Star stuff, p.7
Star Stuff, page 7
They found themselves light-centuries from home.
Tom leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly.
Well, goddamn.
Many starships were flying here too. There was just as much traffic on this side. Many of the ships here were even stranger. Tom saw one enormous starship with many tendrils, each ending with a spherical pod like a fruiting body. The pods were translucent, revealing swirling aliens like baby snakes inside eggs. Another starship was shaped like a giant ball of fungus, gray and mottled with yellow splotches. A tube extended from the fleshy sphere, and a vent blasted out a cloud of spores, propelling the fungal balloon onward. A herd of starwhales glided above. They were enormous animals, sprouting glowing barbels around their mouths. The gentle giants swam through the cosmic oceans, feeding on stardust. Tom watched a few young starwhales—each was already the size of a space shuttle—frolicking among the stars.
As Tom piloted the Galapagos forward, he had to suddenly bank left. Rings of buoys floated above, and a hundred small shuttles raced round and round the glowing tracks. Each shuttle was painted with different colors and motifs—some with fire, others with lightning bolts, some with stars, fangs, or sunbursts. An audience sat in transparent orbs, watching the races, cheering for their favorite pilots. Tom flew lower, giving the racing tracks a wide berth.
Farther out, the Galapagos flew by a space station. It was shaped like a mushroom. The metal cap was as big as a city, glittering with thousands of hangars, welcoming starships to dock. Neon signs hung around each hangar, as bright and colorful as flowers trying to attract insects. Some neon signs featured alien languages. Tom's imagination ran wild. He imagined that some hangars led to bars. Others to casinos, brothels, wrestling rings, drug dens, and a thousand other hives of sin. Each sign called out: Dock here, dock here!
Tom wanted to fly toward one hangar. To dock. To saunter in and explore a bar full of bizarre aliens. Maybe even try some of the local ale.
And yet another signal beaconed. That mystery ahead. A human folk song in the depths of space.
"Maybe on our way back, we'll stop for a drink," Tom said to his crew. "I'm sure you're as thirsty as I am."
"Damn right!" Hancock said, mustache bristling.
"But first we have a mystery to solve," Tom said. "If there are still humans out here, we need to find them. And we need to understand how the hell they've been here since 1904."
The crew was looking longingly at the space station, no doubt imagining the delights and wonders within. But they nodded. They would do their duty.
They flew onward, leaving the space station, the racetracks, the starwhales, and all the wonders of the wormhole behind. Soon enough, they were gliding through empty space again. The galactic nexus remained a dim glow behind them. The infinite emptiness spread ahead.
"Titania, are we still picking up that radio signal?" Tom said.
The android tapped at a control panel. She nodded, and it almost seemed that excitement filled her glass eyes. "Yes, sir! The radio signal is strong here. It's coming from Theta Scorpii, that nearby star." She pointed at a bright dot on the viewport. "It's only 0.223 light-years away, sir. Right next door."
"Run the radio wave through the speakers," Tom said. "Let's have a listen. I wonder what song they're playing now."
Titania tapped at the controls.
"Streaming the signal now, sir," Titania said.
A speaker crackled to life.
A voice emerged. Grainy. A voice like crinkling parchment in a dusty tomb.
"Earthling ship! Danger lies ahead. Leave or die."
The voice faded to static. Then the recording began again.
"Earthling ship! Danger lies ahead. Leave or—"
Tom tapped a button, cutting it off.
Damn, he thought.
* * * * *
They gathered in the briefing room—the captain and his officers around the oak table.
Major Winter stood with them. The HOPE officers all wore neatly pressed uniforms, navy blue, the buttons polished. Winter had doffed her furs, but she still wore her battlesuit. The dark garment clung to her body, heavy with graphene plates of armor, each mimicking another muscle. She carried her helmet under her arm, a pistol clung to her thigh, and an assault rifle hung across her back. She looked every inch the modern warrior, while Tom—with his blazer and cap—felt like some ancient sea captain, a relic from history.
Maybe I am a man from an older era, he thought. An era that predates starships. Maybe even an era that predates civilization. An era when a man navigated by stars and the wind, when the song of exploration lured him into the unknown.
He reached across the conference table, tapped a button, and the radio picked up the signal again. Its photons were still pounding their starship.
"Earthling ship! Danger lies ahead. Leave or die. Earthling ship! Dan—"
Tom switched off the radio, raised his eyes, and looked at his crew.
"Sounds more like a threat than a warning," Tom said. "Thoughts?"
Winter snorted. "Sounds like a lame threat. I say we fly onward, find the bastard, and call his bluff." She patted the heavy plasma gun on her thigh. "Maybe I'll introduce him to Lucille."
"I hope there is no need for violence, Major Winter Emery." Tom gave his sister a stern look, then turned toward his android. "Titania, this recording might be years old. Hell, even centuries old. Just an endless loop, trying to scare away unwanted visitors. Can you tell when it was recorded?"
"Not with current information, sir," the android said. "The audio voice does sound crackly, suggesting primitive recording equipment, not a modern microphone. It's consistent with a voice recorded on an ancient, twentieth-century magnetic tape. That could suggest the recording is centuries old. Or it might be a recent recording made using ancient technology. I can't tell just by listening."
Tom nodded. "Thank you, Titania. And given our current distance from Theta Scorpii, when did they begin to broadcast this voice, be it a modern or ancient recording?"
"These particular radio waves, the ones washing over our starship today, left Theta Scorpii three months ago," Titania said.
"Three months ago, we were exploring the Beta Hydri, and we never imagined we'd fly out here," Tom said. "This recording wasn't made specifically for us. It's a generic warning. In English too! Trying to keep Earthlings away. They might have been broadcasting it for years. What the hell is going on here?"
Commander Hancock rose to his feet. The old bulldog was swaying. He had spent long hours at the bar last night. "Ah, probably some rogue messiah, building a utopia on a distant planet to avoid paying taxes. Probably wants to avoid bigamy laws too. I've dealt with his type."
"A cult leader who's been here since 1904?" Tom said. "Did he fly here in a hot air balloon?"
Hancock snorted out laugher. "Probably. A balloon filled with your hot air, smartass."
A few shocked looks passed around the briefing room. Tom suppressed a chuckle. Only Hancock could get away with talking like that to his captain. If anyone else showed half that much gall, they'd end their night in the brig.
But Hancock saved my life many times, Tom thought. He's a gruff old bulldog who barks a lot and sometimes bites. And he's damn loyal and my best friend.
"I don't think this warrants fleeing with our tail between our legs," Tom said. "We need more information. I suggest we keep flying toward Theta Scorpii. All agreed?"
"Hell yeah!" Winter said. "Warriors never retreat."
But young Floribeth stood up, wringing her hands. The helmswoman didn't speak often during meetings, and her knees trembled, but she managed to get the words out. "Sir, if I may … What if we find an actual society here? A functioning government? Would we be violating their space?"
"There's only one way to find out," Tom said. "We keep going. We explore."
Winter tapped her pistol. "And if they look at us wrong, and kick their asses back into the stone age, then build a shopping mall on the ruins."
Tom sighed inwardly.
When explorers and warriors meet, empires rise, he thought.
He had never wanted to build empires, just to understand the wonders of the night. And he wondered if the true danger was not on the planet ahead … but here in this starship.
* * * * *
It was past midnight when Tom entered the starship lounge. He could not sleep. His cabin brought only stifling shadows and haunting memories. Better to sit at the bar, nurse a drink, and watch the stars.
Tom almost never came here. He wasn't much of a drinker, he normally took his meals in his cabin, and he disliked crowds. But tonight the lounge was quiet. The night crew manned the bridge and engine room. Everyone else was in their cabins, relaxing or sleeping. When Tom approached the bar, he saw a solitary figure sitting on a stool, holding a cup.
"Tom?" Hancock rose to his feet. "Is that really you? Captain Tom Emery, coming to the bar like a pleb?"
"Don't let me disturb you," Emery said. "Keep enjoying your drink."
"It is you." Hancock squinted at him. "I haven't seen you in this lounge since … Hell, probably not since the ship's christening."
"Tonight I need a drink," Emery said.
Hancock gestured at the stool beside him. "Sit down, son. Keep an old man company."
Emery sat down beside the older man. The robotic bartender hovered toward them. The drone looked like a metal jellyfish. A round tray formed its body. Slender arms like tentacles dangled from its underbelly.
"What'll be, sir?" the drone said, voice metallic.
"Crown Royal," Tom said. "Neat."
"An excellent choice, sir," said the robot.
"Make it two," Hancock said. He looked at Tom. "My old man used to drink Crown Royal. He let me keep the purple bags."
The drone hovered toward a shelf. Its skinny metal arms lifted a bottle of whiskey, poured two glasses, and served them.
"Enjoy, sirs!"
The robot kept hovering before them, watching them eagerly with little cameras.
"Are you waiting for a reaction or a tip?" Hancock said. "Get outta here!" He waved the drone away.
Tom chuckled. "Abusing the staff as usual."
Hancock snorted. "That's a glorified tray, not staff." He sipped his drink, sloshed it in his mouth, and relaxed. "Not bad. Can't compete with Orion whiskey. But not bad."
Tom sipped his own drink. He savored the flavor before swallowing. He thought back to himself at age sixteen. His father had given him his first taste of alcohol. A local beer. Still the best drink Tom had ever had.
"The problem with these drone bartenders," Tom said, "is that you can't talk to them."
Hancock took another sip, put his cup down. His cheeks were already flushing. But when he looked at Tom, his eyes were hard and sober. "But you can talk to me."
Tom nodded. "I know I can, old friend. You've always been there for me and my family." He took another sip, savored it.
"Well?" Hancock rumbled. "Do I need to get behind the bar and serve you another cup? Out with it! Talk, man!"
Tom couldn't help but laugh. His mirth soon faded, however. He stared at a poster that hung above the bar—a vintage ad for space exploration, featuring a buxom astronaut with a bubble helmet, enticing volunteers to "come see the stars!"
"I told him, you know." Tom stared at that poster, but he spoke to the man beside him. Or maybe he was speaking to himself, to his past, his ghosts. "I told Aaron he had no business on Ganymede. I told him it's a war zone. That the rebels were getting more brazen, attacks more frequent. That he should keep his ass away."
"Geez, an Emery going into a danger zone?" Hancock snorted. "Never heard that before."
Tom smiled wryly. "Yes, it runs in the family, I suppose. Aaron insisted on going. Stubborn bastard. He was as much an idealist as a cartographer. If we could map Ganymede, he told me, Earth's government could rout out the rebels. Bring peace to the solar system. So of course I did the only sensible thing."
Hancock nodded. "You went with him. To protect your little brother."
"To protect my little brother!" Tom raised his cup in a mock salute. "Like I always did back on Earth. I spent half my childhood chasing him. He would wander too deep into forests and get lost. Swim out to sea and nearly drown. Go spelunking down caves and I'd have to fish him out."
Hancock sipped his drink. "Good word, spelunking."
Tom lowered his head. "When the rebels caught us, Aaron remained optimistic. He said they just wanted a little ransom, and we'll be back on Earth in no time. Hell, he made friends with them! That crazy son of a bitch made friends with the terrorists who kidnapped us."
"That boy could make friends with the devil himself," Hancock said, raising his cup in his own salute.
"It's been a year, and I can't stop thinking about it," Tom said. "I keep thinking back to that day. Could I have done anything differently?"
"You couldn't have done anything," Hancock said. "It was our job to rescue our captain."
"And you rescued me," Tom said. "And Aaron remained behind. I've analyzed that day a million times. I reviewed Titania's memory logs, went over her algorithms line by line, trying to understand why she had decided to mount a raid. Why she tried to rescue us instead of negotiating. I kept reading and rereading Winter's report. How she followed the android's advice, stormed the barracks, killed six terrorists. And I keep seeing it, Hancock. I keep seeing that seventh, last terrorist filling Aaron with bullets."
"Titania was not the only one who made the call," Hancock said. "We all did. I did. She's a computer, and she analyzed the data, she applied her game theory algorithms, and she made a recommendation. Ultimately the final decision was mine. And I approved the plan. Do I regret it?" Hancock thought for a moment. "No. I made the best choice given the information on hand."
Tom stood up and hurled his glass. It shattered against the antique poster, splattering the buxom astronaut with whiskey.
"And after Aaron died, we learned the truth!" Tom said. "That the terrorists were willing to negotiate! To take a ransom! We could have paid some money. No more than it costs to fly the Galapagos for a month. And Aaron would be here with us now."
Hancock rose to his feet too. The old bulldog raised his chin. "Tom, they told us their demands were complete independence from Earth—"
"So they told you, so they told you! So what? You negotiate! You haggle!"
"We don't negotiate with terrorists! That's HOPE policy."
"Aaron wasn't part of HOPE!" Tom shouted, and suddenly tears flowed down his cheeks. "He was a civilian. A mapmaker. My brother." He sank back onto his stool. "He was my baby brother, and I watched them butcher him."
Hancock emptied his cup and slammed it down. "And I just watched you waste good Canadian whiskey. This stuff is hard to find in space, you know."
They looked at the shattered pieces of glass. The drone was hovering above the shards, cleaning the mess.
"I lost my cool," Tom said. "That was … unprofessional. I've never done anything like this before. I'm sorry."
Hancock put a hand on his shoulder. "And we never had to rescue anyone before. I'm sorry for your loss, Tom. But maybe it's time to let go of some of that rage. And just grieve. You still have Winter. Don't you lose her too."
"Another drink, sir?" the drone said, hovering back toward them. Tom could swear he heard dry sarcasm in the machine's voice.
"Make it two," Hancock said. "And keep 'em coming."
Tom stayed at the bar for another hour and two more drinks. He and the old man talked. About past adventures. That time at Alpha Corvi, discovering singing crystals on an unexplored planet and teaching them the Beatles. Witnessing a starwhale giving birth at Beta Aquilae. Docking at an alien space station at Gamma Serpentis, drinking at a bar full of unknown species, and surviving a brawl with a group of drunken aliens with more tentacles than manners. Lots of stories. Lots of good times.
There will be more stories, Tom thought.
He raised his last cup. "To Aaron. And to more adventures."
Hancock clinked his cup against Tom's. "I'll drink to that."
Tom swayed a little on his way back to his cabin. He wasn't much of a drinker. When he finally found his bed, he sank instantly into a deep sleep. For the first time in a year, he slept without dreaming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It rose ahead, shining off the starboard bow: Theta Scorpii. A beaming binary star. The source of the signal.
Earthlings had known about Theta Scorpii for millennia. Viewed from Earth, it shone in the Scorpius constellation, a bump along the celestial arachnid's tail. The Sumerians had named the star Sargas at the dawn of history. The Persians had tracked its movements to time the watering of their crops. The ancient Chinese had named it wei xiu wu, meaning "the fifth star of tail." The first starship captains to explore deep space, enamored by its beauty, had called it "the Forbidden Diamond," for the bright star lay beyond the borders of human enterprise.
And from a distance, it did indeed appear as a single star. Throughout history, humans had believed it a single star. But from here, Tom could see the truth. It was a binary system—two stars orbiting each other.
"The first time I saw a binary star, I was blown away," Tom said, watching the two lights rise into view. "But most systems we reach are binary stars. It's Sol, our beloved star back home, that's unusual."
Winter stood beside him on the bridge. The light of the twin stars shone against her pale face, her black braid, and her dark armor. "New Siberia only had one star. If you could call it that. Was barely more than a guttering candle in the wind."
Tom turned toward her. "Nobody forced you to serve on New Siberia."
She snorted. "You know I had no choice."
His lips felt dry. It was too hot on the bridge.
"Winter …" He hesitated, then plowed ahead. "I'm sorry. For how I reacted back then. I no longer blame you for what happened. I was hurt. I was mad with grief. I was willing to blame anyone else. Titania for doing the calculations. You for storming the holdout. Anyone but myself. And it was my fault. I realize that now. It was—"
