofia,” Roberts said as she left the office.

  It was true that all the Sophie needed was to have her fuel tanks filled, so she saw to that while considering her plans.

  She’d told Bill the truth about heading to Tau Ceti next. Skead was her nominal home base—she lived aboard the Sophie but had friends and things in storage there—but it had been over a year since she had last been there. Frankly, she looked forward to something a bit less adventurous than her recent expeditions with Carson and Marten, but was acutely aware that the improvements Ducayne’s organization had made to the Sophie put her in his debt. Think of it as a long-term retainer, she told herself. Unless and until she heard from him, she was free to conduct her charter and small freight business her way.

  CHAPTER 4: FINDINGS

  Carson

  Ten days ago: Sawyer City, Homeworld Security

  HANNIBAL CARSON WATCHED Brown for a few moments before announcing his presence. Malcolm Brown was oblivious, intent on his work. “Excavating again?”

  Brown looked up from his data-pad, his annoyed expression fading as he recognized his visitor. “Ah, Doctor Carson. You’re here.”

  “Ducayne told me I would find you here,” Carson said. “I hear you’ve been digging though the Blue Book files.” Carson was certain that Brown wasn’t his real last name, but Malcolm might be his first.

  They were in one of the small conference rooms in a below-ground level of the Homeworld Security complex, or QD Shipping, or whatever Quentin Ducayne was calling it this month. He had called Carson in because Doctor Brown had asked. The room, like most of the others Carson had so far seen in this secret complex—which weren’t very many—was nondescript, its most remarkable feature being the carpet, which was a hideous shade of chartreuse green.

  “Digging is one word for it,” said Brown with a disgusted look. “It’s like excavating a cesspit, and I don’t mean on an archeological dig, I mean a fresh one. But there are the occasional gems. I’m glad we got hold of the original pictures, the digitized microfilm copies were next to useless.”

  “So, the Betty Hill star map? What did the original show?”

  Brown sighed and gestured dismissively. “Nothing significant that wasn’t in some of the later copies we found. And on reviewing various accounts of how the map came to be drawn, I’m not sure how useful it would be anyway. She drew it two years after her alleged contact, albeit under hypnosis. It wouldn’t take much in the way of position errors to totally throw off Marjorie Fish’s later interpretation—something Fish herself admitted later, when more accurate astronomical data became available. On the other hand, Fish’s still seems to make the most sense. There are other interpretations—one completely reverses the perspective and puts the main stars as Sol and 20 Leonis Minor, with the so-called trade routes going to another star in Leo Minor and two in Ursa Major. They’re G-type stars, but some have a red dwarf companion, and all are outside of known T-Space.”

  “Well, we know the big Kesh ships aren’t as range-limited as ours are,” Carson said, “but supposedly they can’t go FTL. How far are we talking?”

  “Forty to fifty light years. So, not impossible, but extremely unlikely.”

  Carson agreed. Even if the Kesh were extremely long-lived, either through anti-aging drugs or naturally, forty or fifty years was a long trip. Relativistic time dilation didn’t happen within an FTL warp field, it probably wouldn’t in a sub-light warp either.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “Any conclusions from what you’ve read so far?”

  Brown chuckled. “Yes. That there were a lot of imaginative and attention-seeking individuals around back then.”

  “Well, that hasn’t changed much, I suppose.”

  “No, not really.”

  The thought that the mission to extract the Blue Book originals—and Rico’s death—might have been wasted disturbed Carson. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. We have very solid evidence that an extra-terrestrial spacecraft visited Earth.”

  “That’s in the Blue Book files?” Carson didn’t remember anything like that. How could he have missed it?

  “No. That’s in the report that came in a week ago about the find off the coast of Belize, near Cay Caulker.” Brown grinned broadly. “Got you!”

  Carson shook his head, somewhat chagrined. He had heard a rumor about the find, but in his defense, didn’t know any more details. “Okay, you did. Is that why you wanted to see me? And why do you say extra-terrestrial craft? I thought it could just as easily been a piece of old aircraft. Has an extra-terrestrial origin been announced?”

  “Oh heck no. It’s all hush hush.” Brown tapped something on his data-pad, then turned it around and slid it across the table to Carson.

  “Here,” he said. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  “What is it?” Hannibal picked up the pad and examined the image. It showed a piece of debris, possibly part of a control panel. He looked up at Brown. “From the Belize find?”

  “Exactly. The pictures just came in. Zoom in on the markings below the panel in the left.”

  Carson did so. It was lettering, but not anything most people would be familiar with. A series of stylized, slightly wedge-shaped lines, almost as though the writing was all E’s and F’s and L’s, but facing in different directions. “It’s like what cuneiform might look like if it were printed rather than impressed into clay with a reed,” he said. “Or perhaps a claw?” he added, thinking about the Kesh’s hands.

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “I’ve seen it before, recently. At least, I think I did.”

  Brown’s gaze focused on Carson. “What? Where?”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Homeworld Security, Quentin Ducayne’s Office

  Elsewhere in the Homeworld Security complex, a series of beeps alerted Quentin Ducayne to a sudden influx of messages to his in-box. The Southern Sky or one of her sister ships on the Sol-Alpha Centauri run, had just arrived in the system. Occasionally there’d be mail or a package on a ship from somewhere else, but even aside from the Earth-originating traffic, a lot of it went to Earth first. The emigration ships kept up a pretty steady cycle. Ducayne finished pouring himself a cup of coffee and swung back to his terminal.

  It was all encrypted, of course—that was routine. The more sensitive stuff was encrypted, buried in something innocuous-looking, then encrypted again. Anything really sensitive would be hand-delivered.

  He skimmed the headers. Most of it was the usual updates from the Union de Terre Home
world Security offices, reports from other field offices, and field agent reports. One of the latter had an URGENT flag on it. Oh?

  It was from Jordan Burnside, also known as “John Smith”, Ducayne’s agent in the 82 Eridani system, on Tanith. Ducayne opened it.

  Most of it was the same sort of routine report he got every week: local politics, significant business updates, potentially interesting ship goings and comings. It was one of the latter which caught his attention. The ship Carcharodon, suspected to be Velkaryan owned, along with known Velkaryan agent Klaus Vaughan and the rest of its crew, had made planetfall a just a few days earlier. So that’s where he got to, Ducayne thought. He glanced at the timestamp on the report. As he had thought, it had been sent nearly three weeks earlier. That fit with the travel times from Tanith to Earth, and Earth to Sawyers World. But there was more.

  Unrelated to the Carcharodon’s landing, someone had made contact with “Smith” about a possible alien artifact for sale. On some planets there would have been nothing unusual about that. Aside from the black market in legitimate alien artifacts, stone-age tools and trinkets, there was usually also a thriving market in fake artifacts for tourists or collectors dumb enough to buy them. What made this offer odd was that, for one, Smith’s cover wouldn’t lead anyone to think he would be interested in such things, but, more significantly, nobody had ever found any trace of any aliens at all on Tanith. If there were legitimate alien artifacts in the 82 Eridani system, somebody had brought them there. And Smith seemed to think these might be not only legitimate, but more advanced than the usual stone-age relics. He was sending details “under separate cover”. Which meant hand-delivery, shortly after the Southern Sky landed. That should be soon.

  There was something he should do in the meantime, though, and that was to talk to his local expert on advanced alien artifacts, Hannibal Carson. The timing was fortuitous, since there was a document whose classification had recently been lowered that he wanted to get Carson’s reaction to.

  CHAPTER 5: THE CARCHARODON ARRIVES

  Vaughan

  Five weeks ago: Starship Carcharodon

  “MR. VAUGHAN, WE’LL be entering the 82 Eridani system in about six hours. I’ll be dropping us out of warp in an hour for a position check,” the captain said.

  “Thank you. When we get to Tanith, we can do routine announcements and signals, but don’t tell them where we came from, pick somewhere else.”

  “Can do.” Stinson thought for a moment. “When we’re out of warp I’ll adjust our course so we arrive in-system looking like we come from Alpha Mensae. That way, when we contact Tanith, there won’t be any questions if someone notices our position vector.”

  “That sounds good. Do it.”

  “How long do you want to stay there? We’ll need a few days for repairs and resupply.”

  “At least that, obviously, but let’s leave it open ended. While we’re there I might as well look into our local operations.” Vaughan was fairly sure that there were no senior Velkaryans on Tanith, although there was certainly a local organization and an affiliated church. They were probably due for a bit of a shake-up, and, as he thought about it, the system was in a strategic location relative to Earth, Verdigris, and the now-interesting Zeta Reticuli.

  As he recalled, there were no native aliens on Tanith. While that was good, he wondered if it would make recruiting more difficult. Well, there were ways of stirring up sympathy.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Half a ship’s day later, the Carcharodon was deep in-system, nearing 82 Eridani IV—the planet Tanith—from north of the ecliptic. They picked up the usual data from the approach beacon and Captain Stinson adjusted their course and orbit appropriately before hailing the Harp City spaceport. He announced his presence and requested landing instructions.

  “Roger Carcharodon, this is Harp City. How long do you expect to be staying?”

  “At least a week or so, Harp. We had a run in with something and took some minor damage, I’d like to get the ship checked out. The owner’s aboard, we may stay longer.”

  “Understood, Carcharodon. Any injuries? Do you want to declare an emergency?”

  “Negative, Harp. Nothing like that, just minor.”

  “Roger. Glad it wasn’t anything more serious. We’ll give you a parking area where a maintenance crew can get at the ship.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay, you’re cleared to land. No other traffic at the moment. Runway 05 is the active. Stay on this channel until landing, then contact ground when clear and we’ll direct you to your spot.”

  “Roger, Harp, Carcharodon is cleared to land zero-five.”

  In atmosphere, the ship glided toward the runway like its marine namesake cruising for prey. Stinson brought it in over the threshold with the minimum use of the ventral thrusters, then increased power just as the ship neared the surface, letting ground effect help cushion the landing. He kept it in hover just above the runway, using reverse thrust to slow the ship down, until he turned off at the designated ramp.

  “Harp Spaceport Ground, Carcharodon is clear of the active,” he reported.

  “Roger Carcharodon. Would you like a tow in?”

  “Affirmative ground. A tow would be nice.” Stinson could taxi the ship using thrusters, but it was simpler to let someone else worry about it. Of course, he'd keep an eye on them to make sure they were doing it right.

  CHAPTER 6: THE WHITE HART

  Roberts

  Ten days ago: Clarkeville Spaceport, Taprobane

  WITH THE SOPHIE’S tanks topped off, Jackie Roberts was ready to head over to the Kangara University campus to meet Marten. She hadn’t bothered to restock the kitchen or flush the life support holding tanks. The two of them on the short trip from Sawyers World hadn’t reduced the supplies much, and she’d be alone on the trip to Skead. There was no sense in paying more port fees than she had to.

  From the spaceport to town was about three kilometers. There was little public transportation in Clarkeville, just a few autocabs, so Roberts headed to her aft cargo bay to retrieve her motorbike, then changed her mind. Her next destination, Skead, was a large, dense planet. Its gravity was higher than Earth’s, or any other planet she’d been on in the past year. No wonder she had felt out of shape on Zeta Reticuli III. She would walk into town; she could use the exercise. Come to that, she thought, I should ramp up the ship’s gravity on the way there. The Sophie’s artificial gravity was a byproduct of the warp field. Within limits, it could be adjusted for just such acclimatization.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  By the time Jackie reached the edge of campus, she was feeling the exercise. She promised herself to do regular workouts on the way to Tau Ceti. Just ahead was the pub, the Pragarth Maga. A wooden sign hung from a bracket above the door, depicting a white deer-like creature; the name of the pub meant roughly “albino deer” in the local timoan dialect. The building appeared to be old stone and the sign was weather-beaten. Roberts knew that the whole town couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. The medieval appearance was in tune with the iron-age native towns elsewhere on Borealia and on the nearby mainland. The timoan students selected to study here were well aware of the technology levels hidden behind the facade, but it helped ease their culture shock on arrival. At least, that was the theory. As Roberts opened the door and entered the pub, it was clear that the students, timoan and human alike, were equally comfortable with technology. She saw the same collection of omnis, computer pads, and smart-fabric clothing that she’d expect to see on any human campus on Earth or the settled worlds. There was also a lot of ornamental copper and iron jewelry, clothing that looked hand-spun, and leather belts and gear bags being worn by both timoans and humans, reflecting the locals’ native culture.

  There was a strong aroma of something savory cooking—timoans were as omnivorous as humans—overlaid by the smell of beer. Ceramic mugs of ale were on most of the occupied tables. Timoans had independently invented beer, or rather something beer-like consid
ering the different heritage of the ingredients, and like any mammal, could—and did—get drunk on ethanol. Roberts decided she liked this place, but she’d have to watch her consumption, or she’d regret it later. Flying with a hangover was only slightly less stupid than flying drunk.

  Marten was there ahead of her, sitting at a table with two other people, both probably students from their apparent youth and the deference they seemed to show him. Both female, one human and one timoan, although Roberts was less certain about the gender of the latter.

  Marten stood as she came over to the table. “Jackie, good to see you. Ladies, this is Captain Jackie Roberts of the starship Sophie, which I just came in on. Jackie, this is Narina,”—the timoan female nodded—“and Suzanne,”—the human half-raised her hand. “They were in my Archeology 201 class last year.”

  “Narina, Suzanne,” Jackie said, nodding to them, “nice to meet you.” She sat down on one of the empty chairs at the table.

  Marten said something to them in the local Taprobani dialect. Narina signaled agreement but Suzanne looked puzzled, perhaps she had only understood part of it. Narina said something to her, also in Taprobani. She looked a little disappointed and both students rose to leave.

  “You don’t have to leave on my account,” Jackie said.

  “Thanks, but that’s not it,” Suzanne said. “We have a class assignment we need to work on. Nice meeting you.” With that, the two of them turned and walked toward the door. Narina, average height for a timoan but shorter than her human friend, stretched up and whispered something to Suzanne, who quickly glanced back at the table, then back at Narina. They both giggled.

  Roberts looked at Marten. She had a suspicion about what that last was about, but she shrugged it off. “An assignment? Really? Or an assignation?”