The Reticuli Deception (Adventures of Hannibal Carson Book 2)
Author: Mayer, Alastair
Date: 2013-05-01

THE RETICULI

DECEPTION

a novel of T-space™

Alastair Mayer

Mabash Books

The Reticuli Deception

Alastair Mayer

Kindle Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Alastair Mayer

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed, electronic, or other form without permission.  This book is available in print and ebook forms from Amazon and other retailers.

T-Space is a trademark of Alastair Mayer

Cover © 2012 by Mabash Books

Image credit:

future girl © innovari - Fotolia.com

Image used by permission.

A  Mabash Books original.

Mabash Books, Centennial, Colorado

Kindle Edition,  April 2013

For Col. Jack E. Steele, M.D., 1924-2009.

Physician, pilot, engineer, “father of bionics,” long-time SF fan, and Grandpa to my children.

Contents

Prelude

1: Insight

2: Change of Plans

3: Rico

4: Prep for departure

5: To Earth

6: To Taprobane

7: Rico Arrives

8: Epsilon Indi

9: Rico Takes a Ride

10: Meeting with Marten

11: Meeting in St. Louis

12: Verdigris

13: Rico Has a Plan

14: New Toronto

15: Communication

16: Landing

17: The Plan

18: Cutting Daisies

Interlude I

19: On to the Pyramid

20: Rico Goes Shopping

21: Within the Pyramid

22: Planning a Visit

23: Steel Mesa

24: Hallelujah

25: Meanwhile

26: Abduction

27: Blue Book

Interlude II

28: Evasion

29: Deep Space

30: Rico

31: Nearing Zeta Reticuli

32: Leaving Earth

33: Zeta 1 Reticuli

34: Analysis

35: Exploring

36: Planetfall

37: Trouble

38: More Trouble

Interlude III

39: Carson’s Questions

40: Ketzshanass

41: Escape/Rescue

42: The Kesh

43: Leaving Z

44: Home

Postlude

Glossary

Acknowledgments

Preview:  Alpha Centauri: First Landing

About the Author

THE RETICULI

DECEPTION

Prelude

Approaching Earth, circa 100 CE

Kukul dropped the ship out of warp high above the ocean which covered nearly half this world, on a trajectory that would take them over the south polar continent.  That should keep them well away from the monitoring stations on the other side of the planet, where three continental masses converged around a large sea.  The natives on the northern continents there had already developed a considerable, if still low-tech, civilization, and they were being watched.

The timing of their entry also ensured that they would be hidden from the monitoring base on the large moon; it couldn’t look through the planet.  The orbital radiation belts dipped lowest over the ocean and the other large southern continent, that would help mask their entry too.

The ship screamed into the atmosphere over Antarctica, skirting what would later become known as the South Atlantic Anomaly and hugging the western coast of the future South America.  If he’d been given correct information on the monitoring satellites’ orbits, the atmospheric entry flare would be lost in the glare of the setting sun.

Their trajectory took them north, following the mountain range.

“Kukul,” Quetz, his passenger, said, “what is that glow ahead?”

Kukul checked the forward scanners and his crest feathers rippled in consternation.  He zoomed the image and cut in other scanners, and realized with sudden dread what the towering clouds ahead were.

“It looks like the ash plume from an active volcano.”

“Nobody said anything about volcanoes!”

Kukul banked the deltoid ship and cut in maneuvering thrusters.  “We had limited data, geology was a secondary concern.  I’ll try to steer clear of the plume.”  Unfortunately this ship didn’t have much crossrange.

“Can our hull take the scouring?”

“Perhaps, but we’re still traveling at high speed, I can’t be sure.  There would be damage to the external sensors.”

He’d managed to turn his trajectory away from the thickest plume when the glow suddenly brightened and he saw streaks of light rising from the base of the cloud.  The volcano had just belched fire and magma.  Kukul wondered how high and far the lava bombs could reach.  If he cut in main thrusters to climb, the monitors would pick him up for sure.  His crest feathers flattened back against his skull with anticipation.

A loud bang and an impact that shook the ship answered his question.  High enough to reach them.  He banked hard away from the volcano, trying to ignore a vibration which suggested the hull had lost its aerodynamic integrity.  The ship dived lower into the thick air, shedding velocity.  The volcano was behind them now; they would check out the ship when they reached the landing area.  The ground below was all jungle; he’d crossed this planet’s equator shortly before the volcano blew.  They were now barely at twice the altitude of the mountains, and the ground quickly gave way to ocean as he passed beyond the southern continent and paralleled the narrow isthmus that joined it to the northern one.  Their destination.

A sudden tearing sound, accompanied by a bucking, yawing vibration, told him things were not well with the ship.  They had to set down now.  But where?  The jungle was out of the question.  There were some cleared areas—fields cultivated by the natives, if they were that advanced on this continent—but too small for his purpose.  If the hull were intact he could attempt a water landing, approaching from offshore and stopping at the beach if he planned it right.

He scanned the board.  Damage showed on the port-side leading edge, but above the nominal waterline.  He scanned the terrain beneath him.  The irregular coastline was behind him and they were heading out to sea again, but to his left, near the horizon, the coast continued in a more-or-less northerly direction.  He banked towards it, shedding air-speed to reduce the buffeting of their damaged airframe.  There was no choice but to risk a brief radar burst to check the surface.  There.  To the north an offshore chain of islands showed.

“Stand by,” he told Quetz.  “We’re going to ditch south of those islands.”

“Ditch?  As in water?”  Quetz sounded not at all happy.

Kukul said nothing but his crest feathers flattened back in determination. He dropped lower, lining up for a water landing.  The ocean surface ahead looked reasonably smooth.

Too late, Kukul saw the low line of surf at the edge of the calm water.  A barrier reef. Perhaps he’d clear it before hitting the sea.  He came in low, but left the surf behind him as he approached the surface.  He pulled the nose of his ship up to let the trailing edge touch.  Gently, gently. . .

The aft edge touched a wave and Kukul lurched forward as the ship suddenly slowed, the nose coming down and hitting the water with a smack!  Kukul struggled desperately to keep the nose from going under; if he porpoised they would be done for.  He had to keep it hydroplaning.  Keep it up, up.  Yes!  The ship was slowing now; they were going to make it.

Bang!  The ship shuddered again and pushed upwards as though it had been hammered from beneath.  Alarms screamed at him from his console, and Kukul realized with dismay that the hull had cracked.  They hadn’t cleared the whole reef after all.

“Get the life raft and whatever else you can grab quickly!” he called to Quetz. “I’ll get the portable analyzers. Maybe we can salvage the mission.” Water, thankfully warm, had begun flooding into the cabin, and they scrambled to pull emergency gear together.

It was time to abandon ship.

1:  Insight

Sawyers World, Alpha Centauri A, 2122CE

Built nearly thirty-five years ago, the weather-beaten hangar in a remote corner of Sawyer Spaceport was one of the oldest structures on the planet, the third innermost circling Alpha Centauri A.  Dr. Hannibal Carson, Professor of ExoArcheology, paused at a familiar door at one corner of the building.  The “Office of Techno Archeology” plaque was gone; the replacement, looking as aged as its predecessor had, read “QD Shipping.”

This time the main hangar doors were open. An S-class starship filled the central bay. Carson recognized it as Jackie Roberts’s Sophie.  It had several panels removed and there was a tool cart next to one of the openings.  A profusion of cables ran from connectors on the hull to some kind of diagnostic computer sitting on the cart with its lights blinking and graphs displaying on its screens.

He made his way to the back of the hangar and up the metal stairs to the mezzanine, meeting Ducayne at his office door.

“‘QD Shipping’?” Carson said.  “Isn’t using your initials a bit of a giveaway?”

“Who said Quentin Ducayne was my real name?  Anyway, we tell people it stands for quick ‘n’ dirty.”

“That must discourage customers.”

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

Carson shook his head.  Spooks.  “So what do we have?  I take it Jackie came up with something?”

“I did.” Jackie Roberts appeared from the office adjacent to Ducayne’s.

Jackie looked as good as ever, from her dark-green hair in its characteristic page-boy cut—short enough to not be troublesome in zero-gee—to her Chelsea-style ship boots, although her coveralls didn't compliment the figure Carson remembered.  He snapped himself out of it.  “I didn’t know you were here,” he said.

“I wanted to be able to keep an eye on Sophie while she’s undergoing repairs.  Ducayne offered me quarters but this works.”

“The offer’s still open, Captain Roberts.  It would be a lot more comfortable than that office or your ship while people are working on it.”

“Let me guess,” said Carson, turning to Ducayne.  “These quarters are down in the same complex as the briefing rooms?”  He remembered Jackie’s aversion to enclosed, underground spaces.

“Of course.”

“Then she’s probably happier where she is.  Unless,” he turned back to Jackie, “you want something on campus?  We’ve usually got dorm rooms available for visitors.”

“No, thanks.  I really do prefer to keep an eye on my ship.”

Carson nodded in understanding.  “So what do you have?”

Jackie looked over at Ducayne, who said: “We’ll talk in the briefing room.”

Carson sighed and nodded.  “Very well.”

Together they went back down the stairs to the hangar floor and across to a small office, which Carson knew served as a secret elevator to the lower levels.  As they skirted the Sophie, Carson cast an appraising eye over the work.  Much of the outer hull had been removed, and he could see that a warp module had already been removed.  On Chara III they had spent days carefully moving that into position to compensate for attack damage.  Now it sat on an equipment cradle toward the rear of the hangar.

“Your repair team has been busy,” Carson said to Ducayne.

“It sure beats the duct-tape and wire we used to get back from Chara,” said Jackie.  “And not just repair, they’re making a few modifications too.”

Ducayne nodded.  “A bit more range, and a few other tweaks.  We want you to have more of an edge if you get jumped again.  You got lucky with Hopkins and Maynard.”

“Jackie’s flying skills helped with Hopkins.”

“Thanks, Hannibal, but Ducayne’s right.  We were lucky.”

While they’d been talking, they’d entered the small office and the elevator had started down.

“Briefing Room Two” Ducayne said as they cleared the security post.  The familiar briefing room was already occupied by a lone man.  Carson recognized him as one of the two from his original briefing when he’d first met Ducayne.

“Mr. Brown, wasn’t it?” he asked extending a hand, “Or was that Mr. Black?”

The man smiled and accepted the handshake.  “To tell you the truth I don’t recall.  You can call me—” he cast a quick glance towards Ducayne, who returned the glance but with neither a nod or a shake of his head that Carson could see “—Brown.”

“All right,” said Carson.  “I take it you know Captain Jackie Roberts?” he added, not sure if the introduction was needed.

“Yes, Jackie—Captain Roberts—and I have been working on your talisman star maps.”

“Jackie is fine, Malcolm,” she said, “We’re not on my ship.”

Malcolm?  Carson wondered if that were also a cover name as he and the others seated themselves at the conference table.  “So,” he said, looking at Jackie and Brown, “what have you got?”

Jackie glanced at Ducayne, who nodded.  “Locations,” she said, “at least some.”  She touched a pad on the table and the main briefing screen lit up.  It showed eight images of stone talismans, each in the shape of a rounded square or, more precisely, a supercircle.  They all showed signs of wear, and all had line and gemstone decorations similar to that of the Chara talisman, a decoration which had proved to be a star map.  And they were all different.

He let out a low whistle.  “Eight!”

“That’s right, your little net spider has been effective.”

Carson had found a talisman fragment amidst stone-age ruins which turned out to contain a 15,000 year-old technetium battery.  He’d launched a net search to find images of similar-looking artifacts in private or museum collections.  That search had called Ducayne’s attention to him in the first place.  It had turned up six by the time they returned from Chara.

“It turned up two more,” Jackie continued.  “Ducayne managed to pry some loose from their collections.  We have three in hand,” she touched a key, highlighting three of the talismans, “with one more on the way.”  She highlighted a fourth image.

“Fantastic!  What locations?”

“This one,” she singled out an image and filled the screen with it, “doesn’t seem to point anywhere, at least, not so far.”

“It looks different from the others somehow, the pattern feels different.”

“Good call.  That’s the one that didn’t seem to have any internal structure.  It’s probably a fake.”

“I want to take a close look at it,” Carson said.  “If it's old, it could be an indigenous low-tech copy.  For that matter, I want to look at all of them.”

“You will,” said Ducayne.  “We want you to go over each in detail as we get hold of them.  See if you can spot fakes or anything else unusual.  We’ll do a more detailed set of scans and take samples of—”

“Not before I examine them!  The samples, I mean.”

“No, of course not.  Brown here has been giving us good advice on that.”

Brown nodded agreement.

“All right.  What about other locations?”

“We have tentative locations for three that we only have images of.  We’ll confirm them when we get our hands on them. At least one of those is much further out than we’ve explored.  Two of the images aren’t clear enough to be sure of the gem colors, too much dirt on the artifacts, and our guesses haven’t come up with matches yet.”  Jackie flipped up another image, show two talismans.  “These two correspond, as best we can tell, to known locations in T-space.”

“Where?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me, damn it.”

“Okay, this one here,” she gestured, “seems to indicate Delta Pavonis.”

Carson turned to look sharply at her.  “That’s where I found that first fragment.” He’d almost missed the talisman fragment, lying in the dirt in an ancient tomb.  If it hadn’t been broken, he wouldn’t have detected the weak radiation from the technetium it contained, nor noticed its internal structure. The decay products of the technetium, an element with no naturally occurring isotopes, had let them date it at approximately 15,000 years old.  That had been quite a surprise.  “We know there were spacefarers there, but there’s no sign of a pyramid, not like what we found on Chara III.”

“But you did find a pyramid, didn’t you Dr. Carson?”  Brown’s sudden question surprised him.

“Well, yes, but it was just a burial chamber, almost certainly built by the locals.  I suppose we can go back to Delta Pavonis and look again, do a complete surface-scan.  Anything could be hidden in that jungle.”  It didn’t feel right though.  The jungle in that region of Verdigris was recent.  Up until a few hundred years ago it had been desert.  Stone soft enough to be worked would be unlikely to last fifteen millenia covered in jungle growth; the material that the Chara pyramid had been made of might, but even it had shown slight signs of wear and deterioration.  That pyramid had also been big enough to poke up above even the Verdigran jungle.

“Or it might be elsewhere on the planet, even under a glacier,” Brown said.  “That planet has gone through several climate shifts in the past ten or twenty thousand years.”

“Yes, that’s probably what wiped out the natives,” Carson agreed.  “What about the second talisman?  Where does that point?  Jackie?”

“Sol.”

He couldn’t have heard her correctly.  “Say again?”

“Sol. It points to Sol, Hannibal.  Earth’s sun.”

“I know where Sol is!  There’s no way there’s anything connected with spacefarers on Earth.”

“Are you sure about that?  Pyramids, rumors of ancient astronauts—”

“Nothing that’s old enough to fit the chronology.  I spent years looking.  The oldest Egyptian pyramids are nothing like what we found on Chara, and only a third as old.  Half at most.”

“Something that’s been overlooked?  Maybe still buried, or sunken, or under the ice?” asked Brown.

“Heck, maybe something buried on the Moon,” put in Roberts.

Carson glared at her.  She grinned back.

“All right,” growled Ducayne, “that’s enough.  Carson, is it at all possible there’s something on Earth?”

“We can’t rule out an unproven negative.  But I wouldn’t know where to begin looking on Earth, nor am I sure I’d want to.”

“Egypt?” asked Roberts.  “I hear that’s hardly radioactive at all anymore.”

“That doesn’t worry me.  I’ve visited the pyramids.  They have been so thoroughly explored, probed, investigated, neutrino-graphed, and probably dowsed that there can’t be anything significant there we haven’t found yet.  No.  Forget Earth for now.”

Ducayne and Brown looked at each other but didn’t say anything.  Carson wondered if there was some agenda he was missing, but he was convinced the real answers would be out in, or more likely beyond, T-space.  “What else do you have?” he asked.

“Several tentative locations,” Ducayne said, “but we don’t have the actual talismans to confirm them yet.”

“What about commonalities?” Carson said.  “Are these all the same size, same age, what?  Or have you looked at that yet?”

Brown sat up.  “From the information we have, these are all the same size to within a couple of millimeters.  The two genuine talismans we have, and your Chara talisman, match to within a tenth millimeter, and that difference may be due to wear.  As far as age—”

“Oh my gosh!”  Roberts had been sitting staring at the images.  Her sudden interruption caught everyone’s attention.

“What is it?”

“I just realized something.  Or maybe nothing.  Wait one.”  Roberts’ fingers hammered on a keypad as she retrieved data.  “Ducayne, how do I access Sophie from here, or tie into an astrophysical database?”

“Are Sophie’s computers on?”  Ducayne asked.

“It’s running diagnostics, but she’ll let me in.”

Ducayne rose and stepped over to her console.  He pressed his thumb against a scan-pad for a moment then tapped several keys.  “Okay, you have a link to Sophie.  You know her systems, that’ll be faster.  Does this have something to do with the patterns?”

“Yes.”  Roberts logged in to Sophie’s computers and kept working the console.

Carson was mystified.  “What’s going on, Jackie?”

“I don't know why it didn't hit me before, I've been working with these for a couple of weeks.  Well, that and repairs.”  Jackie looked up at the wall screen and flipped an image onto it, the array of all eight talismans. “We have all these stellar locations represented in 2.5-D coordinates.”  The realization that the color of the gemstones encoded the distance, or “half” dimension beyond X and Y, had been the breakthrough in decoding the pattern on the original talisman.

“Except for the bogus ones, yes.”  Carson almost felt he knew where she was going this, but couldn’t quite pin it down.  Something about the coordinates.

“Right.”  She dropped those from the display.  “But the thing about a 2.5-D display, just like a simple two dimensional representation, is that it assumes a point of view.”

“But with the Chara talisman, you said we didn’t know the point of view; that’s why we needed the third dimension.”

“To match the first one, yes, or any given one without any other context.  But now they give each other context.”

“So you can figure out a point of view?”  Carson had it now.  His heart thudded in his chest.  If they all had the same point of view . . .

“More like a direction of view.  But put several of these together—if they’re all drawn as viewed from the same place—and the directions of view will intersect.  Perhaps at the—”

“At the Spacefarer’s home system,” Carson cut her off.

“As of fifteen thousand years ago, yes.  I’m working that out now.”

“Carson, you’re not suggesting we just go drop in on them, are you?”  Ducayne asked.  “That could be asking for more trouble than I care to imagine.”

“How could we not go?  If they’re hostile they could have done us any time since the last ice age.”

“Maybe they’re only hostile to other spacefarers.  Or maybe approaching their system will make them hostile.  It’d sure make us nervous.”

“Got it!” Jackie called out.  “Near the edge of explored T-space, assuming fifteen thousand years.  Looking for a current match . . . and we have it.  Or rather, them.”

“Them?”

“I don’t know how precise those diagrams are, I’m allowing for a few parsecs of fudge.”

“That’s a lot of fudge,” Carson said.  “How many stars?”

“A dozen, but mostly red dwarfs or variable stars we can eliminate.”

“On the other hand they might have picked an unlikely star as the origin just because we’d probably ignore it,” pointed out Ducayne.

“What are the likeliest stars?” said Carson.

Roberts checked her screen.  “The nearest to the center of the probable position is an orange-red dwarf, HD-40307.  It’s a bit over twelve parsecs from here.  It does have planets, at least three big ones in tight orbits.  Not habitable, but there may be others, or habitable moons.”

“Huh, that’d be unusual.  What else?”

“There are a couple of sun-like stars, type G, slightly smaller than Sol, about four parsecs each from the center—”

“That is a big ball of fudge,” Carson objected.  “That takes up about a third of T-space.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Go ahead.  G-type stars.”

“One is Alpha Mensae, ten parsecs from here.  I don’t seem to have much data on it.  The other is Zeta Reticuli, at just under twelve parsecs away.  That’s actually a double star, but it’s a well-separated binary, over a light-month apart.  Both stars are G-type.”

“Excuse me, did you say Zeta Reticuli?”  Brown, who’d been sitting so still and quiet that Carson had thought he’d dozed off, sat up and leaned forward.  “That reminds me of something.”  He sat back and closed his eyes.

“What?” Carson and Roberts said simultaneously.

“Shush, give him a moment,” Ducayne said.

Brown opened his eyes again and leaned forward.  “Yes, Zeta Reticuli.  About a hundred and fifty, no, a hundred and sixty years ago—1961, I think—an American couple named Betty and Barney Hill claimed to have encountered a UFO, an alien spacecraft, although the details didn’t come out until later, under hypnosis.  Bizarre details, and everyone but the UFO cultists discounted it.  They claimed to have been taken aboard a spacecraft.  One that came from Zeta Reticuli.”

“What?”

2:  Change of Plans

Velkaryan HQ, Earth

The main conference room in the headquarters of the Church of Divine Stellar Providence, the Velkaryans, was the opposite of the deliberately nondescript briefing room of Ducayne’s offices. Like the rest of the building, it was nothing if not opulent.  The wood paneling comprised slabs taken from trees of a dozen different planets, although all from types which closely resembled their respective distant terrestrial cousin species, framed by gleaming slices of petrified woods of Earth.  The polished stone tabletop and room accents were of a type of marble in which swarmed hundreds of small fossils, mostly  the spiral shells of ammonites.  The fossils were more than just decorative; ammonites had gone extinct at the same time as the dinosaurs, at the same time—give or take a few millennia—as various planets around some of the nearer stars were being re-formed in Earth’s image; terraformed.  Velkaryan tenets held that this was done to make way for God’s Chosen: humans.  Fossils had been found on other planets, but nothing so old.  The carefully quarried, shaped and polished pieces here were a way of affirming that Earth was special, and therefore so must be humans.

The middle-aged man sitting at the head of the table, Hubble, the Church’s Executive Projects Director, touched his console.  “Next item of business,” he said, “the Chara project.”

He looked around at the leaders of his projects teams who were seated at the table.  “What news of Maynard, or even Hopkins?”  Maynard was one of their key men in the Alpha Centauri system.  He had departed Sawyers World for a rendezvous with Hopkins, a big-time tomb raider who had a lead on an alien yet high-tech artifact.  That was over three months ago; he was long overdue.

One of the team leaders cleared his throat and made his report.  “Still no word of either of them, sir.  We’ve had no reports of any ships matching either Star Wind”—that was a Velkaryan ship, Maynard had been in command—“or of Hopkins’ ship Hawk.  It’s a good bet that both of them are lost.”

“Damn it.  But Carson made it back, right?”  Hopkins had been following Carson, an archeologist who seemed intent on proving a connection between primitive cultures on different worlds, something only possible with space travel.

“Yes sir, he’s back at Drake University on Sawyer’s World.  It’s possible that he never went to Chara, the data could be unreliable.”

“What about the ship he was on?  Sophia, Starfire, something like that?”

“The Sophie.  It’s a charter ship and business owned and captained by a Jacqueline Roberts.  Records show she returned Carson to Sawyer’s but there are no flight plans showing that either the ship or Roberts has moved on from there.  Now, they could have left without filing a flight plan—”

“Unusual for a charter operator, especially if she’s also got her courier’s papers.”  Couriering small packages and, especially, data and network updates between stars was a valuable revenue supplement for such operators.

“She does.  However, the Homeworld Defense operation at Sawyer Spaceport has a new cover, QD Shipping, and they’ve been overhauling a Sapphire-class ship in their hangar.  Roberts’ ship is Sapphire-class.”

“You think she’s working for Ducayne?”

“That doesn’t really match what we have of her personality profile, she’s too independent.  But he might have hired her on as an independent contractor.”

“Hmm.”  Hubble considered this.  It would be a change in the way Homeworld Defense normally did things, as though Ducayne was taking a more proactive role rather than passive information gathering.  That could be trouble.  It would be good to know more about this Roberts, and Carson.  On the other, that didn’t answer the original question.

“That doesn’t tell us what happened to Maynard or Hopkins,” Hubble said.  “What about their crews?  If somebody turned they should be somewhere in inhabited T-space.”

“That’s a good point.  I’ll see what we have in the way of personnel data and pass the word to be on the look out for them.”

“Make it a priority.  Maynard was valuable.  If someone did turn, I want them killed.  Slowly.  But make sure we wring any information out of them first.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hubble touched his screen to bring up the next item.

“Right, moving on.  Political demonstrations . . .”

∞ ∞ ∞

Briefing room, Sawyer City

“What?” Jackie exclaimed.  “And, a hundred and sixty years . . . how do you even know that?”

“No, I think he’s right,” Carson said.  He had dug through scores of old UFO contact stories looking for hints of the real spacefarers, but there’d been too many inconsistencies between them. “Wasn’t there something about a map?”

“I was getting to that.  The aliens didn’t really say where they were from, but Betty Hill reported seeing some kind of 3-D star map on the ship, and when prompted she drew a rough approximation of it.  It had what she called ‘trade routes’ on it.  Some years later the main stars were identified as Zeta Reticuli, or perhaps the map was drawn from the viewpoint of Zeta Reticuli, the reports don’t all agree.”

“Well,” said Roberts, “if she was drawing it from memory of a 3-D map, the viewpoint would be from wherever her head happened to be relative to that display.  Zeta Reticuli would be just a coincidence.  That’s if there’s anything to the story at all.”

“You don’t think there is?” asked Carson.

“Trade routes imply a lot of traffic running through known T-space as recently as a hundred and sixty years ago.  We’ve been out here nearly fifty of those.  I think we’d have noticed some evidence of that by now.”

“But we are finding evidence,” Carson said.

Jackie shook her head.  “Not that recent.”

“What about the wreckage in the Epsilon Eridani system?” Ducayne put in.  “Or the pyramid you saw in flight at Chara III?”

“Okay, perhaps,” Roberts said, although she still looked doubtful.  “But why are they being so damned sneaky about it?  If they were here first, why run and hide the moment we get star travel?”

“I don’t know.  It might be that they’re observing us until they decide on a course of action—”

“For fifty years?”

“More like thirty since we really got started.  Another possibility is that something else spooked them, and the timing is coincidental.”  Ducayne paused and rubbed his chin.  “Although I hate coincidences.  My worst nightmare is that we have somehow stirred up something else, something we don’t know about yet, that spooked them.  I don’t want to meet anything that spooks someone who has had star travel for fifteen thousand years.”

“If they have had star travel for that long,” Carson muttered.

“Ducayne darted a look at him.  “What do you mean?”

Carson shook his head.  “Nothing.  Flying pyramids, pyramidal technology museums . . . who else would it be?  It just doesn’t quite meet the level of scientific proof.”

“And I thought I was the professional paranoid here,” said Ducayne.

“Wouldn’t we know about it by now if we had stirred up something?” Roberts asked.

“Would we?  I don’t know.  I can imagine scenarios where we wouldn’t, and those scare the crap out of me.  I’ll tell you, a good imagination is both a blessing and a curse for a security agent.”

There was a moment of silence as Carson and the others considered the possible implications of Ducayne’s suggestion.  Carson broke it.  “Be that as it may, the only way we’re going to find out what the situation is, is to go out there and look. But hasn’t anyone been out that way before?  It’s not that far.”

“Alpha Mensae is nearly ten parsecs from here, Zeta Reticuli more than eleven,” Roberts pointed out.  “That’s far enough.”

“Chara is almost nine parsecs away.  It has a colony on it.”

“A tiny one, but point taken,” Roberts said, nodding her head.  “Ducayne, I’m sure you have the most complete records on this sort of thing.”

“We’d better.”

“Can we get a rundown of all flight plans filed to anywhere in this area, settlement efforts, that sort of thing?”

“Certainly.”  Ducayne turned to Brown.  “Can you take care of that?  Filter out the details of any classified trips, but leave their dates and destinations.  Also flag any ships that went out and were never heard from again.  There’ll be a lot of noise in that data but we might find something odd.”

“Yes sir, no problem.”

“Okay.  Now, Carson and Roberts.  No haring off on your own on this one.  We have no idea what’s out there, and the Velkaryans are still around.”

“But Maynard blew up with his ship.”

“He was important but not the whole organization.  From what we can tell the local office has been shaken up, but is still operating.  There's a much larger following on Earth. They probably don’t know for sure, but they may suspect you had something to do with it, Carson.”

Any survivors of Hopkins’ and Maynard’s operation—they wouldn’t all have been aboard ship—would probably know that it had been Carson they’d pursued to the Chara system and not returned from.  The connection was obvious. “I suppose they want revenge?” he asked.

“That wouldn’t surprise me.  I’ve got people on it, but watch yourself.”

“Of course.”

Ducayne turned to Jackie.  “Captain Roberts, I want you to continue to refine the probable location from the talisman diagrams and any other information we come up with.”

She nodded and Ducayne turned back.  “Brown or Carson, is that Betty Hill map available anywhere?  The original or a photograph of it, not someone else’s reinterpretation.”

Carson thought about it.  He was sure he hadn’t come across it in his research, but then he hadn’t been looking for it.  He looked at Brown and raised an eyebrow.  “The Blue Book files?”

Brown shrugged.  “That would be the logical place to look, given the timing of the incident, but who knows what happened to the original records.  Some of the documentation went to the US National Archives, but original records might not have.”

“What’s Blue Book?” Jackie asked.

“A project to investigate UFOs,” Carson said, “undertaken by the United States Air Force from circa 1950 to 1970.  Some other countries had similar projects, but Blue Book was the biggest and best known.  The Hill encounter would have been right in the middle of that.”

“Huh.  What did they find?”

“The official conclusion was about what you’d expect,” he answered.  “Not a threat to national security, so not worth worrying about, and not extraterrestrial vehicles.”

“The point is that tracking down records from 150 years ago might not be easy.”  Brown turned towards Roberts; he’d know that Carson already knew all this.  “Paper records might well still exist but a lot of computer data from that era, including indexes saying where records like that were physically stored, has been lost due both EMP effects during the war and just general bit rot.  Backup systems were much more ad hoc in those days, not everything was preserved, and some of that was in proprietary formats whose details are lost.”

“So the paper records might be in a file drawer somewhere, but nobody knows which drawer or where, or even if it still exists.”

“That’s the most likely situation, yes.  We could get lucky, but that’s not the way to bet,” Carson said.

“We’re still going to try looking for it,” Ducayne insisted.

“But why?” asked Jackie.  “The Hill incident was probably a pure fabrication.”

“If it wasn’t, the record could contain information that could affect the security of human space.  That’s worth spending some effort to find.  If we can’t find it, or we do and it’s clearly bogus, then it’s just a bit of manpower wasted.  That’s nothing new in the intelligence business.”

“All right,” Carson said.  “While you’re doing that, can we think about an expedition to Zeta Reticuli?”

Ducayne shook his head.  “I can’t approve that.  That’s too dangerous a potential anthill to go kicking over blindly.  We need to get more information first.”

“But—” Carson began.

Ducayne held up a hand to cut him off.  One corner of his mouth curled up, just a bit.  “Of course, neither you nor Roberts work directly for me, so I can’t actually order you not to go there.  But whatever you do on your own time, stay out of trouble.”

Carson looked over at Jackie and cocked an eyebrow.  She smiled back at him with a slight nod.

“One other thing,” continued Ducayne.  “The agency is making some expensive upgrades to your ship, Jackie.  We’d appreciate it if you were very careful with our property.”

“Like it was my own,” she said, and winked.  “By the way, I’ll want to give her a shakedown flight as soon as the repairs are finished; I’ll need to recalibrate the warp modules.  And whoever signs off on the work is coming with me.”

Her comment reminded Carson of the old Roman custom of requiring a new bridge’s chief engineer to stand under it while the construction scaffolding was removed.  There was nothing like knowing your life depended on it to force attention to detail.

Ducayne nodded.  “Smart woman.  I’ll let him know.”

3:  Rico

Sawyer City

Blam!  Blam!  The target disintegrated into a cloud of paper shreds.   Rico decided he could get used to this; Ducayne’s facility had all kinds of toys to play with.  He was enjoying himself, blasting at targets on the small-weapons range in sublevel three of the Homeworld Defense facility.   He popped the now-empty magazine out of the pistol’s grip and was reaching for a full one when a voice came over the range’s PA.

“Safe your weapon, Rico.  Ducayne wants to see you in his office, now.”

Rico sighed, locked the pistol’s chamber open to show it was empty and set it on the bench in front of him, muzzle pointed downrange.  It sounded like the party might be over.  He had wondered when they’d have a job for him.

Rico had worked for a tomb raider—a dealer of illegal alien artifacts—named Hopkins until they’d tangled with Carson and come up on the bad end of the deal.  Carson had rescued him from Hopkins’ crashed ship and put him in a traumapod.  He’d repaid Carson by helping him out when they encountered a ship full of bad guys, Velkaryans, who wanted some kind of alien weapon Carson had found.   Apparently—he’d been in a traumapod after that episode, too—that had been enough to persuade Ducayne to offer him a position with this covert Homeworld Defense operation rather than turning him over to the local cops.  That was fine with Rico; with Hopkins gone he needed a new gig anyway.

He reached Ducayne’s office and stuck his head into the doorway. “You wanted to see me, Boss?”

“Yes.  Come on in and grab a seat.”

“What’s up?” Rico said, making himself comfortable.

“I’ve got a job for you.  It involves going to Earth.  Any problem with that?”

“Hell yes I have a problem with that!  Not the job, Earth.”

“If you want to work for me, you’ll go where the job takes you.  If not, there are plenty of law enforcement types who’d love to talk to you—but not to offer you a job.”

Rico didn’t flinch.  He’d worked for tougher bosses than this character.  At least, they’d been tougher on the surface.  Something about Ducayne discouraged being messed with.  “Look, Boss, I know you’re smart enough not to give me a job you don’t think I could handle—and I can handle a lot—but I’ve got a bit of, ah, history on Earth.  History of the wrong kind.  There’s too much surveillance, and I’m in too many databases.  Send me to Earth and you might as well just turn me in.”

“Some of the databases we can take care of.  We can give you some body mods to avoid the surveillance.”

“Sure, you can change my face, my gait, maybe even my prints—”

Ducayne nodded at this.  “Slightly, anyway.”

“—but not my DNA.”

“Actually. . .”

“Seriously?”

“Not everything, but we have a retrovirus that will modify several of the key markers used for DNA tagging.”

“What’s the catch?”  There had to be a catch.

“You’ll feel like hell for a few days as the virus replicates, and it leaves a marker pattern which is a pretty clear indication that you’ve been modded.”

“So I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”  That didn’t seem like an advantage.

“Civilian DNA scanners won’t flag it.  To most government scanners you’ll look like what you are, a government agent.”

“So, effectively anonymous?”  Rico considered the implications of leaving DNA at a crime scene that would look like any one of thousands of clones, at least as far as those markers were concerned.  “That could be handy.”

“Oh, you can still be identified if someone wants to check the less usual markers, so don’t get carried away.”

“So this doesn’t involve, what do you guys call it, ‘wet work’?”

Ducayne scoffed and shook his head.  “There’s a term I haven’t heard in a while.  No, you’ll be assisting Agent Brown with some, ah, research.”

“Research?  What the hell, Boss?”

“He’ll be doing the research.  You might have to help him access the data.”

“Hacking?”  Rico was no stranger to getting at data others might not want him to have, but he often relied on blackware to help, his own computer skills were more basic.  His usual approach was physical: planting a sniffer, stealing a storage module, or if it came down to it, a bit of rubber hose cryptanalysis to persuade someone to give up a password.

“The kind you’ve done before.  And possibly getting access to paper files that someone would rather you didn’t.”

Rico grinned.  “Okay, I think I’m getting the picture. But paper files?  Are you kidding?”  Paper was still used, somewhat, out on the T-space worlds where low tech, home-grown solutions were favored.  But on Earth?  Paper was something you made targets out of, or towels.

“We’re talking old files.  But there’s more.  You’ll also need to keep Brown out of trouble.  He’s bright but he’s no field agent.  He’ll be driving the mission as far as tracking down what we’re looking for.  You’re responsible for implementation and security.”  Ducayne fixed his gaze on Rico.  “Got that?”

“Sure Boss.  That’s the way I like it.”  Rico wasn’t much for the whys and wherefores but give him a task and he’d get it done.  “What is it we’re looking for, anyway?”

Ducayne sat back in his chair without saying anything for a few moments.  Then: “Data on something called Project Blue Book, a study of unidentified flying objects from 150 years ago.”

Rico whistled. “A hundred and fifty years?  And it’s not on the net?”  Huge amounts of data had been lost early last century, between old storage media becoming obsolete or wearing out before their contents could be transferred to newer media, and EMP and radiation damage during the Unholy War.

“We don’t want what’s on the net, it’s unreliable.  We want the original paper records.”

Rico raised an eyebrow.  Paper records from that long ago?  Well, it might be possible.  They’d be more likely to have survived than digital storage from that era, anyway.  “Shall we bring back the Holy Grail while we’re at it?”

Ducayne snorted.  “Sure, if you happen to stumble across it, by all means.”

“Right.”  He considered the rest of what Ducayne had said.  “Unidentified flying objects, huh?  Does this have something to do with what Carson and company were chasing on Chara III?”  Rico had been injured and unconscious when they had seen the flying pyramid, but he’d heard about it during the debriefings, and he himself had used—twice—the alien disintegrator weapon they had found.  He’d managed to almost blow himself up both times.

“It has something to do with it, yes.”  Ducayne’s expression didn’t invite further questions.

“Need to know, eh?  Okay.”  Rico had his own ways of finding things out anyway. “Anything else?  What’s this guy Brown like?”

“As I said, he’s bright.  Don’t try to put anything over on him.  You’ll meet him at the briefing, and you’ll have three days aboard ship to get to know each other.”  Ducayne glanced at the omni on his wrist.  “Okay, you have an appointment.  Report to the infirmary on Level Two for the necessary body mods.  You’ll be briefed at the same time.  You and Brown are scheduled on a commercial flight four days from now.”  Ducayne turned slightly to face his desk screen.  “That’s all.”

Rico knew when he’d been dismissed.  He rose to leave.  “Got it, Boss.”

4:  Prep for departure

Sawyer Spaceport, Alpha Centauri

The Sophie returned from her uneventful shakedown the day before Carson made his way, bag in hand, to the spaceport.  Whatever Ducayne’s technicians had done to it, Captain Roberts’ ship looked much as Carson remembered her; a mid-size deltoid, almost a flattened, sideways cone with twin vertical tail fins and the outlines of various scoops, hatches and thruster ports breaking up the otherwise featureless white surface.  It was hard to imagine that only a week ago it had been sitting in a hanger, largely stripped of its outer hull, while Ducayne’s team had made repairs and modifications.

“They didn’t give it a new coat of paint?” he asked.

“Which would burn off the first time I entered atmosphere?”  Roberts shook her head.  “Nobody paints spaceships, Hannibal, at least nobody with any sense.  Anyway, the point was to make a few performance improvements, not to make it look pretty.” She paused, then added, “Prettier, that is.  I think she looks just fine.”

Carson had to agree.  Sapphire-class ships had always been utilitarian rather than glamorous. They didn’t have a lot of living space; the control cabin, a galley, a head, and at most a couple of berths and cabins depending on the particular configuration.  The rest was fuel and essential systems, and it all had to fit within the limited volume of an Alcubierre-Broek warp bubble.  There was no arguing that the ships got the job done, and the Sophie in particular had got them through a number of close calls.  Although it might be a stretch to call it pretty.  But not her captain, on the other hand, the thought came.  Carson checked himself.  He and Roberts had been romantically involved for a short while some years back, when she’d been the executive officer on a larger ship, but she’d given strong hints that she was no longer interested.  Pity.

“Your gear’s already stowed,” Roberts said.  “And again it takes up a good part of the living space.”  She sighed.  “You know, Carson, most of my charters involve people who know where they’re going and why, and pack accordingly.  Which is to say, lightly.”

Carson grinned.  “Where’s the fun in that?  Come on Jackie, admit it, those trips were boring.”

Roberts turned to him, hands on her hips.  “Carson, if you’re doing it right, space flight is supposed to be boring.  On our last trip you almost got me killed, did get me kidnapped, again, and I almost lost the ship.  That’s not exactly my idea of a good time.”

“And yet here you are.  We found high tech alien artifacts, proof of another spacefaring civilization, and came close to making first contact with them.”  Well, they’d seen a clearly alien ship, in the form of a flying pyramid, from a distance.  It had disappeared by the time they’d reached its apparent landing site.  “Admit it, it was worth it.”

Roberts said nothing, turning her back on him to face the Sophie, hands still on her hips.  Carson wasn’t certain, but thought he’d seen a hint of smile just as she turned away.

“Let’s just get aboard,” she said, and touched a sequence on her wrist omni.  The port hatch slid open.  “I assume we’re still headed to Taprobane to pick up Marten first?”

Marten, a timoan archaeologist, had partnered with Carson on several expeditions, and had accompanied Roberts and Carson on their recent trip to the Chara system.

“Yes.  You said it was almost on the way to Verdigris.”

“Epsilon Indi adds less than two days to a two-week trip, and gives us a stopover,” Roberts confirmed as they boarded ship.  “Stow your carry-on and if there’s nothing else, I’ll get us clearance to lift.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Sawyer City, Homeworld Defense Infirmary

“How do you feel?” a blurry figure in blue scrubs asked.

Rico felt like shit.  His eyes itched, his fingertips burned, and his head ached.  He sat up on the cot and fought down a wave of nausea.  “I’ve felt worse.  But then I usually could remember enough of the party the night before to make it worth it.”

Ducayne, and the med-tech, had warned him that the retrovirus would give him “flu-like symptoms” for a couple of days.  If it got him past the routine DNA scanners so prevalent on Earth, he could put up with it.  But Ducayne hadn’t said anything about the other procedures.

The skin on his fingertips had been peeled off and re-grown under the influence of micro-manipulators to subtly alter his fingerprints.  It could have been worse, Rico supposed, but his fingers felt like he’d tried to pluck hot coals from a fire. “You’ll experience some discomfort,” the doctor had said before the procedure.  Yeah, that was one word for it.

The doc had said the same thing about his eyes.  They didn’t actually go in and modify his retina prints—that technique was available but long and involved, only necessary to permanently change someone’s identity.  No, what they’d done was to lift up a flap of his cornea and insert a thin holographic film which would distort the view of the blood vessels at the back of his eyeball enough to fool a standard retina scanner.  It also had the advantage of changing his iris pattern.

“And everything looks kind of strange.  Wobbly.”

That was the disadvantage of the sub-corneal implant, aside from this infernal itching.  It distorted his own vision slightly.

“That will wear off soon, you’ll adjust to the distortion,” the med-tech said.  “The human brain is remarkably adaptable.”

“I know, you explained that before.  It’s just annoying.”  So was the pain in his fingertips and head, but pain he could deal with.

“How’s the stomach?  Are you ready to try eating something?”

Rico considered the question.  He felt better now that he’d been sitting up for a few moments, but . . .  “No food.  I’ll take a drink though.  After I piss.”  An IV tube trailed from the back of his forearm, they’d been keeping him hydrated.

“Let me get you a—”

“I can walk.”  Rico stood up, ignoring the slight surge of dizziness.  “And I think I’m done with this,” he said as he pulled the IV line from his arm.  He tossed it on the bed.  He ignored the tech’s protests as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

∞ ∞ ∞

Before returning, Rico paused to study his reflection.  They’d made some external changes too.  His cheekbones looked more pronounced, and his skin tone was closer to the neutral yellow-beige now common on Earth.  The eyebrows were somehow different, but he’d never paid enough attention to them before to be quite sure how.  Maybe it was just the distortion from the sub-corneal implant.  He had no doubt that collectively the changes were enough that facial recognition scanners wouldn’t raise any alarms based on his previous identity.  If I’d had access to this technology fifteen years ago, I might never have had to leave Earth.

He splashed water on his face, dried off, and looked at the mirror again.  No, Earth had been getting too stifling, outstanding warrants aside.  There was something to be said for the freedom of the frontier.  So why the hell was he going back to Earth again?  Right, to chase ancient UFO reports.  Un-fucking-believable.

5:  To Earth

Deep space, en route to Earth

“So what’s the plan?”  Rico—now Richard Lee—asked Brown.  They were in the lounge—sized more like a large living room—of the starship Southern Sky, a passenger liner dedicated to the Sol-Alpha Centauri run.  No starship was huge— the physics of the Alcubierre-Broek warp prevented that—but on this limited run more of the ship’s volume was devoted to passenger accommodation and less to fuel for the fusion reactors.  On the Earthbound leg of the trip ships ran emptier, since emigrants made up much of the outbound traffic.

“Are we just going to stroll up to the American National Archives and ask to see the Blue Book files?”

“If you’d paid more attention during the briefing—” Brown began.

“You didn’t go through all the body-mods I did.  My damn eyes itched.”  The itching had actually worn off quickly.  Rico—Richard—liked to play things on the dumb side; it encouraged others to underestimate him.

“Quite,” Brown continued.  “Anyway, that approach might work if they were files on agricultural output in the early twenty-first century or dam building in the 1930s.  The thing is, Blue Book was an Air Force project and the US government, in a fit of post-war paranoia, buried all the Air Force files, even those which had been declassified.  We don’t even know for sure the National Archives still has them.”

“So what’s the approach?”

“First, we make some innocent queries about related phenomena that might  have linked to Blue Book.”

“Related phenomena? What the hell is related to people thinking they were abducted by aliens?”

“Mass psychosis, for one.  The latter half of the twentieth century were crazy years.  People believed a lot of strange things.”

Rico snorted.  “Still do.”  He considered the situation.  It was unlikely that this was all an elaborate ruse to extradite him to Earth.  If they’d wanted to do that they could have just stuffed him in a traumapod—he’d travelled most of the way back from Chara in one—and shipped him to Earth as cargo.  On the other hand, he hadn’t stayed alive and at large all these years by not being a bit paranoid.  It might be worth making a stop first.

“Inbound starships still do preliminary clearance at Luna, right?” he asked Brown.

“They do.  Why?”

“I have a couple of contacts on the Moon, guys in the alien artifact trade.”

“Smugglers and contraband, you mean.”

“What else?”  The accusation didn’t bother him.  It was certainly true, and as far as he was concerned he, or rather his old boss’s outfit, was just filling a need.  “Anyway, if these files are that hard to come by, and that weird, it seems to me that they’re the kind of thing some of our collectors might be interested in.”

“Your point?  You’re not planning to try selling th—”

“No, no,” Rico protested.  Well, probably not, he thought, but now that Brown had mentioned it . . . no, he was going to try playing this one straight. “But someone in that community might know where to find them.  I could make like I have a potential customer.”

“You’re not you anymore.  You don’t want to let anyone know you’re Rico, and why would they trust a stranger?”

“No, of course I’m not Rico.  Geez, Brown, I’m not exactly new at this kind of thing, except for the government angle.  No, I’m not even a friend of Rico.  I’m someone who has done business with Hopkins, and a couple of other names they’d know.”

Brown rubbed a hand along his chin, considering.  “That might be worth doing.  How long would it take?”

“A few days.  You go on ahead to Earth and I’ll catch up with you.”  When I’m reasonably sure I can get away with it.

Brown nodded.  “It will take me a few days to set things in motion Earthside anyway.”  He turned to look Rico in the eyes.  “But don’t get any ideas.  We know who you are, and we have people on Luna.  Don’t think about skipping out.”

“Nah, this caper is just starting to get interesting.  I wouldn’t want to miss it.”  The funny thing is, Rico thought, I really mean that.  But we’ll see what happens when the stakes get higher.

6:  To Taprobane

Deep space, aboard the Sophie

Ducayne’s people hadn’t changed the interior of the Sophie much either.  Carson assumed there were some additional panels and displays buried in the control software, but there was nothing obvious to his relatively untrained eye.  Jackie was right, space flight was boring if you were doing it right.

He sat in the command chair; it was a change of scenery and Roberts hadn’t objected as long as he’d promised not to touch anything while she went back to the galley.  Carson assumed that the controls were probably locked out anyway.

There was nothing to see out the window, save for the occasional sparkle of an interstellar dust particle tearing itself apart at the warp boundary, and the control panel was nearly as boring.  Wait, what was that?

A blinking on one of the control panels caught his eye.

“Uh, Captain, there’s a red light on life support!” Carson called back.

Roberts made her way forward to the control cabin.  “It can’t be too serious, critical systems would raise an audible alert.”  She quickly scanned the screen. On the monitoring panel, a window which was divided into a grid of text and green circles, one of the green circles had turned red.  The legend beside it read “LifeSupp (Recyc)”

“Okay, that’s the recycle subsystem. Let’s see what the problem is.”  She leaned over Carson’s shoulder.  Carson was acutely aware of Jackie’s chest against the back of his neck.  Was that on purpose?  She reached out to touch the red circle on the screen, then slid it to a clear area of the console where it expanded to a window displaying an array of charts and graphs of different sensor readings.  The time scale showed that each chart covered the previous ten minutes.

“Okay, these are different classes of sensors or monitoring algorithms for this subsystem.  See, Flow Service, Sludge, ppO2, ppCO2, temperature, pressure, and so on,” she said, pointing out different charts.

“All right.” Carson noted that each chart had two horizontal lines, one yellow and one red, at different settings, the red always higher than the yellow.  The actual data was displayed as a different-colored graph of connected symbols.  “The red and yellow lines, they’re the alert thresholds?”

“That’s right.” She pointed to one box that was outlined in red, marked Errors.

“This is the one triggering the overall alert.”  There were several data lines on the chart, and one in particular showed a steady rise, crossing the red line and now above it, over the last few minutes.

“So what’s the problem?”

Roberts tapped the line to open another window, displaying detailed data.  She skimmed it and said “Impeller two in the waste line, looks like the RPM is getting intermittent speed drops.”

“Serious?”

She chuckled.  “Not unless it continues and the RPM keeps dropping.  That could indicate a failing impeller.  Nothing we couldn’t live with for a few days, but unpleasant, and a messy job to fix.”

She shook her head.  “But no, look.” She touched the panel again and widened the time scale to several days. The line was mostly horizontal at a low level, with a few well-separated peaks above the red line.

“See, it normally fluctuates like that for a while every day, when processing mixed solids. It should drop back to normal soon.”  She closed the display window and straightened up.  “Theoretically it shouldn’t rise above the yellow line, but this ship is getting old, and it does that.   The work Ducayne’s teams were doing focused on the drive systems and hull, not things that were working. Like I said, a failure would be messy but not life threatening.  I’ll check it again in a little while.”

“Oh, all right. Thanks.”  Carson thought for a moment.  Solids?  Impeller?  “Wait, so you’re saying it alerts like this when the sh—”

“Hits the fan, yes.  Welcome to the romantic world of starship operations,” Jackie said, and grinned.

Carson wondered if he were blushing.

7:  Rico Arrives

Denver, Earth

This is it, thought Rico.  The inbound Lunar shuttle had just touched down at the Denver Spaceport.  He wasn’t sure why Brown had wanted to meet him in Denver, but it was as good—or as bad—as anywhere else on the planet.  At least, anywhere he could get to by commercial flight.

It had taken him three days on the Moon to connect with any of his old contacts.  He’d avoided any he knew too well; he wasn’t sure how well he could avoid giving himself away despite the body-mods.  But he’d gotten the word out, and now had a couple of possible contacts here on Earth.  But first he had to get through border control.

In theory it was a formality.  He’d surely been scanned and rescanned several times back in Conrad’s Landing—Beantown, as the locals called it—but now he was in line for the uniformed officers on Earth.

“Next,” one of them called.

Rico—Richard, dammit—stepped forward, handed his omni to the official, and placed his hand on the print scanner.  He felt a tightness in his gut.

The officer looked up at him, then back down at his console.  He touched Rico’s omni to a pad beside the console, then looked up again.  “Mister Lee, is it?”

“That’s right,” he said, returning the gaze but not too directly.

“Inbound from . . .?”

The info would be with the travel documents on his omni, of course.  The agent just wanted him to say something, to see if there was hesitation or nervousness in his voice.  “Sawyer’s World, by way of Luna.”

The officer looked down at his console for a moment, then back at Rico.  “Welcome to Earth, Mr. Lee.”  He handed the omni back.

Rico, or rather, Richard Lee, began to relax but then stopped himself.  A sudden release of tension after clearing Customs and Immigration was a tell, a giveaway, something scanners looked for.  He wouldn’t really be safe until he’d left the spaceport.

There was a group of demonstrators just beyond the security zone, a half-dozen young men and a couple of young women, walking in a circle and carrying signs.  At least one of the signs was on smart paper; it changed messages as he watched.  The group’s chants echoed the slogans on their signs.  “Terraspace for Terrans!” and “Colonize Taprobane!” and “Liberate Kakuloa!” and the like.  Kakuloa?  Rico wasn’t aware that the planet needed freeing from anything, unless that referred to the restricted zones reserved for the possibly-intelligent native lifeform.

One young man, scruffier-looking than the rest but also holding a sign, wore a black tee-shirt with the text “Conquer Space and Rule!” above an image of a mailed fist grasping a planet.  Something about the body language of the others suggested that they weren’t happy with him; his shirt was probably off-message.  Rico wondered if and when it would degenerate to a fight, but there were uniformed police nearby.  He kept on walking.

∞ ∞ ∞

Velkaryan Headquarters, Earth

“You say Hopkins’ man Rico was on the Southern Sky?”  Hubble demanded of the new arrival.  The man, Reid, had arrived from Sawyers World the day before and had mentioned seeing someone he thought was Rico on the ship.

“I’m not completely certain,” Reid replied.  “It didn’t look like his face, but he was about the same height and build, and there was something about him, his mannerisms, which seemed familiar.  He cleared Immigration Control on Luna with no problem, though.  I don’t know if he continued on to Earth.”

“He could have had body-mods.  But he’d need government-level mods to clear the border, even on the Moon.  Any sign of Hopkins?”

Reid shook his head.  “No.”

“Do we know who Rico is working for now?”  As far as he knew, Rico had still been working for Hopkins when the latter had disappeared.  Hubble didn’t really care about Hopkins, but Maynard had been important, at it looked like their disappearances were connected.  And if Rico had been with Hopkins and Rico was back, well, that ruled out some deep space accident.  Had Rico sold Hopkins—and Maynard—out?

“If it was Rico,” Reid said.  “And no, nobody has even seen Rico for sure in months either.”

“Did you bring the surveillance data?”  One of the tasks of Velkaryan agents out-system was to keep tabs, as best they could, on Homeworld Defense offices.

“Of course.  We’ll review it and see if this character shows up.”

“You got a comparison image?”  If they had a picture of this character that Reid thought might be Rico, the computers could compare that against images of anyone coming or going from a Homeworld Defense office.  At least of the entrances to such offices as the Velkaryans knew about.

“Aboard ship?  Yes, a couple of them at different angles.  Also of the man he seemed to be talking with.”

“Oh?  Anyone you recognized?”

“Not right away, and he continued on to Earth by himself.  But I’ll check the surveillance data for him, too.”

“All right, get on it.  There may be nothing to it, but if there is, we need to find out what.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Denver

“There you are, Mr. Lee, room six one four.  Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.”  Rico turned away from the registration desk, slung his bag over his shoulder, and tapped out a quick text to Brown on his omni.  Here.

His omni beeped back at him by the time he’d reached the elevators: 412, Brown’s room number.  Rico took the elevator to the sixth floor, found his room and gave it cursory once over before tossing his bag on the bed.  He’d sweep the place for bugs later.  He left the room and took the stairs to the fourth floor to join up with Brown.

“Any problems?” Brown asked Rico as he let him into his room.  “And any luck?”  Brown then raised his fingers to his lips in a shushing gesture.

Rico nodded.  Assume they were being listened to.

“No problems,” Rico said.  “I managed to put out a few feelers.  Mostly non-responsive but there are some possibilities.  I’m expecting to hear more in the next couple of days.  How about you?”

“I’ve been renewing old acquaintances.  It’s slow going but you never know when a friend will be able to do you a favor.  Do you have plans for the next few days?”

Unless his own contacts came up with something, Rico had figured Brown would be driving this trip.  But there were some things he could do.  “I was thinking I’d catch up on some computer work now that I have real-time access to the net.  I may do a little shopping or renew some acquaintances myself.”  Meaning he’d be doing some network hacking and might need a little illicit help.

“Ah.  Well, things aren’t what they used to be, keep out of trouble.”

Rico took that to be a reminder that he was now Richard Lee and to be careful not to break cover.  Not that he needed a reminder, he wasn’t stupid.

“I always try to, Doc.  I always try to.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Velkaryan HQ

“They’re looking for Blue Book.” Reid reported.

“Are they now?  How do you know this?”

“I put the pieces together.  Unfortunately we haven’t been able to bug Lee’s hotel room—he sweeps, and we don’t want to be too blatant—but it turns out that his contact, ‘Brown’, is actually a Malcolm Peck, who as a grad student wrote a paper titled ‘Archeological and Forensic Techniques in Evaluation of Close Encounters of the Second and Third Kinds’.”

“That’s a mouthful.  So he was once interested in UFOs, that doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, but it fits with some of the people and offices he’s been contacting.  Those are all one-level removed, though; it’s like he’s trying not to call attention to himself.  He wouldn’t have if it weren’t for his contact with Lee, and the fact that we know him from surveillance of the HD offices on Sawyers.”

“Fair enough.  But Blue Book specifically?”

“We’ve been following up on contacts Lee made back on the Moon.  Seems he’s trying to acquire the files or some part of them for an anonymous collector.  That latter fits with Lee possibly being Rico, given Hopkins’ line of business.”

“That is interesting. So what do you suppose they know so far?”

“Obviously, from their actions, they don’t know where the collection is.”

Hubble considered this.  “We do, we just can’t get at it.”

“Do you think they could get it if they knew where it was?” Reid asked.

“Not officially,” Hubble said.  He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.  “No, the American government wouldn’t hand something like that over to the Union de Terre, and these guys are nominally UDT representatives.  The US doesn’t trust the UDT, and the UDT has no authority to make them do anything.”

“What about planetary security?  They are Homeworld Defense.”

Hubble scoffed.  It was true that the UDT took priority over local governments for planetary security matters, but that was generally limited to potential pandemics or large asteroid impacts.  “Well, yes, but if they try to make that case, they’re spilling whole cans of worms that they’d probably rather not.  We’ll have some of our guys laugh them down.  Hundred-and-fifty-year-old UFO reports?  With no sign of technologically advanced aliens anywhere in T-space?  It will be seen as some kind of turf grab.  Most people think of Homeworld Defense as a joke, a couple of guys in back office somewhere, if they think of it at all.”

“But we know that none of that is true,” said Reid.

“Officially, it still is, at least the part about technological aliens.”

“Okay, so they can’t just ask for them.”  Reid paused, frowning slightly.  “Could they get them some other way?”

“If that is Rico, he could be willing to use unorthodox methods.”  Hubble had read some of the reports of his work for Hopkins.  “If he’s got Homeworld Defense backing, anything is possible.”

“So why don’t we tell him where to find the files, then take them from him?”

Hubble raised his eyebrows.  Now there was an interesting possibility.

“Think about it,” Reid continued.  “We can’t get them where they are.  It has to be easier to hijack them from Rico, especially if he thinks we’re on his side—”

“Why would he think that?”  Hubble thought Reid might be on to something, but the details could be tricky.

“I don’t know,” Reid said. “We need to figure that out.  But if he fails, it’s no loss to us.  If he succeeds and we don’t manage to get them from him, are we any worse off?”

“Depends what’s in them.  They’re obviously looking for something, and we may not want them to find it first.  But no, I can’t think of anything specific.”

“So let’s do it.”

Hubble liked the idea, but was more cautious.  “Give me a day to think about it.  Meanwhile, I want you to step up surveillance on this ‘Mr. Lee’ and ‘Dr. Brown’.”

“Yes, sir.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Denver

“I hope you’re making better progress than I am,” Brown said as he closed Rico’s room door behind him.

Rico looked up from his computer.  It was festooned with gadgets not ever part of the original manufacturer’s designs.  Some were Homeworld Defense gizmos, some were things he’d managed to pick up on the local black market.  Between them and the labyrinth of network nodes he was going through, his searches would appear innocuous to all but the most concerted counter-hacking.  Or so he’d been told; he had some skill but was no expert.

“I’m getting mixed results.  Some tell me the data is just lost, some suggest it was deliberately hidden.  But it’s all old enough that it’s hard to be certain.  I’m finding too many references to the digitized microfilm copies, but you already knew about those.”

“That doesn’t sound like progress.”

“There’s something else.  My lunar contacts paid off.  I’ve got a meeting with a guy who’s high up in the east coast artifact distribution business.  One of Hopkins’ old contacts.  He may have a lead.”

“Fantastic!  When and where?”

“Understand, I have to meet him alone.  It’ll be at the St. Louis maglev station tomorrow.”

“A train station?  I thought you said alone?”

“No place like a crowd to make initial contact.  Easy to skip the meet if it looks bad, plenty of noise to make surveillance tricky.”  St. Louis was a major maglev hub, only two to three hours from anywhere east of the Rockies.  “For a spook you don’t seem up on field work.”

“I’m an intelligence analyst—”

“A spook.”  Rico couldn’t see a difference.

“I usually work a desk,” said Brown.  “My field work was archaeological.”

“Okay, no offense.  Anyway, I’m on the morning train.  I should be back by tomorrow night or the next morning.”

8:  Epsilon Indi

Aboard Sophie, entering the Epsilon Indi system

The Sophie sliced through normal space in the inner Epsilon Indi system, accelerating toward Taprobane under modest thrust.  Captain Roberts had just finished transmitting her data updates to the planet’s net when a chime announced an incoming message.  Probably something that had been waiting in the system and automatically uploaded when the Taprobane link recognized her presence.  She scanned the message headers.

“It’s for you, Carson,” she announced.

“From Marten?  Go ahead and play it.”

The not-quite-human face of a Tabrobane native, a timoan, appeared on the screen.  “Greetings, Hannibal.  I got your message that you’d be coming out here.  You didn’t provide a lot of detail but I assume this is related to what we found on Chara III and the talismans.  Or is this some other ‘treasure hunt’ you have in mind?  You neglected to give a specific date but I can clear my calendar quickly if necessary.  Signal me when you get this and if the timing works I’ll meet you at the spaceport.  If you’re travelling with Jackie, tell her hello for me.  Marten out.”  The vid ended.

“Jackie, Marten says hello,” Carson said, deadpan.

She grinned.  “At least this time he knows we’re coming.”  When the only way of sending a message faster than light was via another starship, that wasn't always guaranteed.  Jackie touched the control panel and made an adjustment.  “There, you can use your omni to call him through the ship’s radio.  We’re still about five light-minutes out from the planet so you might as well just text him.”

“Sure.  What’s our ETA?”

“We’re approaching turnover in about an hour.”  It would take some hours after that to decelerate to an orbit around Taprobane, plus time for clearance, re-entry and landing.  She checked a screen.  “Call it tomorrow morning Clarkeville local time.  I can adjust to whatever specific time you’d like.”

“All right, tomorrow morning it is.”

9:  Rico Takes a Ride

Colorado, Earth

Twenty-six miles east of old downtown lay the huge expanse of the Denver Air and Space Port, and beneath its terminal buildings, the Denver Maglev Station.  The maglev tracks emerged from below ground a couple of miles from the buildings, near the field’s perimeter.  From what Rico could tell, the only lines out of Denver went south to New Mexico and Texas, west to the mountains and then California, north to . . . there must be something in that direction, although he didn’t know what, and east to Kansas City and St. Louis.  The station was surprisingly busy, but then Rico was still getting used to the sheer number of people on this planet.

An auto-taxi had deposited him at the surface terminal and he’d made his way to the train station proper, underground. Rico—and his Richard Lee persona—had grown up on Earth, but he had been away for nearly fifteen years, and the colonized worlds of T-space were sparsely populated.  Even Sawyers World, the longest-settled and most populous, had far less than one percent of Earth’s nine billion.  Rico didn’t know the exact numbers, but he couldn’t think of more than three or four cities on that planet anywhere near the size of Sawyer City, which, he was sure, held barely a million people.  Certainly it was much smaller than Denver, although Sawyer City was growing.  Between lowered birth rates and a reluctance to live in a potential target, cities on Earth were gradually shrinking.

There was another, smaller group of demonstrators here at the maglev station, which surprised him.  There was at least some kind of logic behind agitating to “make T-space safe for Terrans” at the spaceport, but Rico didn’t really see the point here.  Then he realized that the two individuals wearing uniforms and handing out literature were connected with the demonstrators.  He didn’t recognize the uniforms, although the sleeve bore a patch with what might be the letter V, and he didn’t want to get close enough to those crazies to get a better look.  He steered his way through the crowd towards the platform for the St. Louis express.

Somehow the people managed to give each other space, as though they were all wearing personal force fields, not that such things existed.  He guessed it was an adaptation to always being surrounded by people.  His own experience included hand-to-hand combat training and time in zero-gee, both of which made one hyper-aware of one’s body position.  As he moved, he automatically tried to avoid looking at, or providing a profile view to, the many cameras overlooking the station, all without making it obvious that he was doing so.  He knew it was probably futile—it wouldn’t surprise him if the computers were programmed to look for just such behavior—but it was an old habit.

He crossed a pedestrian way above the track and paused to look over the train.  The vehicle lay like a huge silver snake stretched out along the track bed, the twin windows at its streamlined, pointed front end reminding Rico of eyes. He couldn’t see the back from where he was, but the vehicle seemed odd to him.  He was used to spacecraft that tended to be bulbous trapezoids or fat deltas so as to make best use of the volume in a warp bubble.  This thing was clearly designed to minimize aerodynamic drag.  He hoped it wouldn’t be too cramped, although tight quarters were nothing new to him.

Rico started at a sudden loud hiss—in an earlier age it might have been steam, but Rico’s first reaction was rocket pistol and he almost dived for the deck, but the hiss went on too long for that—then he saw a cloud of condensation jetting from beneath one of the train’s cars.  Liquid nitrogen? he wondered.  If they were still using low-temperature superconductors in the levitation magnets this train must be old.  The paint did look worn, and the windows showed a slight haze of faint scratches.  Either this train had ridden through a dust storm—not impossible, Rico guessed—or it had seen a lot of years and miles.  He turned from the view and made his way down to the platform.

The faded and worn upholstery on the seats and the general air of shabbiness Rico sensed when he boarded decided him on the latter explanation.  This train was just old.  Apparently, though, they’d kept up the maintenance where it counted.  He wasn’t aware of any sensation of motion when it started, and they were already moving over a hundred kilometers per hour by the time a change in lighting signaled their exit from the tunnel under the spaceport.  He glanced at his wrist omni.  They’d be in Kansas City in two hours and St. Louis an hour after that, including the brief stop.  He wondered about breakfast.

Rico had little experience with trains.  None of the settled planets had them, although there’d been some talk on Sawyers about building one between Sawyer City and . . . he couldn’t remember.  But from what he’d seen in old movie vids they typically had a dining car.  He got up and wandered back to see.

It was a kind of weird walking down the aisle between the seats.  Although there was a faint wind noise, the train felt as rock solid as if it were embedded in concrete . . . and then you looked out the window and saw the landscape rushing past at 500 kph.

On the north side was a highway, and as Rico watched, the train ascended the gently inclined track which arced over part of the divided highway and continued on above the broad grassy median.  Interstate Highway 70, he remembered from the route map.  The roadway held a roughly even mix of trucks and passenger vehicles, quickly left behind by the maglev, but they looked much like vehicles anywhere.  Perhaps less utilitarian; Earthers could afford fancy.

Although not, apparently, on this train.  The dining car turned out to be an autochef and some counter space, with a few seats angled to face the windows.  Rico shrugged and ordered up a handmeal, some kind of muffin and egg sandwich with something that might even have been real meat, but from a carniculture rather than an animal.  That was one thing the frontier worlds had over this place: real food.  Although, Rico reflected, the amount of time he’d spent aboard ships it was autochef synthetics just as often as not.  Hopkins, his late boss, had eaten well but it was rare that he’d shared meals with his crew.  Rico didn’t miss him.

They were already somewhere in Kansas now.  On the north side of the highway was a series of towers, huge metal poles a hundred or more meters tall and spaced a few hundred meters apart.  What in the world?  A minute later he had his answer as they zoomed past a crew removing a rotor blade from a hub at the top of the tower.  Further on the old windmills still had their blades, but none were turning.  Rico was surprised they were even still standing. Fusion power had replaced almost every other large scale energy source decades ago.

∞ ∞ ∞

As Rico made his way forward along the aisle to return to his seat, another passenger stood up and turned into the aisle just in front of him.  The collision was minor but annoying.

“Watch it,” Rico muttered.

The passenger hastily retreated, apologized, and stepped back out of the aisle to let Rico pass.

At the end of the car, Rico glanced back.  The passenger was disappearing through the door back to the next car.  That eased his suspicion a bit, but Earthers generally seemed too good at avoiding such unwelcome contact.  He moved forward into the next car and then into the lavatory.  Working quickly, he slipped off his wrist omni and touched a sequence of contact pads on the back.  It morphed from a wristband into a narrow rectangle with a wand-like projection.  His omni had quite an array of blackware apps, but this one in particular was courtesy of Quentin Ducayne and his boys in Homeworld Defense.

He ran the sensor wand over his clothes and was rewarded with several chirps; some at his left shoulder and more at his right chest where the stranger had bumped him.  He’d been tagged.  He pulled his shirt off so he could more easily scan the back.  Yes, there was another tag.

Using the wand to localize them and the magnifier function of his omni to pick them out, he carefully removed the sand-grain sized tracking tags and placed them on a paper towel from the dispenser.  Now, how best to dispose of these?  And, who was that guy and why did he tag me?

What Rico wanted to do was tag him back, find out where the fellow went, but he couldn’t see any easy way to do either of those things without tipping his hand.  All right, plan B.

He donned his shirt and reset his omni to its bracelet configuration and slipped it on.  He palmed the tags and made his way back to his seat, occasionally leaning on a seat back as though to steady himself. The latter was hardly necessary given the rock-steadiness of the maglev, but with a light touch—Rico could pick a pocket with the best of them—he planted two of the tags on one unsuspecting passenger and the third on another.  When they got to St. Louis whoever was tracking him would suddenly find they had two targets to track, and while they might assume one had brushed off on somebody else, they wouldn’t be sure.  They’d have to consider that he might have found two of them and planted them on somebody.

Rico didn’t really care. If someone knew he was aboard, he had no intention of riding the train all the way to St. Louis.

∞ ∞ ∞

At Kansas City he stayed on the train for a few minutes after other passengers had debarked.  If he was being watched, let the watcher relax.  Then he quickly slipped out and made his way to a car rental kiosk.  It was staffed by an attractive and apparently young woman.  Another sign of Earth’s population; where they had cars on the outer worlds such a kiosk would be completely automated, if it existed at all, since everything could be done as easily directly from an omniphone.

“I want something small but fast,” he said to the clerk.  “Interstate.”

“Yes sir.  When will you be returning it?”

“One way.  I want to drop it in St. Louis.”

That earned him a quizzical look from the attendant.  “If you’re in a hurry you could take the maglev.”

“I just missed it,” Rico said.

She glanced over at a wall clock.  “Oh no sir, it doesn’t leave for—”

“I said, I just missed it,” Rico repeated in a firm tone. Then he lightened up and grinned.  “What’s the matter, don’t you want to make a sale?  Besides, I might want to stop along the way.”

She looked at him with a bland expression.  He’d managed to offend her.  “Of course, sir.  Whatever we can do to help.  I’ll need your identification and a credit authorization.”

Rico waved his omniphone next to the desk scanner where the devices exchanged information, then added a thumb-print and completed the rest of the transaction.  The clerk transmitted the authorization to his omni with the same bland smile.

“There you are, Mr. Lee.  Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you.”  She was kind of cute but things had clearly taken a wrong start and he didn’t have the time.  He tossed her a half-wave as he turned from the counter.  A few minutes later he was walking out the terminal door as the self-guided vehicle pulled up in front of him.  He touched his omni again and the car’s door opened.

By the time the St. Louis express accelerated out of the station Rico was already cruising down I-70 at 200 kph.  The train would beat him to St. Louis by at least an hour, but he would still have time to make his meeting at the station, and it would confuse hell out of anyone expecting him to arrive on the maglev.  He dimmed the windows and reclined the seat.  He might as well get some sleep now; who knew what would happen in St. Louis.

10:  Meeting with Marten

Taprobane

“Delta Pavonis?  Isn’t that the system where you found that first talisman fragment?”  Marten and Carson were sitting in Marten’s office at the Kangara College in Clarkeville.  Clarkeville was an artificial town on the large island of Borealia; many of the buildings presented a false front to mimic the native medieval villages of the Taprobane mainland.  Humans and timoans worked together here in a cultural exchange, select timoans learning modern human technology while the humans studied the mainland iron-age timoans without, it was hoped, disrupting their culture too much.  “The artifact that got us into all this in the first place?” Marten continued.

“It is, and one of the new talisman patterns points to it.  I clearly missed something the last time I was there.  The pyramid I found was just a native burial tomb, far smaller than what we found of Chara III.”

“But a pyramid, not the domes typical of other Verdigran tombs.”  The stone domes of Verdigris—Delta Pavonis III—were well-described in the archeological literature.  It was expected that Marten would know about them.

“Yes, but if the talisman is any indication, there should be another Chara-type pyramid on the planet.”

“Not necessarily.  The talisman could be the key to something else, or nothing.”

“The artifact I found proves there were spacefarers there.”

“True enough.  What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hannibal, you never tell the whole story the first time.  If it were just a matter of going to Verdigris and looking for another pyramid, would you really have contacted me?  I’m glad you want to keep me included, of course, but I think there’s something else.”

“Damn, I’m getting too predictable,” Carson muttered.  “All right, yes.  Jackie ran a 3-D astrometric analysis of all the talisman patterns we’ve found so far.  At least all those that seem to be legitimate.”

“And she found what?”

“They’re all drawn as through from a common viewpoint, somewhere in or around the Alpha Mensae or Zeta Reticuli systems.”

“And you want to see what’s there.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I do.  And there’s something else.”

“Something that can top that?  Let me guess, the Velkaryans are somehow involved and I’m going to end up fighting for my life again.”

“What? No.  At least, not as far as I know.  This involves a story about an alien abduction, over a century ago.”

“An alien abduction story that doesn’t involve humans abducting timoans?  This I have to hear.”

“That’s not fair.  You stowed away.”  At least, that was the story Carson had heard.  Marten was one of the first timoans to be contacted by, or rather to contact, humans.  Before the quarantine on the mainland had been put in place, a ship had landed there for a general survey.  Later, in space, they’d discovered a young adolescent timoan kit hiding aboard.  Marten.

“I’m joking, Carson, relax.  Although there’s probably something to it as far as some other timoans are concerned.  But tell me what you’re talking about.”

Carson related the details, such as he knew, of the Betty Hill alleged abduction and the Zeta Reticuli star map.  “Ducayne is attempting to retrieve the original incident files.  It may be nothing more than coincidence.  While we’re en route you can go over what we copied from the net.”

“I suppose given enough made-up reports, one of them is going to sound close to real events.”

“You don’t think there’s anything to it?”

“Carson, I am the last person to discount the possibility of extraterrestrial—or extrataprobani—aliens and contact with such.  But the specific details do sound a little far-fetched.  The tale could have been embellished in the retelling, of course.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“But we’re going to go find out for certain, aren’t we?”

Carson grinned.  “You bet your furry behind we are.”

“Why would I make such a wager?” Marten said, but grinned.  “And it’s not that furry.”

11:  Meeting in St. Louis

St. Louis Maglev Station, Earth

To the casual observer—to the extent a casual observer would even care about such things—the grey-clad man sitting on a bench in the St. Louis station with his omni unfolded to a slate was watching a vid, or perhaps reading a book.  What he was really watching was the progress of a bright blip superimposed over a diagram of the station, said blip slowing to a halt beside the platform of the eastbound track.  Mr. Lee had arrived.

The grey man stood up and folded his omni lengthwise then wrapped it around his wrist, shrinking the screen to a couple of centimeters and turning it to the inside of his wrist.  Glancing at it periodically, he made his way to the platform.  He reached it just as passengers began debarking.  He checked it again.  The bright blip had divided into two, one brighter than the other.  Damn, Lee must have dropped a tag.  Except, they were both moving.  Crap.

Grey hustled his way upstream through the exodus of passengers to the car where the blips were.  One of the blips was still mid-car, but moving around.  Gathering up his bags?  That was unlikely to be Lee, why would he have luggage?  The other was near the end of the car, exiting.  Grey scanned the crowd.  The text he’d received described Lee as wearing a blue jacket, but with smart fabrics so popular, that didn’t count for much.  Even as he watched, a teenager passed wearing a shirt which displayed an animated scene from some currently-popular vid.  He kept scanning.

There, a tall man in a dark suit.  He checked his screen, but the bright blip was elsewhere.  Not the suit.  He looked at the screen again.  The blip was moving, almost directly beside him now.  He turned quickly . . . to encounter a shorter, elderly gentleman who was startlingly overweight.  He sneaked a look at his screen again.  No question, this old guy was tagged, but equally it couldn’t be Lee. Damn!

Another check showed that the other blip—that had to be Lee—was about to leave the train.  Grey moved close to the exit then turned and casually scanned the crowd as though looking for someone.  He was, of course, but he didn’t want Lee to suspect who.  A young woman stepped off the train.  Lee must be right behind her.

There was nobody behind her.  Grey checked the scan again.  The blip was moving off towards the escalator.  He looked up.  It was the woman.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Reid here,” the voice came over Grey’s omniphone in answer to his call.

“We lost him.”

“What? And don’t you mean you lost him?”

“No.  As far as I can tell he wasn’t on the train.”  That pushed the truth; he might have slipped off with the first passengers. Grey had been watching the scanner blips, and didn’t know for sure that he would have recognized Lee from the picture he’d been sent.  Not that Reid needed to know that.  “The tags were on two different people, he must have found them.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t in the crowd?”

“How could I be?  Out of that many people?”  Grey thought for a moment.  Did he want to mention it?  “There was one guy in a dark suit about the right build . . . but no, if Lee had spotted his tags and transplanted them, he wouldn’t have stayed that close.”

“You’re probably right.”  There was a pause and Grey heard a muffled sound, as though Reid had cursed under his breath.  “All right, stay at the station and scan the crowds, we might get lucky.”

“He probably bailed in Kansas City.  He shouldn’t have been tagged so early.”

Reid might have agreed but didn’t say so.  “We take opportunities when they present themselves.”

And, Grey considered, if the job had been done right Lee would never have noticed.  He didn’t know who their man—or woman—on the train was, and he didn’t bother asking.  If Reid thought he had a need to know, he’d be told.

“Regardless,” Reid continued, “stay at the station and await further instructions.  And keep an eye out while you’re there.”

“Okay, got it.”  He clicked off his omni and scanned the figures of the thinning crowd on the platform.  It was probably futile, and he considered just going somewhere to grab a bite to eat, but the favor he’d gain if he did happen to spot Lee could be worth it.  He wasn’t sure who this Lee was to the higher-ups, but he was obviously worth something.  He followed the last of the crowd to the escalator.

∞ ∞ ∞

Velkaryan HQ, Earth

“Our ‘Mr. Lee’ seems to be skilled in tradecraft,” said Reid.  “He spotted our tags and planted them on two other people.  We didn’t realize it until we noticed the signal split after the train arrived.  It looks like he left the train in Kansas City, too.  We didn’t spot anyone like him leave the train in St. Louis.”

“Did he now?  That’s interesting.  Hubble paused for a moment.  “Our man on the train must be clumsy.  Talk to him.”

“Yes sir.”  The ‘talk’ would be unpleasant for both of them, although much less so for Reid.

“Do think Lee will skip the meeting?” Hubble asked.

“No, but he’ll be cautious.” Reid checked his omni.  “If he got a car he could still make it in time. But when he gets there he’ll be watching for watchers.”

“All right, let’s leave him some space.  I assume we have access to the cams?”  Almost every public space was viewed by one or more cameras, some of them security cams of various agencies, many of them keyed to advertisers’ face recognition systems to dynamically swap the content of billboards depending on who was looking at them.  Most could be accessed through some combination of hacking, bribery, or commercial data swapping agreements.  Access enough of them in a given area, have some smart software compare the feeds, and you could track anyone who came and went within sight of any of the cams.

“Already set up.”

“Good. Tell whoever we have there to pull back but stay in the vicinity in case we need them.”

“Need them? For what?”

“I don’t know.  But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.  In fact, get yourself out there ASAP and take over the op.  Use the jet.”

Reid nodded. “All right, I’m on my way.”  As he turned to leave Hubble’s office, he pulled out his omni and started making calls.

∞ ∞ ∞

St. Louis

The car slowed as it neared St. Louis Station and announced: “We are reaching your destination, Mr. Lee.  Will you be requiring further service or shall I check myself in?”

Uppity robot, Rico thought, and said “That will be . . . no, wait. Remain on standby, go park yourself somewhere for the next,” he glanced at his omni, “three hours, or until I summon you.  If you don’t hear from me before that, then consider yourself returned.”

It seemed as though the car paused a moment longer than usual to parse that.  “As you wish. Please be aware that a surcharge of—”

“Yeah, fine. Authorized.”  Three hours put him past the time he’d originally agreed to return the car, but it might come in handy.

The car pulled to the curb at the station entrance and opened the door.  Rico got out and turned to close the door, but it was already closing on its own.  As soon as it had, the car pulled out and joined the traffic stream, presumably to find a parking spot.  Rico grinned.  It was almost as though the car didn’t like him.  He turned back to enter the terminal building, casting a quick glance over anyone in the area.  It was quite likely that one or more of them didn’t like him, either.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Reid here.”  He was aboard one of the Velkaryan corporate aircraft, an hour out from St. Louis.

“A person matching Lee’s description has just entered the St. Louis Station,” the voice on his omni said.

“Anything else?”

“We were able to use the cams to backtrack his movements.  He arrived by vehicle which then parked itself.  Kansas registration, we’re working on the details.”

“That’s probably our man.  Keep tracking him but from a safe distance.  He’ll be alert for anything funny, especially after getting tagged on the train.  See who he meets.”

“We’re on it.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Rico had an advantage over his contact; he knew who he was looking for.  He’d met Burkhardt once when Hopkins was doing a deal.  “Met” was probably putting it too strongly; Rico had been in the background as one of Hopkins’ toughs.  He wasn’t introduced, and it’s unlikely Burkhardt would remember him even if Rico hadn’t had his face altered to become Richard Lee.

Not that either of them were relying on being recognized.  They’d agreed to a meeting code, a twenty-digit number being broadcast by their respective omnis.  The omnis would guide them to each other when they got within range.  It was a standard feature.

Rico’s omni began beeping quietly to him about halfway through the terminal.  He noted the direction it indicated and walked quickly at an angle to that, checking the direction again in a dozen meters.  He mentally triangulated the signals to come up with a convergence near several rows of seats.  Of the individuals seated there, Rico didn’t recognize any of them.  Had it been a setup and not Burkhardt after all?

He walked across the terminal, occasionally darting a glance at the bench.  There, the man on the second seat kept looking towards him, alternating that with glances at his omni.  That was probably his man.

Rico studied him.  The face and hair were unfamiliar, but the broad shoulders could have been Burkhardt’s . . . or anyone else muscular.  Rico started to move away, reaching to kill the homing signal on his omni, when the man stood up.  Standing, the man looked more familiar, and when he started walking towards him, Rico recognized the stride and realized that the man could have had some face work of his own.

“Lee?”  Burkhardt asked.

Rico gave a quick nod.  “Burkhardt?”

“Let’s walk,” Burkhardt said, continuing his stride with barely a pause.  Rico fell in beside him.

“I understand you may be able to help me acquire something for a client,” Rico began.

“Perhaps.  You mentioned a mutual friend.  How is, er . . .”

“Hopkins?”  Rico guessed this might be Burkhardt’s way of double-checking Lee’s story.

“Exactly.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a while, he went off on another collecting trip.”

“Yes, collecting often takes one to unusual places.”

You don’t know the half of it, thought Rico.  “Right.  My current client is also a collector, looking for certain historical papers.  A blue book, in fact.”  He’d made that information known to his contact on Luna, but this helped ensure there was no confusion.

“Surely whatever information is in such a book can now be found on the net?”

“He prefers original source material.”

Burkhardt nodded.  “Yes, that’s usually the mark of a true collector.  That does raise the scarcity factor, though.”

“Yeah.  Do you know where I might find such an item?”

“Would it have to be an original, or would an exact—and contemporary—replica do?”

Rico considered this.  If an original copy was made back in the day, then it should have everything needed.  But Brown had complained about the microfilm.  “That depends.  My client has been very disappointed with microfilmed copies of historical documents.  It would have to be something as readable as the original.”

“I think I can locate what you’re looking for.  There would be a finder’s fee, of course.”

“Of course.”  Rico hadn’t expected anything less.

“And for an extra fee—a considerably larger fee, I’m afraid—I can negotiate the acquisition and delivery of same.”

Since the money wasn’t his, Rico was tempted.  But no, he kind of enjoyed hands-on work, and preferred to avoid the risk of somebody else screwing it up.  “Thanks, but I can probably make my own arrangements for retrieval and shipping.  I’ll let you know when you get me the location.”

“Very well.  If you change your mind?”

“I’ll keep you informed.  I may need some services short of delivery.”

“That would be acceptable.  Now, as to the specific location, I’ll have to make some calls.  It won’t take long.”

That didn’t really surprise Rico.  Why take a risk on being grabbed and forced to disclose the information for free, if it was that valuable?  He might have done the same.  They concluded details of paying the “finder’s fee” and doing an exchange for the location data.

∞ ∞ ∞

“All right, that’s our man.  Who is the other?”

“His name’s Burkhardt.  He has some contacts in common with Hopkins, that’s probably how they made the connection.”

“Can he provide what he says he’s selling?”

“Hard to say.  The general location certainly, the specifics perhaps not.  We can trace his contacts.”

“That’s worth doing, in case we have a leak, but right now let’s take out Burkhardt.”

“What about his follow-up meeting with Lee?”

“Reid will be at the station in a half-hour. He’ll make the meeting.”

“Will Lee go for that?  Or recognize Reid?”

“Reid was pretty sure that Lee wouldn’t remember him from the Southern Sky, he avoided contact.  As for the deal, Reid’s got a cover story and more importantly, the information that Lee wants.  It should do.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Rico was waiting near the designated meeting spot in the St. Louis maglev station when a man he didn’t recognize approached him.

“Mister Lee?  Burkhardt sent me.  I have the information you requested.”

“What happened to him?”

“Plausible deniability.  You make the second installment to me.”

Rico didn’t like it.  He suspected a trap.  “I’d be more comfortable if he’d told me that himself.”

“Of course you would.  He said to tell you that Hopkins would understand.  Of course, if you’d rather not do business . . .”

Hopkins?  So perhaps they knew more about ‘Lee’ than they were letting on, or else Burkhardt really had bailed out.  Either way, he’d be out half the “finder’s fee” if he just walked from the deal.  Not that it was his money, and these guys might be Velkaryan.  What the hell.

“I didn’t say that.  If you have what I want . . .” Rico looked at the new guy expectantly.

“Information about a certain blue book?”

Rico nodded.

“All right,” said Reid, “here’s the deal.  The originals of what you’re looking for are in archival storage in a mine in Pennsylvania. ”

“A mine?”

“It was converted to a data storage facility, name of Steel Mesa, over a century ago.  Thousands of cubic feet of records.  Paper, digital, you name it.  One section is partitioned off for government storage, but good luck on getting into any of it.”

“Assuming someone got in, then what?”

“Then you’d have to locate what you want.  There is an online index, but it’s keyed by box number, not file names.  Bear in mind that the complete Blue Book files take up a lot of boxes.”

“Wasn’t it ever digitized?”

“The microfilmed versions were, yeah, but never the original paper, according to our sources.”

Rico thought about that.  Sneaking into the facility would be no easy task.  Even if there were something like forgotten air shafts or other back door entrances, the place would be rigged with temperature and humidity sensors at the very least, and probably motion alarms and cameras.  He would have to get the exact location of the material—although this man might have that information—and find his way to it.  Then he’d have to get multiple boxes out of the facility, which would take a truck.  The place was surely manned around the clock, there didn’t seem to be any way to do it by stealth.

“Can you retrieve it?”

“Not easily, I’m afraid.  Of course we’d be happy to consider a joint venture with you, for the right investment.”

“In other words, you’ll help if I come up with a plan and a bankroll.”

“Just trying to be of service,” the man said.

An overt smash and grab didn’t even bear thinking about.  The place could probably withstand a nuclear blast, and he had no desire to try fighting his way in and out of a mine.

On the other hand, there had to be some way for customers to retrieve the stuff.  He’d just have to get the employees to do it for him.  He needed to do some recon first, to see what was possible.  He wondered if they had something for tourists.

“All right,” he said.  “Give me all the details you can, and some way to contact you.  I might need a hand.”

12:  Verdigris

Outer fringe of the Delta Pavonis system, aboard Sophie

“. . . to 100 cee.  Contact Verdigris Station on 213.4 at one AU.  This is Delta Pavonis Beacon ATIS.  Traffic entering the system is authorized to use warp outside of 2 AU clear of the ecliptic.”  The announcement came over the receiver as soon as they’d dropped out of warp.  It began to repeat:  “Limit speed to 100 cee.  Contact Verdigris Station on —”

Jackie muted the receiver.  Nothing new since the last time she’d been here, and all the important details would have already downloaded from the beacon’s data channel.  This was still considered a frontier world, but there was enough traffic to warrant some control.

She checked their position and touched a sequence on the control panel.  The attitude jets pulsed with a muffled whump and the Sophie began to rotate into position for their next jump.

“Okay folks,” Jackie called back to her passengers, “a few more minutes in warp and then we cruise the rest of the way in normal space.”

“Ugh,” muttered Marten. “How long will we be in free-fall?” Marten’s ancestry had never included tree-swinging primates.  To him, zero gee meant his body continuously screamed danger, falling!

“Another minute right now until we’re back in warp.  We have plenty of fuel, though, so we can do most of the normal-space trip under constant acceleration if you like.”

“Please.”

“Might as well trim a few days off the trip anyway,” added Carson.

∞ ∞ ∞

Inner Delta Pavonis system

Verdigris was a green dot on the forward window when they de-warped again.  Jackie rotated the Sophie to bring it overhead and smoothly applied power to the ventral thrusters, giving them an apparent gravity of one-third of a gee.  She transferred the overhead view to the forward screen.

“Why so green?” Marten asked.  “The terraformed planets I’ve been to look blue from space.”

“It depends on the season,” said Carson, who had visited the planet before.  “Verdigris has an unusual concentration of phytoplankton which blooms aggressively when the winds are blowing nutrient-rich dust off the deserts.  There’s an airborne form too, sometimes it makes the sky look green.”

“Deserts?  From what you told me of your last expedition, I thought it was heavy jungle.”

“Different areas have different ecologies, like any terrestrial planet.  But Verdigris is a bit different from Earth or Taprobane, or Sawyers, given the way its continents are laid out and the climate.  Most of the jungle is fairly young, only a few hundred years.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not up on all the details,” Carson said.  “There was something about a shift in ocean currents changing the rainfall patterns.  A huge swath of what used to be desert is now jungle, and in fact the jungle is slowly moving inland.  Eventually I suppose there might not be enough dust to maintain the phytoplankton as extensively as now, and the planet will start to look more normal.  In the meantime, there’s a pretty significant local industry in exotic biologicals.”

“And the ruins?”

“They pre-date the desertification.  It was probably the desertification that caused the collapse of the indigenous civilization.  It certainly helped preserve the structures.”  Stone buildings—at least, those of stone soft enough to be worked with primitive tools—didn’t last very long with jungle vegetation growing on them.  Hundreds of years, perhaps, but not fifteen thousand.

∞ ∞ ∞

Approaching Verdigris

“So where do we look?” Jackie asked Carson as she prepared the ship for orbital insertion.

“Can’t we just enter a polar orbit and scan the whole surface?”

Jackie and Marten both turned to look directly at Carson.  Jackie raised an eyebrow.  Marten said “Please, Hannibal, I have no desire to spend two weeks in zero gee.”

“Two weeks?”  Carson had been thinking it would take a day or two at most.

“We can scan a swath a hundred kilometers wide with the ten gigapixel scanner if we settle for a resolution of a meter.”  Marten had worked extensively with remote sensing as a grad student.  “The planet has a circumference of over thirty thousand kilometers.  That’s over three hundred orbits, less if we skip the deep ocean.”

“At an hour-and-a-half per orbit,” added Jackie.

“But we’d have really, really good maps of the poles,” finished Marten, and grinned.

Carson shook his head. “All right, all right.  I wasn’t thinking it through.”  He thought for a moment. “I doubt the spacefarers would place anything in the polar areas, it’d most likely be in one of the regions occupied by the indigenes.  That’d be within about 45 degrees of the equator.”

“Hannibal,” Marten said, “the pyramid we found on Chara III would stick up above the trees here, wouldn’t somebody have noticed it already?”

“Unless the pyramid sank into soft ground.  No, that doesn’t make sense. They wouldn’t build it in a swamp.”

“What if the swamp came later?” asked Jackie.

“How much later?  It’s been desert for most of the last fifteen thousand years.”

“Buried in sand dunes?” Jackie said.

Carson doubted it.  It took a long time for deserts to build up that much sand, and longer still for dunes to build up to any great height.  But . . . “Not completely buried, but they might raise the ground level.”

“Then when the climate shifted and the jungle advanced back over the desert—” Marten began.

“—the pyramid might be low enough relative to the new ground level to be hidden amongst the trees,” finished Carson.

“So do we have a place to look?” asked Jackie.

“We need to check the maps and run some queries.  It certainly narrows it down.”

∞ ∞ ∞

On their ninth orbit the imagers detected a distinctive square outline through the vegetation.  It was about 150 kilometers from the town of New Toronto, in an area which the geological database said had been desert up until 270 years ago.

“I think that’s it,” agreed Carson.  “Captain, let’s land at New Toronto, it’s a lot closer than Verdigris City.”

“Finally,” said Marten.

“Okay.”  Roberts checked their position and trajectory.  “We’ll do the de-orbit burn on the far side.  Get things stowed for entry.”

13:  Rico Has a Plan

Denver, Earth

“So, Brown, have you come up with anything?”  Rico was back in Denver.

“I had heard that the original material was with the National Archives secondary facility here in Denver.  I checked that and it turns out they only have the original microfilm, not the paper.”  The disgust in Brown’s tone was clear.  Rico already knew how Brown felt about microfilm, he’d mentioned it before.  “That has all been digitized anyway.  What about you?  How was your trip to St. Louis?”

“Interesting.  I know where the original files are.  At least, I think I do.”

“Where?  Can we get them?”

“That’s going to be tricky.  They’re in a commercial facility in Pennsylvania, an old hard rock mine converted for archival and offsite storage.  I don’t suppose you can just officially request them?”

“Not a chance, not those records.  It was all I could do to get confirmation that the microfilm still existed.  A top level request from the UDT council to the US government might get somebody a look, but it would take weeks or months and raise flags everywhere.  Something less sensitive, I could get.”

“Then never mind.  Don’t mention it to anybody; I don’t want anyone’s guard up.”

“You’re planning on stealing them?  From a mine?  This should be good.”

“How much do you really need?  Most of it is already online, right?”

“That’s true.  There are some missing files that were supposedly microfilmed—they’re listed on the indexes—but aren’t in the online data.  Mostly what I want is the photographs and the original Betty Hill map.”

Rico had seen some of the images in the online data.  Apparently the old microfilm technology rendered everything in strict black or white; no gray shades at all, let alone color, and the microfilm scans of photos or drawings were useless, even with image enhancement.  There was just not enough image to enhance.

“How much would that be?  A file box? Two?”

“That sounds about right, but it won’t be all together, some of it will be interspersed with the original reports, although I think there were some separate files for photographs.  They weren’t consistent over the life of the project.”

That made things a little more complicated.  He might have come up with a way to get a single box out undetected; there was no way to do that with the whole collection.  Then there was the matter of whoever tagged him on the train, and possibly his second contact.

“There’s something else,” Rico said. “Someone tried to tag me.  I took care of it but my guess is that somebody else knows we’re here.  There was also something smelly about the follow-up contact.  Possibly the bad guys.”

“The Velkaryans?  What do you suppose they want?”

“Probably the same thing we do, or to stop us from getting it.  But they may be able to help us.”

“Help how?”

“They’ve probably got resources we don’t, religious followers and political sympathizers in useful positions and such, and they’ll make good fall guys if things go wrong.”

“You’re going to steal the files and frame them for it?”  Brown raised an eyebrow.  “You seriously expect to be able to pull that off?”

“I haven’t figured out the details yet.” Brown’s obvious disbelief didn’t bother Rico.  If Brown didn’t think he could do it, then the Velkaryans weren’t likely to either.  They’d be off their guard.  “Maybe I’ll get them to steal the files and then I’ll steal what you want from them.”

Brown looked as though he were about to say something derisive, then stopped himself and peered at Rico, his eyes narrowing.  Then he shook his head slightly and grinned.  “I’m not sure, but I’m beginning to think I see what Ducayne likes about you.”

14:  New Toronto

Above Verdigris

“Damn,” muttered Jackie as the ship cleared the layer of cirrostratus cloud high over their destination.  Below her, skyweed drifted above New Toronto like a malachite blanket, all streaky swirling greens.  That would make the approach and landing interesting, but if she had wanted boring she wouldn’t be out here, despite what she’d said to Carson.

“New Toronto approach, this is Sapphire-class ship Sophie entering the zone from 265 at ten thousand meters, requesting an update and landing instructions.”

“Roger Sophie.  Ceiling is heavy overcast at a thousand, no winds, pressure 751.  Set transponder to 7320 and squawk ident.”

“7320 and squawk, roger.”  She keyed in the transponder code and touched the IDENT pad.  That would not only highlight her on their radar, it would also download the ship’s registration information.

“Got you, Sophie.  At your discretion descend to and maintain 800 meters. No traffic, but watch for weed.”

Yeah, thought Jackie, I’d kind of got that.  She also caught the note of irony in the controller’s otherwise deadpan recitation.

She slowed her glide and powered up the ventral thrusters, coming in belly first and letting the exhaust blow a path through the floating aerophytoplankton. She didn’t want that stuff smearing her hull any more than could be helped.

“Sophie, this is Approach.  We don’t have a flight plan for you; if you filed one it hasn’t gotten here yet.”  Quite possible; with no FTL radio the only way for it to have reached here before them is if another ship had left for Verdigris between the time she’d filed it—which she hadn’t—and when they’d left themselves.  “Please identify yourself, your departure point and your crew and passengers.”

“Roger, Approach.  This is Jackie Roberts, captain/owner of the Sophie, a Sapphire class late out of Sawyers, no other crew. Two passengers: Dr. Hannibal Carson of Sawyer’s World, and Professor Marten, a timoan.  Both archeologists.”

The radio fell silent for a few minutes, then:  “Negative, Sophie.  This field is closed, please divert to Verdigris City.”

“Verdigris?  That’s halfway around the planet!”  Well, only a third, but close enough. “What’s the problem?”

“We’ve got drifting weed down to ground level, zero visibility and ceiling.”

“My landing radar works fine.”  Jackie had landed at night in thick fog, a bit of drifting algae shouldn’t matter.

“Sorry Sophie.  I’m betting this is your first time on Verdigris.”  It was hardly that.  “The skyweed will mess up your radar.  You’ll have to divert to Verdigris City, it’s clear there. Unless you’re declaring an emergency.  Are you?”

When they got into that mode, there was no use arguing with them.  “No, Toronto, no emergency.  Diverting to Verdigris City.”  She pulled up and banked, turning north.  “Sophie out.”  She pushed the throttle forward and pressed back into the seat as the ship boosted into a suborbital arc toward Verdigris City.

“What was all that about?” asked Carson.

“A lot of bullshit about the skyweed.  If it were that thick why did they give me initial clearance to land?  But I couldn’t argue. If I landed anyway they could impound the ship ‘pending investigation’.”

15:  Communication

Velkaryan HQ, Earth

“Signal from Verdigris, sir.” Reid waved the hardcopy in his hand; for security reasons, there were strict limits on which electronic devices were allowed to store messages sent over the Communicator.

The Communicator, as it was called by the few Velkaryans who knew of it, was one of their deepest secrets.  A pair of alien communication devices, one in the Delta Pavonis system and one here—or rather, in orbit around Neptune to reduce interference from ships going in and out of warp in the inner system—which, somehow, could exchange messages at far beyond lightspeed. It had taken over a year to figure out what they were and how to make them work, and even that knowledge was limited to “apply power to these connections; signal goes in comes out those.” Hubble had project teams working to duplicate or find more of the devices, so far without success.

“Go ahead,” said Hubble.

“‘Ship Sophie has arrived in system.  Roberts and Carson  aboard,’ Reid read aloud.  “It says that New Toronto denied them landing, and they diverted to Verdigris City.”

“New Toronto?  So they’ve probably spotted the pyramid.”  Hubble considered this.  It shouldn’t be a problem, but apparently they had underestimated Carson before.  “Okay, have someone there keep an eye on whatever Carson is up to, but don’t make it too obvious.  The last thing we need is to stir up suspicion about our operations there.”

“Of course.  Right away.”

16:  Landing

Starship Sophie, orbiting above Delta Pavonis III

Roberts surveyed the sky below them with disgust.  The air above Verdigris City was also thick with skyweed, although perhaps patchier and thinner than above New Toronto.  “Dammit, Carson, I hate flying through this crap!  Sophie’s going to get covered in green slime.”

“It’ll wash off.  And it’s not slime, it’s aerophytoplankton.”

“Yeah, and it smells like recycler sludge.  Why did it have to be bloom season?”  That last was rhetorical, there were only a couple of times a year when it wasn’t bloom season somewhere on Verdigris—she’d heard they were both on different Thursdays—and the huge clouds of airborne algae drifted over large swaths of the planet.  There were parts of the planet that weren’t the green that had given it its name, but the polar caps and deserts were relatively small and not hospitable to much of anything.

Jackie chatted on the radio for a few minutes with Verdigris Control, then announced: “Okay, I’ve got clearance.  We’re going in.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The entry was routine until they hit the skyweed.  The air had been clear and smooth once the orange plasma glow of their high-speed entry had faded.  As they descended toward Verdigris City, outlying clouds of aerophytoplankton began leaving green streaks on the windows, although not enough to interfere with Jackie’s piloting.  Then they hit the denser clouds.

The windows went completely green in a matter of seconds.  Jackie muttered a curse and flipped a screen to a radar display, leaving another on visual.

“You sure you can land in this?” Carson asked.

“Piece of cake,” said Jackie, but there was an edge to her voice.  “I’ve got the spaceport’s ILS beacon.  What really worries me is—”

The ship jerked suddenly and pitched up.  Carson thought he saw a flash of light through the green on the window, and then looked back at Jackie as she fought the controls to stabilize the ship. The ride smoothed out, and he looked up again to see brief flashes of yellow flame through the window.  The green slime was now a charred brown and was flaking off in the slipstream.

“What was that?”

“As I was about to say, what worries me is that the skyweed is buoyed by gas cells, and they’re flammable.  It’s usually not a problem, but sometimes there’ll be a patch which is dry enough and concentrated enough to ignite.  We must have set one off.”  She’d been scanning the instruments as she spoke.  “No damage, just turbulence.”

“Can we expect more of that?” Marten asked.

“Probably not,” she said.

Jackie was focused on her flying, that was probably all the answer they were going to get from her right now.  Carson thought about it.  “I think the drier stuff will be near the top, it’ll be lighter,” he said to Marten.  “As we descend, the weed will be heavier, more moist.  Probably less flammable.”

“Right.” Jackie confirmed.

∞ ∞ ∞

Clearing the port authorities in Verdigris City had been routine; whatever had gotten into the folks at New Toronto hadn’t spread.  After getting the Sophie hosed down, they hunkered around the galley table looking at the scans of the square structure they’d seen from orbit.

“You’re crazy, Carson.  We can’t get the Sophie in there,” Roberts said, “there’s nowhere to land.  With that foliage you couldn’t even go in with a one-man jetpack, let alone a starship.”

“We don’t have any jetpacks.  But I do know how to clear a landing area.”

“You are crazy.  It would take a—” Roberts stopped, eyes widening.  He couldn’t be thinking of . . . but Carson was nodding slowly, a wry smile on his face.  “A daisy cutter?  Are you serious?”  She knew of the huge bombs used to instantly clear landing areas in heavily forested or jungle terrain, even seen one deployed once.  It was the kind of thing you didn’t forget—kind of like an exploding Spacefarer disintegrator, but with a larger fireball and perhaps a slightly more gentle ground shock.

“That’s how we did it last time I was here.  If we can get hold of one, do you have a way to drop it?”

Roberts thought that over.  She could rig something off an external tie-down loop, or worst case, just shove it out the aft cargo hatch if it wasn’t too big.  “It’ll depend on the weight and configuration, but probably, yeah.”

“Okay, then let’s see what we can find,” he said, rising from his seat at the table.

“Carson, a question.”

“Yes?”

“I really want to see you write up a paper: Applications of High Explosives in Archaeology.  Can I see it when you’re done?”

Carson grinned at her.  “That was the title of my Master’s thesis,” he said. “If it’s not in the database I’ll send you a copy.”  With that he winked and turned to leave.

Roberts realized that her jaw was hanging open and closed it.  She looked at Marten.  “That was a joke, right?”

“Sort of.”  Marten rubbed his nose, trying to remember.  “Yes.  I think the actual title was Decomposition of High-Energy Nitrates: Implications for Hazardous Artifact Location and Dating.”

“Say again?”

“Oh, it was really about detecting old land mines and unexploded bombs using archaeological soil microchemistry techniques, not blowing things up.  But he does like to do that too.”

17:  The Plan

Velkaryan HQ, Earth

Hubble looked up as Reid entered his office.

“I’ve heard from our Mr. Lee again,” Reid said.  “He has an interesting plan.”

“Oh?”

“He thinks he can get the Blue Book archives retrieved from storage and delivered to the National Archive facility in Denver.”

“How is he going to manage that?”

“He was a bit cagey about the details.”  Reid paused to consider what Lee had told him.

“If he had someone on the inside I don’t think he’d need us.  He may have some way to forge a retrieval note.  Either way the records would be going back where they came from, so Steel Mesa won’t be too concerned.  They just need the authorization.  If it is forged, then if and when the records showed up in Denver there would be a lot of confusion and then they’d get sent back.”

“If they show up?” Hubble said.  “So I take it the plan is for us to hijack the shipment?”  That was certainly within their capabilities.

“Exactly.  It’s just old papers, they shouldn’t be under particularly heavy guard, if any at all.  If we take the whole truck they may not even realize what we were after.”

“And Lee expects us to turn them over to him when they’re retrieved?”  Hubble sat back and grinned.  “More fool he.  Is this something we could have done on our own?”

“I don’t see how, without the right people in place to at least convincingly fake a retrieval order.  We'll have more government insiders one day, but we don’t yet.”

“All right.  I want you to haggle with Lee over the arrangements a little so that it doesn’t seem too easy, but let’s do it.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Denver

“Could you arrange to have some files stored in a particular area?”  Rico asked.  He and Brown had been going through the documents on Steel Mesa procedures—most of them internal use only. The Velkaryans had provided them without giving much detail on how they’d been acquired.  Apparently some things were easier to get out of Steel Mesa than others.

“The request would have to come from a customer whose files are already stored in that area, from what I can tell.  You can’t specify the location—you shouldn’t even know which locations are which—but Steel Mesa’s internal directories would route it appropriately.”

Rico pondered briefly what kind of merry hell it would raise if those directories got corrupted, but put the thought aside.  That wasn’t what he was here for, and it he couldn’t think of any way it would help.  It might help cover his tracks, but he’d leave even more tracks hacking their directory systems. No, it wasn’t worth it.

“Here,” he said, passing a file to Brown’s computer.  “Take a look at this list.  Do you have contacts or some other way of getting an archival box or two sent to storage?”

Brown examined the list, mumbling occasionally as he did so.  “That’s a diverse collection of government departments.  Interesting.  Let’s see.  Office of ... no, that won’t work.  Hmm, perhaps this division of . . .”  His voice trailed off, then he looked up at Rico.  “Let me make some calls.  And tell me exactly what you need.  I think we can do this.”

Rico smiled.  This should be fun.

18:  Cutting Daisies

Verdigris City, Verdigris

Nobody had anything suitable, or at least not available for Carson’s use. He would have to improvise.  Fortunately the local biopharm plant had just the thing.

“So is this what I think it is?” asked Carson, picking a handful of fine brown powder out of a plastic drum.

“Dried aerophytoplankton,” the tech told him. He made a waving gesture toward the green sky. “We flash dry it, then use it as a feedstock in some of our processes.”

Carson examined it closely. Some of the grains had what looked like little bubbles attached, though many of the dried bubbles were broken. “Bubbles?  Were these the flotation cells?”

“That’s right; they help keep the algae afloat.  They contain a mix of hydrogen and methane. Much of it leaks out or the bubbles break when they’re dried. Even then, this dry stuff is flammable enough; we have to watch for dust explosions and static buildup.”

“That can happen even in the wild, right?” he said, remembering the flare they’d flown through.

“Usually not, because of the water content of the cells when they’re green.  It’d be like trying to burn green leaves.  Sometimes it’ll flare up, though, if conditions are right.”

“Makes sense.” Carson tossed the handful of brown dust back in the canister, some of it wisping up in a small cloud.  He grinned, this would be perfect. “This is just what I need, I’ll take it.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“I need some way to disperse it.” Carson quickly outlined his plan. “Any suggestions?”

The man paused for a moment, rubbing his chin, frowning. “You are going to keep this away from inhabited areas, right?”

Carson nodded.  “Of course.”

The man gave Carson an appraising look, decided in his favor, and said:  “I’ve got just the thing.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Okay, before I let that thing anywhere near my ship, I want to know how it works,” said Roberts.

“It’s perfectly safe.”

She looked at Carson’s expression of wide-eyed innocence, and didn’t believe it for a moment.  “Of course it is. Now tell me how it works.”

“All right,” Carson said.  “Propellant is here.” He pointed to the ring of plastic around the valve of the compressed air cylinder. “That’s just standard composition from handgun ammo.”

“Oh?”

“I spent a half-hour carefully boiling a dozen pistol rounds in a pot of water and solvent to soften the propellant, then I molded it around the valve and burst disk.  I don’t know if it’s enough to actually take the valve off, but if the burst disk goes, that will be enough.”

“I’ll take your word for it. What else?”

“Igniters are here, wired to this switch.  This is the safety pin here” he pointed to a short plastic rod, to which a length of thin yellow cord was attached. “No power gets to the igniter until this pin is pulled, and” he pointed to two more electrical switches, “these switches both have to be armed and the battery installed.  I’ve thought this through.  I don’t want it to accidentally detonate any more than you do.”

Roberts hoped that was true.  “Okay, and you install the battery and arm the switches just before the drop?”

“That’s correct. I’ve got a thousand meters of cord attached to the pin, it will fall that far before the pin comes out.”

“If the spool doesn’t hang up.”  She had a horrible vision of the cord unreeling ten meters and jamming, and the pin pulling out just beneath her ship.

“Uh, right.”

Roberts inspected the cord spool, spun it a few times, and tugged on the cord. “Kevlar?”

Carson nodded.

“Okay, fair enough.”  She pulled an arm’s length of cord from the spool and looped it around Carson’s hand.  “Here, hold this.”

“What?”  But he held on to the cord.

Roberts still had the spool in her hand and she promptly took off at a run, letting the cord play out as she did.  The spool spun freely; she could feel little, if any, resistance to it.  She slowed to a stop about fifty meters from Carson.

“All right, this will work,” she called to him.  She walked back, carefully rewinding the cord on the spool.

“What happens after the tank blows?” she said as she reached him, and handed back the spool.

“The powder canister is on top, the powder gets blown out.  Dispersed.”

“And what detonates it?”

“That was the tricky part. There has to be a time delay for the skyweed powder to disperse, to mix with enough air to burn, so I couldn’t rely on the initial valve charge to detonate the powder. It can’t wait too long after that, either, or it won’t detonate with the needed force.”

“So?”

“There’s a big spring-loaded switch in the powder canister. Once the powder has blown out, the contacts will come together, and there’s another propellant charge.”

“What’s the safety on that?”

“Same switches as the other, including the pin.  It’s in series.”

“Aren’t you worried the valve blowing will break the circuit?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.”

“I’m amazed you came up with what you did. How does an archaeologist know all this stuff?”

Carson grinned at her.  “I did have help.  The guy at the biopharm plant had some good suggestions. But I also had an interesting childhood, plus my time in the reserves.”

Roberts raised an eyebrow. “I keep finding out new and surprising things about you, Carson. If I didn’t know better from experience, I’d have thought you’d find archaeology boring.”

Carson was still grinning, as though pleased with himself over some private joke.  “Well, you never know what you’re going to run into in the field.”

Roberts suppressed a brief shudder as she remembered some of the things she’d run into in the field with Carson.  Why in the world was she out here with him again?  Because for some damn reason she couldn’t say no.  She sighed.

“Okay then, let’s get it loaded up.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Aboard Sophie, above the jungle

“Let’s find a spot away from the structure to clear our landing area.  We don’t want to damage anything with the blast.”

“You got it.”

A few minutes later they were in position, the radar showed the ground under the trees to be fairly level.  “Okay, I’m opening the aft hatch,” Jackie said and touched a control.  The noise level jumped as the hatch slid open.  As she held the ship in hover with one hand, Jackie reached into a compartment under the control panel and pulled out a pistol. “Here, just in case!” she shouted over the wind and exhaust noise, passing it to Carson.

“In case what?”

“It’s a flare gun. It’ll be extreme range but if you need to you’ll be shooting downhill. Just in case it doesn’t detonate.”

“Thank you!”

Carson made his way back to the aft hatch.  Marten sat on the floor beside it, his safety harness buckled to a tie-down on the bulkhead.  He didn’t look happy.

“Have I mentioned how much I dislike heights?” he shouted over the noise.

“Frequently,” Carson said, and handed the flare gun to Marten.  “All right, I’m going to arm the bomb, then hand me the gun and we’ll push the bomb out the door.”

The cord spool was buckled to a cargo ring beside the hatch.  Carson checked that it would spin freely and pushed the canister assembly to the edge. He checked the switch positions then inserted the battery. A light lit to confirm it was positioned properly. He flipped the two switches, and another light came on. “Armed!” he shouted, then took the flare pistol that Marten passed to him.

He buckled his own harness in, then, holding another cargo tie-down to brace himself, he shouted back to Roberts: “Count down from three!”

“Three, two, one, go!”

Carson used his legs to shove the package out of the hatch as the ship started to lift and accelerate away from the drop. “Bomb’s away!”

The cord spool unwound crazily, and Carson hugged the edge of the hatch, leaning out to watch as the bomb dwindled away below them. He counted to himself. It should take about fourteen seconds for the bomb to fall the thousand meters to the end of the cord.

“Thirteen, fourteen . . .” Carson was starting to wonder if something had gone wrong when the package suddenly blossomed into a brown cloud, expanding and thinning. Damn, the secondary charge had failed. Carson brought the flare pistol to bear but before he could pull the trigger there was a flash and the brown cloud disappeared in a huge fireball.

“Brace yourself!” Carson yelled.

The ship was still accelerating away from the drop zone but Carson saw the shock wave against the ground as moisture condensed briefly in its wake. The fireball expanded and faded, leaving just a rising cloud of smoke and condensation. There was a massive BANG! and the ship shuddered as the shock wave caught up with them.

“Holy crap!” called back Roberts.  “How big was that?”

“A bit bigger than I’d expected,” Carson admitted. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no worse than a thunderstorm, but bigger than any daisy cutter I ever saw before.  All right back there?”

Carson glanced at Marten, who gave him a thumbs up.

“We’re good.”  He cut the dangling cord free of the spool and let it drop away, then touched a panel on the bulkhead.  “Door’s clear, closing the hatch,” he called forward to Roberts.  “Let’s circle back and take a look.”

The daisy cutter had done its work. Where there had been thick, impenetrable jungle there was now a circle devoid of vegetation about thirty meters across, and trees flattened in a radial pattern for perhaps another forty.

“All right, listen up,” Carson said as Roberts brought the ship in for a landing.  “We’ve got a short trek through the jungle to the pyramid.  If you see something that looks like a piece of flying green ribbon, steer clear of it.”

“Ribbon?” wondered Marten.

“Jade ribbon snakes.  They like to live in the treetops and glide down on potential prey.  Their venom is one of the most toxic known.  Fortunately they’re not that common.”

“Got it,” Jackie said.  “Avoid flying snakes.  Maybe I’ll just stay in the ship.”

“Really?”

“You know me better than that, Carson.  I’m game.  But I’m going armed.”

She set the ship down near the middle of the brand new clearing.

Interlude I

Earth, the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, circa 100 CE

Kukul and Quetz dragged their inflatable life raft ashore on a narrow sandy beach.  Kukul looked back across the intervening water to what was left of their ship.  He could have swum the distance if he’d had to, but he hated getting his display feathers wet and he wasn’t sure what predatory creatures he might have attracted.  He pulled binoculars out of his emergency pack and surveyed the wreckage.  From this angle it didn't look too bad, if you ignored the deformation of the hull and the odd angle at which it sat.  He passed the binoculars to Quetzal.

“Nice landing, Kukul,” Quetz said after a few moments.  “We won’t be going anywhere in that.  How are we supposed to get home now, flap our arms and fly?”

Kukul regarded Quetzal, his brow crest rippling with agitation.  “You’ve almost got the feathers for it, Quetz.”  That bordered on insult; Kesh had a full coat of downy feathers when young, for warmth, but shed all but their display feathers in adolescence.  To have feathers implied immaturity.

Quetz hissed, baring his teeth.

“Enough!” said Kukul.  He looked back at the ship.  Quetzal was right, it was irreparable.  However, it would still be recognizable from the air or from orbit if anyone looked closely enough.

“You have to destroy it, you know,” Quetz gave voice to what Kukul had been thinking.

“Yes, I know.”  Reluctantly he flipped open a portable console, keyed in a code sequence, and, with a sigh, pushed a button.  In the distance the wreckage shuddered, pieces flying off and scattering as a series of charges demolished the ship.  No dramatic fireball to attract attention, just a shower of dust and small fragments.  Not unlike, Kukul thought, that damned volcanic eruption we flew through.  A few seconds later he heard the muffled thumps from the distant explosions.

“Will that be enough?”

Kukul considered the question.  The remains of the ship would still be visible to a careful search, but:  “It no longer has a triangular outline that would stand out as artificial. A few days of wave action will take care of the rest.”

“What about the warp drive?”

“That’s where most of the charges were placed. There’s nothing left of it.”  Kukul hissed a sigh and sat down to take stock.

∞ ∞ ∞

Their mission was shot now, of course.  Unless they could find a way to send a signal, undetected, to their compatriots and get rescued.  Perhaps they would send another ship when they hadn’t heard anything from either of them within . . . how long?  Six months?  A year?  Two?  There were few FTL ships yet, they had to be built largely in secret; the ruling priest class, limited to sublight travel, must not know.  Would the Reformers spare another ship to find out what had happened to Kukul and Quetz?  Perhaps not, but they might come here to complete the mission.  And if they did, would they find us?  Anything Kukul could think of to do to attract their attention would also draw unwanted attention from the resident observers.

He and Quetz couldn’t just surrender to the local priest-observers either.  They would want to know where the rest of the crew were, not believing just two of them could make the twelve light-year trip alone in a ship that was barely a lifeboat compared to their huge, multi-crewed ships, almost flying cities, which took years to cross interstellar distances.  If they did believe him, then they’d try to pry the secret of superluminal travel from him.  Not that he knew it, but he supposed anything he could tell him about his ship—and they would try to recover the debris—would help them to figure it out.  They wouldn’t be pleasant about finding out what he and Quetz knew, either, if they even believed it was nothing.

But first things first.

“Our first priority now is to survive,” he said to Quetz.  “Inventory what we have, determine what we need and how much of our mission we can complete, and plan a course of action.”

Quetz, who had been pacing, turned back to him.  “You’re right.  Let’s get to it.”

They’d managed to salvage little from the ship.  The emergency pack held a few days worth of ration bars, some cylinders of drinking water and a filtration system, basic tools, radio, flares, first aid kit, a reader, and a collapsed tent.  Quetz had grabbed a case with some portable survey instruments.   They also had a radio.  Nothing, alas, to build a starship with.  Even the radio couldn’t be used without bringing the priest-observers down on them.

“What can we eat on this planet?” asked Quetz.  The Kesh were omnivores.

“The animals should be edible,” Kukul said.  “I’m less certain of the plants; some will be, some won’t.  We’ll have to test those.”

“Oh? We have a test kit?”

“Well, there is you.  If you eat anything that kills you, I will know to avoid it.”

“Forgive my lack of enthusiasm at that plan.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”  Kukul rippled his crest feathers in amusement.  “Anyway, there are things we can do to help avoid toxic plants, but in the mean time we’ll stick to ration bars and whatever animals we can catch.  Animals are rarely poisonous, just venomous.  Don’t let them bite or sting you while you’re eating them.”

“I am glad one of us is having a good time.”

“Hardly that,” Kukul said. “But we’re alive, we have a reasonable climate and food, and we managed to retrieve some of our equipment.  We can perform some of the geological and biological surveys we came here to do.”

“Why bother?  Are you expecting rescue?”

“And if we are rescued and we haven’t tried to find out what’s special about this planet?  Why it’s off-limits to all but the Priests?  It would be that much longer before we leave if our rescuers have to do that investigation themselves.  If they even deign to rescue such laggards at all.”

Quetzal’s display feathers rippled with agitation.  “You’re right, and it will give us something to do.”  He started to collect up their gear.  “Come on, let’s get off the beach and find somewhere to set up camp before it gets completely dark.”

Kukul moved to assist him.

19:  On to the Pyramid

The jungle, planet Verdigris

“Up ahead there, is that it?”  Carson heard Marten call from ahead of him.  He pushed through the undergrowth to the angled stone wall, Jackie close behind him.  It was a grayish pink, like a fine-grained granite, very distinct from the usual coarser-grained gray rock of the native tombs, and similar to the pyramid they’d found on Chara III.

“This is it, all right,” he said.  “But it’s a lot shorter than the Chara pyramid.  If Marten’s theory of it being buried in an ancient dune is correct, it may take a major excavation to find the entrance.”

“Or another application of high explosives?”  Jackie said.  “Too bad we don’t have the disintegrator.”

“Perhaps there’s another entrance at a higher level,” said Marten.  “We never did get a chance to explore what was above ground level on the Chara pyramid.”

“Speaking of the Chara pyramid,” said Jackie, “how come that one was built on a mountain and this one on a plain in the jungle?”

“This may not have been a jungle when it was built.  There was desert here before that, and it might have been grassland further back, but that's a fair question.”  Carson considered it.  On Chara there had been terraced fields lower on the mountain, and a surprising lack of evidence of anything further out into the nearby plains.  He shrugged.  “I guess they just build them near where the local inhabitants are.  The real question is why the Charans settled where they did.”

“Oh.  Sure.”

Carson looked up at the side of the pyramid.  It was smooth, with no evident seams and certainly no carvings or indications of an entrance.  There had been carvings on the Chara pyramid representing an astronomical puzzle, but they had been at ground level.  The ground here was atop an ancient dune, although that had built up around the pyramid.  He looked about.  To his left the ground sloped up very slightly before being hidden in the underbrush.  To the right was a slight downslope, and if anything the vegetation thinned.

“All right,” he said, “let’s check out the perimeter.  This way looks easiest, so counter-clockwise.”  He led off down the slope, keeping the pyramid wall on his left.

∞ ∞ ∞

The vegetation thinned after they rounded the second corner.  The ground had leveled out, and Carson estimated they were perhaps ten meters lower here than on the far side of the pyramid.  He waved away a cloud of small flying insects, then cursed and slapped at one which had settled on his bare forearm.  “Damn it, now I remember what I don’t like about this planet.  It has mosquitoes!”  Not for the first time, Carson muttered a curse at the long-gone Terraformers who had seeded these planets with too much of Earth’s native life.

He swung his laser machete hard at a heavy clump of vines, which parted with a hiss and crackle under the onslaught.  In another few steps he found himself at a clearing.

The ground sloped away steeply before him, the edge of a broad trench whose sides had slumped over the years.  Vegetation grew up from the slope, and the forest canopy overhead was beginning to fill the gap that had clearly been there before.  Carson noted several tree stumps, their tops sheer and showing evidence of scorching.  They’d been felled with a laser.

“Someone has beaten us to it,” Carson said, appraising the signs.  “Three or four years ago by the looks of it.”

Marten stepped forward cautiously, keeping back from the edge of the steep drop, and looked around.  “Yes, you’re right.” He pointed to where the trench met the side of the pyramid.  The slanted wall showed carvings, and the outline of a doorway.  “Do you suppose they got it open?”

“They must have.  Either they solved the entrance puzzle or had a key to activate the door.”

“But we have the key.”

“There could be more than one.  Maynard certainly seemed to know what he was looking for; he had a picture of a talisman.  Anyway, if they went to the trouble to dig this, they wouldn’t have let a door stop them, not if they were tomb raiders.  They’d have blasted, or used a laser.”

“Carson,” Roberts asked, “how did they know where to dig?  It’s not like they excavated the whole side of the pyramid—and how would they even know which side?”

The trench did seem a bit too convenient, but if the original finders had been more than just the usual opportunistic tomb raiders, it was no great mystery.  “Standard archeological tools.  Ground penetrating radar, sonic imaging, and so forth.  They’d have picked up the relief carvings on the wall, maybe even the door outline.”

“With the right instruments,” Marten added, “they might have picked up some kind of electromagnetic signature from the door mechanism.  There was still power in the Chara III pyramid, but we didn’t have the right instruments to detect it.”

“Good point, although that would imply they knew what they were looking for.”

“I think this excavation is a pretty good sign of that.”

Carson nodded.  That was disturbing.  The Velkaryans had clearly known of the existence, and perhaps the special qualities, of the talismans before he had discovered their technological origin.  Just how much did they know about the Spacefarers?  And if they knew, why were they so xenophobic?  “Yeah.  It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”  He shook his head. “Let’s see if we can get that door open.  The trench slopes up over that way.”  He pointed to a spot through the trees about ten meters away.  “Come on, let’s get down there.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The main level of the pyramid had been cleaned out, if it had ever contained anything.  The pyramid on Chara III had appeared to be some kind of teaching museum, with the main level devoted to basic machines like the lever and inclined plane.  Probably not so much for teaching—it would take some sophistication to gain entrance in the first place—but to establish the pattern that had extended to lower levels beneath the Chara pyramid.

“I suppose it’s not surprising that there’s nothing left,” said Marten, “although I can’t imagine that stuff being worth much in the artifact trade.  Nobody would believe it was either a primitive alien artifact or advanced tech.”

“It wouldn’t have been,” Carson said.

“Exactly.  Do you suppose they found their way to the lower levels?”

“Perhaps, but I’m more interested to see if we can find the ‘janitor closet’.”

“Think you’ll find another disintegrator?” Jackie said.

“It can’t hurt to look,” said Carson.  “Would the Velkaryans have cared about ours if they’d already found one here?”

Marten had been looking around, but he turned back and said: “Assuming it was the Velkaryans who cleaned this place out.”

“Word would have gotten out if it had been anyone else.”

“Anyway, they might have wanted another,” Jackie said. “Collect the whole set, that sort of thing,”

Carson just scowled at her, saying nothing.

“The entrance is rather damaged; they clearly blasted their way in.  The door to our janitor closet was near the main entrance.”

“Also, we came in through it in the other direction.”

Jackie was right.  “That’s true,” Carson said.  “We don’t know what it looked like from the main gallery, especially closed.”

Marten had been examining the wall of the entrance passageway.  “If it’s here I’m not seeing it.  No convenient talisman-shaped recesses either, to try it as a key.”

“No?” asked Jackie, shining her light at the ceiling of the passage.  “Then what’s that?”

Marten and Carson both looked up to see where her light pointed.  It shone on a rounded square depression in the stone.

“That,” said Carson, “would be—”

“—a talisman-shaped recess,” finished Marten.

20:  Rico Goes Shopping

Denver, Earth

“It’s done,” Brown told Rico.  “The file boxes are on a Steel Mesa truck on their way to archival storage in Pennsylvania.”

“Perfect.  It’s too bad that those files are going to have to be retrieved from long term storage so soon, but people change their minds all the time.  So they will be there tomorrow?”

“That’s right.  I don’t know how long it takes to get the various packages off the truck and into their designated locations.”

Rico shook his head.  “I’ll give it a day, it’s not that urgent.  I need to do a little shopping first anyway, then recon.”

“Shopping?”

“Just a few odds and ends.”  Rico grinned.  “A couple of shirts, a camera or a spare omni—”

“You're playing tourist all of a sudden?”

“That too, in a couple of days.  Meanwhile there are some things I need that’ll be faster for me to make myself than to try to find on the local black market, and less likely to call attention to me.  You’ll see.”

21:  Within the Pyramid

In the pyramid, Veridgris.

“But why on the ceiling?” asked Marten, balancing himself on Carson’s shoulders as he reached up with the talisman to insert it into the recess.  “And just how tall were these Spacefarers anyway?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t know.  Just hurry up, would you?” said Carson.

“It’s there.  It’s not doing anything.”  On Chara III it had acted as a key to activate a door.

“Try turning it around.”

“I already did.  Nothing.”  He jumped down from Carson’s shoulders.  “Could be the power’s dead, could be this talisman’s broken.  Or there could be some other explanation.”

“Might there be another way up?” asked Jackie.  “There’s a lot of pyramid above us, clearly there’s something other than rock, or whatever it is, up there.”

“Maybe this does call for an application of high explosives.”  Carson’s tone was grim.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“All right, I’m joking,” Carson deadpanned.

“You’re not convincing me, Carson,” Jackie said.  “Anyway, where would you blast?  The ceiling?  For all we know the doorway, or stairway, or whatever is somewhere else.  There’s nothing that looks like the outline of a door up there.”

Carson raised his light to examine the ceiling again, scanning back and forth across the tunnel.  “You’re right.”

“Carson,” Roberts said, “do we have any other talismans with us?”

“What?  You know I do.  You were there when I argued Ducayne out of them.”  That had been no easy feat.  “They’re back at the ship.  I only brought the Pavonis talisman with me here.  Why?”

“What if Marten’s right? What if it’s just a broken talisman? Maybe one of the others would work.”

“But this is the only one with Delta Pavonis indicated by its star pattern.”

“So?  Who says that keys can’t fit more than one lock?  Why not just code them all the same?”

“It’s not likely an indigenous Charan would be visiting Delta Pavonis,” Carson objected.

“These aren’t for the natives, are they?”

“No.  But if you put it like that, why the star diagram at all?  Why distinguish them?”

“How should I know, Carson?  Alien reasons.  But we’re following the star charts, aren’t we?  Maybe it’s a second level puzzle for someone who already has star travel.  But let’s go get the others from the ship and give them a try.”

Carson took a step back and jerked his head almost as though he’d been slapped.  “A second level puzzle?” he murmured, half to himself. “You’re right,” he said to Jackie. “I should have thought of that.  Let’s go get them.”

“I’ll go,” said Marten, “I’m fastest.”

Carson doubted that.  Timoan reflexes were unquestionably faster, but Marten’s legs were shorter.  Not that it mattered.  “I won’t argue.  I’ll stay in here away from the mosquitoes.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Marten was back in a few minutes with the other talismans.  “We may be having company,” he said. “I heard a vehicle overhead.  Couldn’t tell if it was an aircraft or spacecraft, I only caught a glimpse through a break in the skyweed.  That’s getting thicker by the way, Jackie.”

“Great.  Anyway if they’re coming here it will take them a while,” Jackie said.  “There isn’t enough space in the clearing where I parked Sophie for another ship to land.  Or aircraft.”

“Sounds like a good reason not to dally, though,” said Carson.  “Marten, let’s give a different talisman a try.  The Chara one, we know it worked there.”

Whatever had been the problem with the Delta Pavonis talisman, it didn’t affect this one.  When Marten, again perched on Carson’s shoulders, put the Chara talisman into place, there was a click and a hum, and a section of the passage wall, not the ceiling, slid open.  Revealed behind it was a vertical passageway leading upwards, with a ladder attached to the wall.

“Well,” Marten said, “that’s different.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The upper chamber was devoid of the wall-engravings they’d seen in the lower chambers, and in the Chara pyramid.  It was also devoid of pretty much anything else.

“It’s been cleaned out,” said Carson as he shone a light around the room.  A slab-like table stood against the wall opposite the hole in the floor where they’d entered, with a pair of lower platforms on either side of it.  The latter were positioned as though they might be simple rectangular bench seats, but he didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“Whatever they took was too big to move down the ladder shaft,” Marten said. “Look, they blasted a hole in the wall.”  He pointed his light to a side wall which showed a ragged hole, now choked with rubble, about ten feet in diameter.

“We didn’t see any sign of that from outside,” said Jackie.

Carson shook his head.  “That’s the north wall.  We came around the south side. I wonder what it was.”

Jackie had been looking over the table.  “Whatever it was, it had power connections.”

“What?”  There’d been nothing externally powered in the Chara pyramid, the disintegrator had been self-contained and the lighting, as in the gallery below, was built into the walls.  Carson examined the table where Jackie pointed.  He saw a hole about five centimeters in diameter in the surface, which appeared to line up with the vertical slab supporting the left side.  He peered into the hole and could make out the apparently-sheared end of a cable, with several conductors glinting in the beam of his flashlight.  “Do you suppose there’s still power?”

“It wouldn’t have been very bright to cut the cable if it were live, but I can check.”  Jackie pulled out her omni and touched a sequence on it.  “Multimeter,” she said by way of explanation.  “I have better back on the ship, but this should do.”  She held her omni over the hole, then made a few gestures on its screen and extruded a pair of rods from the omni which she gingerly lowered into the hole, touching the metallic ends of the cable.

“Nothing,” she said, straightening up and reconfiguring her omni.  “Of course the far end might be smart enough not to supply power without a proper handshake.”

“You sure it was power and not signal?”

“It could have been both, but I can’t imagine using conductors that thick for just signal.  Or conductors at all; they could have used fiber.”

Carson considered that and flipped out his own omni.  One argument against fiber was that over time, radiation could darken it, although it would take a lot of radiation or a lot of time.  A check confirmed that radiation levels here were, if anything, lower than outside.  Although Delta Pavonis was an older system, the rocks still held more natural radioactivity than was typical of Earth.  So conductors probably did mean power, then.

“So, I wonder what it was.”

“Hannibal, I was thinking,” said Marten.  “Remember on Chara III, the vehicle we saw just after Hopkins’ ship crashed?”

Carson was unlikely to forget it.  They’d landed to assess the damage to their own ship—Hopkins men had been firing on them—and had seen what appeared to be a flying pyramid settle behind the mountain where they’d explored the pyramid a few days before.  Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to get a closer look at it.

“I remember. What about it?”

“We joked about tripping some kind of alarm when we entered the pyramid.  If that were so, there’d be some kind of communications system.  We never found a room like this there, but could this have been the equivalent of a radio room?”

“That makes about as much sense as anything else,” Carson allowed.

Jackie examined the end of the conduit.  “I don’t see anything that looks like an antenna feed, but that doesn’t prove much.  There are any number of ways to accomplish that, not all of them obvious.”

“So why make off with an alien radio?” asked Marten.  “I mean, yes, it is a high-tech alien artifact, but what are they going to do with it?”

“Sell it,” said Carson through clenched teeth.  The thought disgusted him, but he’d seen that attitude in tomb raiders before.  “Last time I was on Verdigris, raiders swiped a mummified body to sell.”  He wondered how many high-tech alien artifacts might be in private collectors’ hands.  Surely they’d realize the significance?  Proof of recent, spacefaring aliens?  Something he’d spent the last several years searching for.  He clenched his fists in frustration.  The significance probably made it that much more valuable, and only the collector would know about it.

“Come on,” he said, “there’s nothing here.  Let’s get back to the ship.”

“We’re not going to check out the rest of the pyramid?” said Marten.

“Why?  I doubt we’ll find anything, let alone anything we didn’t already see in the Chara pyramid.”

“But—”

“No.  We’ve established that there’s a Spacefarer pyramid here, which was the main point.  If it hadn’t been opened . . . but now we’re wasting time here.  Its archeological integrity is gone.  We should get on to our next stop.”  In fact Carson would have been happy to stay and explore if they had no next stop, and if they hadn’t been abruptly turned away from landing at New Toronto.   There wasn’t enough here to risk his team with another run in with the Velkaryans.

“Jackie,” Carson continued, “when we get back to the ship, send a message to Ducayne letting him know about this room we found, the condition of the pyramid, and the exact coordinates.  I’m sure he’s got people on Chara III going over the pyramid there like a crime scene investigation, but we should alert him to the possibility of a hidden room.  He may also want to send a team here.”

“So you don’t want to go back to tell him yourself?  Shall I use one of the message torpedoes?”

“No, it’s not that urgent, let’s save those for when we need them.  Just send it by regular message traffic.  He should get it by the time we reach Alpha Mensae.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Carson, do you think we were denied landing at New Toronto because of Velkaryan influence?”  Jackie asked as they hiked back to the Sophie.  “The skyweed wasn’t that bad, and the denial seemed rather abrupt once they found out who we were.”

That had been one of Carson’s concerns.  It had seemed too coincidental, and yet . . .  “How would they know we were coming?”

“If someone had left Alpha Centauri within a day or two after us, they could have reached here first.  They wouldn’t have come via Epsilon Indi.”

“But how did they know we’d be coming here?  You didn’t file a flight plan, and we departed toward Taprobane.”

“It’s a similar vector.  They might have sent ships to both places.”

“That seems a bit extravagant; we’re not that important.”

“You might be, if they held a grudge,” said Jackie.  “Me too, for that matter.  Is that why you were in such a hurry to leave the pyramid?  In case they came looking for us, like that ship Marten heard?”

Carson didn’t want to worry Jackie any more than necessary, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.  He settled on changing the subject.  “Could someone have sent a message torpedo from Taprobane after we left?”

“I thought you said we weren’t that important.  In which case they wouldn’t have wasted a message torpedo, either.  Assuming they had any.”  Such things were only supposed to be available under closely controlled government license, since their compact propulsion system contained antimatter.

“Who knows what they might have access to?” continued Carson.  “But it’s more likely they just had my name on file and turned me away on general principles.  Or perhaps there really was a skyweed problem.”

Jackie shrugged.  “I suppose.”  By then they had reached the ship.  “Well, we’re leaving now anyway.”

Carson slapped at the mosquito biting his neck.  “And not a moment too soon.”

22:  Planning a Visit

Denver, Earth

“So what exactly is your plan,” Brown asked.  Rico had come back to their room with a bundle of packages from his shopping trip.  “What all have you got there?”

“Tell you what, I’ll show you what I bought,” Rico said, laying packages out on the table, “you see if you can figure it out.”  There were several smart-fabric shirts, some electronics tools, a couple of cheap omniphones, scissors, wire, a fabric bonder, tape measure, and other miscellany.

Brown examined the array of goods.  He picked up one of the shirts and examined the fabric and the attached electronics module which controlled the display.  “This looks a little higher-end than the display shirts kids are wearing.”

Rico grinned.  He seemed to be enjoying this little game.  The fact was, so was Brown.  Puzzles were always interesting.  “It is,” Rico said.  “It will let me load new images.  Any ideas?”

Brown picked up the omnis.  They didn’t look morphable, but they had the usual cameras and interface jacks.  If Rico had some gadgetry talent—and he’d heard that he did—he could make something rather interesting from this.

“You don’t have enough sensors or computing power for a full invisibility suit, but you could do pretty fair adaptive camouflage with this.”

“Bravo,” Rico said, giving a golf clap.  “But there’s more than one kind of invisibility.  A guy in a uniform looks pretty much like any other guy in a similar uniform, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“A projected image of a uniform wouldn’t fool anyone less than a few meters away.”

“It doesn’t have to.  It’s just for the security cameras.”

Brown thought about it, then nodded.  Security cameras, especially when not expected to be needed for forensic use, were typically lower resolution, or poorly adjusted, or improperly focused.  “That might work.  Why not just steal a uniform?”

“I’ll need several different outfits depending on where I am.  This will let me change faster than Superman in a phone booth.”

“I’m amazed you know what a phone booth is.”  Brown knew, but he’d studied the history of technology.

“Hey, I’ve seen the classics.”

“Ah, of course.  Can you actually make this thing?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.  Hell, I could probably find instructions on the net, but I don’t want to call attention.”

“But, sewing?”

Rico’s expression grew shadowed.  “When I was a kid, I had to mend my own clothes.  We couldn’t afford new, and we weren’t allowed to go around in ripped or worn.”

“Oh.”  Rico’s expression didn’t invite further questions along that line.  Brown returned to the original subject.  “So, I get the camouflage, but I don’t see how that fits into a plan.”

Rico grinned again.  “I’m going to pay a little visit to Steel Mesa, and then I’m going to shuffle the deck a bit.”

23:  Steel Mesa

Earth, Velkaryan HQ

“Message from New Toronto, sir.  Carson has left Verdigris,” Laquis, one of Hubble’s assistants, said to him.

“Did they find anything?”

“They found the pyramid, but of course they wouldn’t have found anything inside it.  Even if they found the radio room, we moved the equipment two years ago.”

“And left nothing behind?  Carson’s an archeologist, he wouldn’t overlook a detail.  Like that broken talisman he found.”

“Nothing.  Everything that could be moved was.”

“Okay, do they know where he was headed?”

“They didn’t file a flight plan.  Their heading when the ship went to warp suggests Alpha Mensae.”

“Alpha Mensae?  There’s nothing to find there.”

“That could be a stop en route to Zeta Reticuli.”

That gave Hubble pause.  They didn’t know if there was anything to find at Zeta Reticuli either, but the one ship the Velkaryans had sent there had never returned.  That didn’t prove anything, of course.  Any number of things could happen to a ship in or out of warp, and Reticuli was far enough away that something even as stupid as a misaligned jump could leave a ship stranded with no way to refuel.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

On the other hand, he knew that Zeta Reticuli loomed large in the mythology of UFOs and alien contacts.  Hubble had heard of the Betty Hill incident, although he discounted it.  Still, if Carson was headed in that direction, there was probably good reason—if indeed he intended to go that far.

“What’s the distance from Alpha Mensae to Zeta Reticuli?  And how far off a direct track from Pavonis to Z R is it?”

Laquis checked his omni.  “Pavonis to Reticuli is about twenty-seven light-years; it’s thirteen light-years from Alpha Mensae.  That’s to Zeta One Reticuli, it’s actually a widely spaced binary with Zeta Two about a light-month further.  From Pavonis to Reticuli by way of Alpha Mensae means a seven-plus light-year detour, so several days, but they’d need to refuel somewhere anyway.”

“So we could save about five days going direct.”  Was it worth sending a ship on what could prove to be a wasted trip?  On the other hand, even if Carson didn’t go to the Zeta Reticuli system, the place was worth checking out, and they might find out what had happened to the previous expedition.

“Does Pavonis have anything with the range to get to Zeta Reticuli in one hop?”  A twenty-seven-plus light-year jump was just beyond the range of most ships.

“I don’t know sir.  Certainly they have something which could do it with just one refueling stop.  There might be a more direct route than Alpha Mensae, if they don’t care about terraformed planets.”

That was true enough.  Even a red dwarf could have comets or ice moons or a gas giant to refuel at.  A navigator would know.

“Very well.  Get on to New Toronto.  Tell them to send a ship to Zeta Reticuli by the fastest route, and if Carson shows up, or he’s already there by the time they get there, to see what he does.  Grab anything interesting he finds.  While they’re waiting, or if he doesn’t show up, they can check the system for anything interesting themselves.”  He thought for a moment. “Do we have someone there who can handle a mission like this?”

Laquis considered the question.  “Maynard could have, of course, but we assume he’s dead.  How about Vaughan?  He did a good job on the Eridani project.”

“Is he at Pavonis now?”

“Last I heard, which was a couple of weeks ago.”

“All right, if he’s available, then him.  Otherwise have the section chief make a recommendation.”

“Yes sir.  Anything else?”

“That’s it for now.  Keep me posted.”

“Of course.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Steel Mesa storage facility, Earth

“All right gentles, if you’ll just move down this corridor and take a seat on the trolley . . .”  The Steel Mesa tour guide’s voice faded as the restroom door swung shut behind Rico.  He knew the drill, he’d done the tour several days earlier, strictly playing tourist.  Today, though, he had no intention of staying with the tour group.  A quick check showed the restroom to be empty.  Rico slipped out of the oversize, loud Hawaiian print shirt he wore over the regular cut, smart-fabric shirt. He untucked his collar and straightened the shirt, then touched a sequence on the improvised control panel.  The shirt changed to the shade of burgundy that the Steel Mesa records staff wore.  He checked his reflection.  Not perfect, but then he wasn’t going for a job interview.  He stuffed the aloha shirt in his shoulder bag, then stuffed the bag in a corner of a stall and locked its door, slipping out of the stall underneath it.  The cleaning crew wouldn’t be in here until after the tour group returned.  It should be safe.

He checked himself in the mirror once more.  A pair of cheek pads and a little makeup changed the appearance of his face.  Good enough.  He opened the restroom door a crack.  Yes, the tour group was gone.  He pushed open the door and strode out like he owned the place.

It was a short walk down the corridor to where the tour trolley had been parked.  There had been individual golf carts parked in the same area when he’d been part of the tour a few days earlier.  With any luck . . . yes, there were two.  He checked the forward one.  Good, the key was in the switch.  Rico climbed in, turned it on, and smoothly cruised away down the cross corridor.  Now, let’s see if I remember the way there.

Fortunately for Rico’s memory, the major routes were indicated by colored lines painted on the walls, and equally fortunately there was almost nobody else in the tunnels on this Saturday.  The next challenge was coming up.

He rounded a corner and in the brief gap between the views of two different cameras, he switched the image on his shirt to match the dark blue tunics of the security staff.  His pants wouldn’t match, but they were dark, and hidden as long as he stayed in the cart.

At the next intersection the way left was blocked by a sliding gate.  He turned the cart toward it, then stopped and checked the time on his omni.  There was more slop in the timing here than Rico liked.  Records retrieval wasn’t on a specific schedule, but if he’d worked it out properly he wouldn’t have to wait here more than a minute.  Any longer would look suspicious, and he didn’t want to keep driving around the corridors just to burn time.  He might run into someone who noticed something a little odd about his “uniform.”

A minute passed.  Rico strained to hear if one of the nearly silent carts was coming.  He examined his omni—it was unfolded to slate format—as though checking some work-related detail, playing his part for the benefit of the cameras.  He wasn’t even sure how closely they were monitored.  It wasn’t like this place was a casino or a bank.  For all he knew the cameras could have been entirely unattended, silently recording away in case someone needed to check something after the fact.  But it was safer not to assume that.

He heard an approaching hum, but with the echoes in these tunnels it was nearly impossible to tell from where.  He inched the cart forward toward the gate, and was still a few meters from it when a cart rounded a corner on the far side of it, coming towards him. Finally!  The records tech in the other cart pulled up beside the scanner and waved his badge across it.  Rico pulled up to the scanner on his side and passed his badge—a plain piece of plastic printed with a picture he’d surreptitiously taken of a security badge on his previous visit—across it just as the gate started to slide open.

It opened from right to left, so it cleared his side before it was fully open for the oncoming tech.  He accelerated through it, nodding to the records tech as he passed.  In Rico’s experience most people tended to avoid eye contact with cops or security personnel.  Almost everyone had some minor infraction to feel guilty about.  This tech was no different, and he just nodded back, oblivious.  Step two was complete; he was now in the government archival records section.

∞ ∞ ∞

Step three would be a little trickier.  If he had been able to tap into the security camera system, it would all have been much easier; unfortunately, the cameras used an encrypted wireless signal that he hadn’t managed to crack.  The wireless had surprised him, down here in these mine tunnels, but apparently they had repeaters set up so it would work.

It was dark in the room he wanted, until he slipped on his IR lenses.  As he’d suspected, there was plenty of infrared illumination for the cameras.  Not a problem.  He erected small smart-fabric screens at strategic locations.  They couldn’t transmit in IR, but to the cams watching this room a monochrome image in visible light would look the same.  As before, this wasn’t exactly a casino.  No company would spend more money than they needed to watching a room where nothing ever happened.

With the screen in place, the camera saw what it had seen before, a room full of shelves with boxes of files on them.  It did not see Rico, hustling from shelf to shelf looking for several particular boxes.

Found them.  They were locked, but with simple mechanical locks that Rico could open just as fast with a pick as their rightful owners could open with a key.  There was one other box, more modern, but Rico knew the combination to that one.  He began to open each box in turn, skimming through the stacks of paper in each box looking for what he wanted, occasionally checking against a list on his omni, and transferring certain pages to the last box.

The omni’s time readout caught his eye.  Damn, this was taking longer than he’d budgeted for.  If he wasn’t back before the tour returned, there would be trouble.  He picked up his pace, being less selective about what he grabbed.  The danger there was that he’d fill his box before he’d gone through everything, and if he missed something important . . . well, it couldn’t be helped now.  He kept skimming the papers.

∞ ∞ ∞

With only minutes to spare, Rico fastened up the boxes and returned them to their proper places.  There was another tricky bit while he dismantled the screen and slipped out of the room back to his cart.  Getting out through the gate was easier than getting in; it usually was, except in a prison, and the motor control was accessible from this side.  In his haste he almost forgot to change the image on his camo-shirt, but didn’t encounter anyone before he realized it.  Rico was just parking the cart when he heard the sound of the tour trolley returning.   He hastened into the restroom where he’d stashed his shirt.

He tucked the collar of his camo-shirt back under and donned the bright aloha shirt, pulled out his cheek pads and wiped off the makeup.  He checked his omni.  The tourists would be back any moment.  As he thought that, several of them came in to use the facilities, and Rico stepped out.

“Mister Smith, there you are!”

Oh, crap.  It was the tour guide.

“Were you with us on the tour?  I didn’t see you, and that shirt is hard to miss.”

Damn, that had been a mistake.

“Oh, uh, ma’am,” Rico stalled.  He placed a hand over his stomach, and tried to look sheepish.  “No. You see I went to the restroom before the tour and, well, this is embarrassing but it must have been something I ate.”  He rubbed his stomach for emphasis.  “I was in there just about the whole time.”

“Oh my goodness.  Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine now.” Rico wiped a hand across his brow.  The sweat was very real, and it added to the effect.  “I, uh, I don’t suppose there’s another tour?”

“I’m sorry sir; this was the last one today.  You could come back tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.  We can go over to visitor relations and arrange it.  Are you sure you’re all right?”

Rico ran a hand across his stomach and made an exaggerated wince.  “I’ll be fine, but I think perhaps I’ll just go home.”

“All right Mister Smith.  Feel better.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Rico joined the others leaving the facility.  All in all, that had gone rather well.

∞ ∞ ∞

Velkaryan HQ, Earth

“Pavonis is dispatching a ship,”  Laquis reported.  “Vaughan was available.  They’ll be leaving within a day, they should make Zeta Reticuli three weeks from now.”

“Good.  So we’ll hear back when?” said Hubble.

“Seven weeks at least, with in-system transit time.  Longer depending on what they find.  There’s still no progress on duplicating the Communication System.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Denver

“How did it go?” Brown asked when Rico arrived back in Denver the next day.

“I made it back, didn’t I?” Rico grinned and shook his head.  “No problems.  Go ahead and have your contact arrange for the Blue Book archives to be shipped, and I’ll pass that information along.”

“What about the photographs and other files?”

“Wait a day and then arrange for them to be retrieved,” Rico said.  “We want to make sure they’re not on the same truck as Blue Book, that would waste the whole exercise.”

“Right.  Of course not.”

“Any reason to stick around here on Earth after that?”

Brown thought for a moment before answering.  “There are some things I would have liked to have checked out regarding the Sol talisman, but all my leads have been dead ends.  Quite frustrating really.  So no, no other reason to stay.  We can get back to Sawyers.  I’ll book the flight.”

“Do me a favor and charter a ship.”

“You have a problem with scheduled?”

“Not exactly,” Rico said.   “Go ahead and book the tickets too.  I just want some flexibility in our route, in case the Velkaryans catch on too quickly.”

“Why not just delay the Blue Book shipment until after we have what we want?”

Rico had already considered that and rejected it.  “The problem with that is the timing doesn’t work.  They’re already getting impatient, even though it’s supposedly my money at risk.  I’m hoping they’ll watch me less closely once the process is rolling on delivery.  If they spot me at a spaceport before that, it would raise an alert.”

Brown nodded.  “Indeed.  But are you sure we can get out after that?  They’ll come looking for you when they realize they’ve been duped.”

“That’s why both the tickets and charter.  But you shouldn’t have a problem; they don’t know about you.”

24:  Hallelujah

Alpha Mensae system

No beacon welcomed them when they dropped out of warp on the fringe of the Alpha Mensae system.  Roberts had not expected one; this system was at the outer edge of the bubble of explored stars known as T-space.  Some called it a network rather than a bubble, arguing that stars without terraformed planets weren’t logically part of “terraformed space.”

Roberts understood the mathematical distinction but discarded it; it was easier to think of T-space as a spheroid defined by how far a ship could travel from Sol or Alpha Centauri without refueling.  Alpha Mensae was just a bit further than that, and although she’d topped up before leaving Verdigris, the tanks were running low.

The lack of a beacon, however, didn’t mean they were alone.  Roberts scanned the communication bands as they approached.

“I’m picking up some faint radio chatter on the ship-to-suit channels,” she announced as Sophie moved deeper in-system.

“So there’s somebody else here.  What are they saying?”

“I’m only getting one side of the conversation.  The suit transmitters aren’t strong enough.  It sounds like some kind of prospecting or geological survey.”

“What does the database say?”

“Not a lot.”  Jackie skimmed the on-screen readout.  “It doesn’t seem to have been updated by on-site exploration; the planetary data is from telescopic observation.  A couple of gas giants, asteroids, three terrestrial planets—”

“Three?” broke in Marten.  “That’s unusual.”

“Terrestrial as in ‘rocky’ or ‘not gas giants’, not as in ‘terraformed.’  Mars, Venus and Mercury are considered terrestrial too.  But one of these three here does show an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and enough trace gases to indicate life.”

“So we make for that one,” said Carson.

“Fair enough.  We should announce ourselves to the locals, though.  They’ll detect us anyway soon enough.”

“Agreed.  We wouldn’t want them to think we’re claim jumpers.”

Roberts tapped out a control sequence and keyed her microphone.  “General broadcast to anyone in the Alpha Mensae system.  This is the charter ship Sophie, inbound on an archeological survey.  Just wanted to say hello.”  She touched another key and turned to the others.

“I’ve set that to repeat at ten minute intervals.  We’re far enough out that nobody will hear it for a while.  Let’s get deeper in-system.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Calling Sophie.  Calling Sophie.  This is Rockhopper, we are mining exploration ship.  My name is Petrov.  Welcome to the neighborhood, but I will be surprised if you find anything archeological.”

The call, with the speaker’s Slavic accent, came when they were a few hours out from Alpha Mensae II, the life-bearing planet, the Sophie having warped to within a million miles of it.

“Hello Rockhopper.  We’re surprised to find anyone this far out.  So, why do you say we won’t find anything archeological?”  Of course the odds were low, but a surprising number of terraformed worlds had shown some level of intelligent life, although anything beyond old stone age technology was rare.  Mostly Jackie was making conversation.

“You will understand after you do a couple of orbits of Hallelujah.  It is pretty barren.”

“Hallelujah?”

“The planet you’re approaching.  We may not be first ones here, but there were no names in database, so we named it.”

“Sure, first lander’s privilege, but ‘Hallelujah’?”

“Well, standard abbreviation for this star’s name is A. Men. It seemed appropriate, yes?”

Jackie’s groan echoed Carson’s.

“So, not reflecting any remarkable find, then.”

“Afraid not.  We are doing all right, but nothing hallelujah-worthy.  Anyway, we have been out here a while.  We would welcome a chance to rendezvous and say howdy, and do data swap.  By chance, are you courier?”

“I am.”  Most charter operators were.  Ships were the only way to carry messages faster than light, and courier fees earned the operators some extra credit.  It was like a contract to carry mail back in the early days of air flight; it could mean the difference between a profit or a loss.  “But we’re probably headed outbound after this, it’ll be a while before we’re back in civilization.”

“Nyet problem, we will be here for a while.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“I see Petrov’s point,” said Jackie as they approached the planet.  “This place is more like Mars than it is Earth.”  Hallelujah’s orbit skirted the outer edge of Alpha Mensae’s habitable zone, and the planet was slightly smaller than Earth, with a thinner atmosphere.  At first view the highest lifeforms seemed to be lichens and mosses, although the oceans—considerably smaller than Earth’s—might hold more variety.

“You’re right.  It almost looks like they Ares-formed this place.  Do you suppose the Terraformers even touched this system?”  When it came to planetology, Carson deferred to Jackie’s knowledge.

“We can check the life-forms when we land.”  The life seeded by the Terraformers all showed a common genetic heritage with Earth, whereas independently-evolved life they’d found, while biochemically similar, showed clear genetic differences, in some cases incorporating different nucleic acids.  “But it might have been Earthlike at one point.  It does look rather like a wet Mars now, though.”

“The key question is, how long has it been that way?  As little as fifteen thousand years?  In which case it might have had more life, and attracted the Spacefarers.”

Jackie shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  You can build up some pretty big deserts in that time, but not like this.  Barring some massive stellar flares blowing most of the atmosphere away, I’d guess this would take a couple of million years at least.  My planetology is a little rusty.”

Carson sighed.  “I think you’re right.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Zeta Reticuli?  That is haunted place,” the old prospector, Petrov, said.  They had enjoyed a meal together and were now, at his insistence, working on a bottle of vodka.  Jackie took it slow, she might have flying to do.  Petrov’s accent grew thicker with each drink.  One of his crew was already dozing off in a chair.

“What, haunted?”  That was a new one to Jackie.

“Well, I have never been there myself.  I am not knowing anyone who has, not who came back.  That is problem.  I hear of ships heading to Reticuli system but do not hear of any coming back.  So, is rumor the place is haunted.”

“If nobody comes back, who started the rumor?”  Jackie said.

“Oh, I’ve often heard tales of ruins that were haunted,” Carson said.  “It’s the kind of thing an archeologist picks up on.  Not that anything I’ve explored has been, but the rumors were a good indication that there was something of interest there.”

“It could just be surrounded by a thick dust ring,” Jackie said, recalling the hazards of flying into the Epsilon Eridani system.  The energy release from a warp field encountering anything much bigger than a grain of dust could destroy the ship.

“We could see dust ring,” Petrov said.  “It would show up in good telescope, like maybe ship’s guidance scope, da?”

“Fair point.”  She’d use caution entering the system anyway.

“Well, if it’s haunted, there are ghosts.  If there are ghosts, there were once people, or something like people,” said Carson.  “It sounds like it would be archeologically interesting.”

“Should have known it would not bother you.  You archeology folks always poking around in dead places.”

“We’d poke around live places too but the residents tend to object,” Carson said with a broad grin.

“Ha!  Da, that is problem,” the prospector said.  He picked up his glass, noticed that it was dry, and refilled it from the rapidly emptying vodka bottle.  “Well, good luck to you.”  He raised his glass.  “Na strovya!”

“Cheers.”  Carson tossed back his own drink.

Jackie raised her glass to her lips without taking a sip and wondered just what they were going to encounter at Zeta Reticuli.

25:  Meanwhile

Sawyers World

“Ducayne, I’ve got that analysis you wanted of flight plan records,” Jones said over the intercom.

“Anything?”

“A couple of things.”

“Oh?  Come on up, let’s talk.”

A few minutes later Jones entered Ducayne’s office, data tablet in hand.

“So what do you have?”

“We checked flight plans and flight record data back thirty years for anything heading to or returning from that sector.  Alpha Mensae, Zeta 1 and 2 Reticuli, Gliese 86, Zeta—”

“Okay, I don’t need an astronomy lesson.”

“Right.  We’ve got some info on Alpha Mensae.  Seems a couple of ships have been there, none of them reported anything interesting.  One life-bearing planet, but it’s more like Mars than Earth.  In fact there may be a ship out there now; a prospector ship named Rockhopper filed a flight plan to there a few months ago, for what that’s worth.”

Not necessarily much, thought Ducayne.  There was no legal requirement for a private ship to file a flight plan, and although filing a false one was technically against the law, prospectors and other explorers might do just that to mislead the competition.

“What about Zeta Reticuli?”

“Nothing.”

“What, nothing at all?”

“No information. It’s further away, a ship would have to make at least one refueling stop to get there, from here anyway.  In fact there are a couple of flight plans filed for there, but the flight plans were never closed.”

“Meaning the ships were never heard from again.”  Even if the flight plan had been false and they’d gone somewhere else, the plan would have been closed out when they’d returned to civilized space.  “Recent?”  It was possible that a ship had returned to, say, Tau Ceti or somewhere else and the news simply hadn’t reached Alpha Centauri yet.

“Three years ago.  And another one five years before that.”

Which ruled out the possibility it had already returned to another settled world.  If a ship hadn’t been heard from in that long it was almost certainly lost, with a slim chance that it had been re-named and the ID’s altered.  Or, just possibly, the crew had found a nice place to live and had retired from the human race.  Ducayne wondered how many planets, surely beyond the fringes of established T-space, were inhabited solely by a handful of humans.  He shook his head.  The romantic history of Sawyers World was overrated; one didn’t get a planet named after one’s self lightly.

“So, as far as you can tell, nothing that’s been to Zeta Reticuli has ever come back?”

“If you put it that way, no.  But we’re talking about a tiny sample size.”

“What’s the percentage of unclosed flight plans to other systems?”

Jones did a quick calculation on his data pad.  “It varies by distance.  The further away the higher the percentage.”

“Twelve parsecs, stop hedging.”

Jones shifted in his seat, looked at the pad, then back up at Ducayne.  “Ten percent.”

It was an easy calculation.  “So with two ships, ten percent of ten percent, or only a one percent chance that both of them would go missing randomly.  Yet two have.  That’s a nasty coincidence.”

“It’s worse than that.  Not counting Zeta Reticuli, it’s only eight percent each, so much less than one percent chance of coincidence.”

Ducayne sighed.  Zeta Reticuli was definitely skewing the odds.  He hoped Jones was right about it just being a small sample size.  “All right, thank you.”

“You’re worried about Carson and Roberts?”

“Of course, but also about what they might stir up.”

“Shall I get another ship ready to go out there?”

And risk making a bad situation even worse?  He needed more information before doing that.  Brown and Rico should be back within a few days, maybe they’d have something.  And then?  “Start the wheels rolling.  Don’t specify a destination yet, but make sure we’ve got the range.  This has to be played very carefully, and I’m not committing to anything.”

“Understood.”

26:  Abduction

Steel Mesa, Pennsylvania

“This next retrieval order, number 87321234 . . .” said the young records technician working the night shift at Steel Mesa.

“Yeah, what about it?” his supervisor said.

“If I’m reading these access codes right, that’s twenty-seven boxes.”

The supervisor tapped out a sequence to bring the order up on his own screen.  “87321234?  Yep, that’s right.”

“But, twenty-seven boxes of paper files?”  The tech had almost only ever dealt with copies of digital archives, and occasionally a single box of paper files.

“It looks like they’re retrieving a whole project.”  The supervisor had been skimming the details on the ticket.  “Either they’re moving it somewhere else or more likely just want to trash it and stop paying for the storage.  Either way, it’s their stuff.  If they want it, we’ll send it.”

“But . . .”  The tech sounded a bit lost.

“Just treat it as a regular retrieval, times twenty seven. Use a robo-lift on those boxes, that’s what they’re for.  And if there’s enough other stuff going to—” he checked the ticket “—Denver, then dedicate a truck to it, don’t bother splitting the load with another destination.”

“Uh, okay.  Got it.  Thanks.”

“Sure.  Just make sure the recipients have the correct shipping info.”

“Yeah, got it.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Denver

“Got it, thank you,” Brown said and clicked off his omni.  He turned to Rico.  “The files are on their way.  I just got the tracking info.  They’re on a Steel Mesa truck bound directly for Denver, so presumably via I-70.”

“That would be right.  We did a test with a storage box containing a navigation system, it confirmed the data we were given by the Velkaryans’ Steel Mesa sources.”

“So we’re almost done, then.  Shall I retrieve our box?  There’s no way it will be on the same truck now.”

“Sure.  And I need to pass this information on, they’re expecting it.  I want them to stay distracted a while longer.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“So when will I be able to take delivery?”  Rico asked Reid over a secured omniphone channel.

“If the shipping information is correct, then the day after tomorrow.  Make sure you have the final payment.”

“Two days from now?  Why the delay?”  Rico didn’t really care—in fact the delay was probably to put him off the trail while the Velkaryans made off with the files—but Reid would expect him to protest.

“We’ll need time to transfer the boxes to another vehicle and dispose of the Steel Mesa truck.”

“What about the driver?”  The truck could have been entirely autonomous, of course, but it was Steel Mesa policy to have all loads accompanied by a driver in case of problems, and to hand-deliver any individual items.

“He’ll be fine.  We’ll just hold him incommunicado for a couple of days then release him.  He won’t remember the details.”

Rico wondered if any of that was true.  On the other hand, a missing person usually prompted a more extensive investigation than a missing truck.

∞ ∞ ∞

Reid clicked off his omni. The driver was a complication, of course, but not an insurmountable one.  In theory, autonomous vehicles couldn’t be tampered with while in motion.  Unless overridden by law enforcement codes, the car or truck’s driving computer would keep to the optimum course dependent on conditions, and if conditions changed beyond what the poor robot could handle, and there was no authorized driver aboard to take manual control, it would pull over, lock itself down, and send a distress call until someone came to take care of it.

Reid could come up with any number of scenarios to sufficiently confuse a truck’s artificial intelligence.  A vehicle’s systems could be hacked into wirelessly from another car driving nearby, although that kept getting harder as the systems got smarter.  But with a driver aboard that would be trickier; a driver would notice something wrong.  Given sufficient time and the Velkaryans’ resources, they could come up with the police override codes for Steel Mesa’s vehicles, and there wouldn’t be anything the driver could do to stop them pulling the truck over and locking him in the cab.  But that wasn’t an option.  They would have to use more direct methods.

∞ ∞ ∞

I-70 Westbound, East of St. Louis

The Steel Mesa truck—actually more of a van—cruised westward on I-70 at a modest 180 kph.  Fred Smith, the driver, yawned and paused the vid he was watching to check his progress.  This new implant was like telepathy, he just had to think at the controller and it was like he was pushing buttons by hand.  He was coming up on six hours; he was going to need to stop and stretch his legs soon.  The nav system put him almost at Effingham, Illinois.  Less than an hour to St. Louis.

Fred shifted his attention to the road outside.  It was still early enough in the day that traffic was light.  He’d be hitting St. Louis at the morning rush hour but the autonomous-vehicle-only lanes would route him around the city with barely a slowdown.  The town of Effingham passed by as he watched, and as the buildings gave way to countryside again he turned back to the console to resume the vid.  A highway sign flashed by overhead and the van moved to the left lane.

Wait a minute, Fred wondered, didn’t that sign say that left was towards Memphis?  As he watched the road, the van kept left as the highway forked, splitting off on I-57 southwest instead of staying on I-70 towards St. Louis and Denver.  What the heck?

Fred used his implant to bring up the nav display on the cab’s main screen, and began checking the map.  Okay, if there was some problem ahead on I-70 maybe the van was routing him south to Mt. Vernon and then up I-64 to St. Louis.  That was about a twenty minute detour.  He would have thought the van would have announced the change of planned course, but this wasn’t his usual truck.  Maybe the software was different.  He shrugged and went back to his vid.

It was fifteen minutes later, when the vehicle slowed to take the exit onto the old US 50 at Salem, that Fred began to realize that there was something seriously wrong.  In general, the vans were supposed to stick to the Interstate highway system.  Those roads were engineered to higher speeds and their uniformity made things simpler for a truck’s AI.  He looked at the map again.  Yes, US 50 was a shorter route, but it would take quite a bit longer.  Was the software just that stupid?

Fred considered disengaging the autopilot right then and parking the truck while he figured it out, but then decided that as long as they were headed in mostly the right direction, the problem wasn’t that urgent.  He’d check it as they drove.

He did a quick net search to find out what the original problem had been with I-70, why they’d diverted.  Curiously, he couldn’t find anything.  From what he could tell, I-70 was still open in both directions between Effingham and St. Louis.  Maybe there had been a temporary diversion that put them on I-57 and now that the problem was cleared, the computer was trying to get them back on track, hence the exit at Salem.  Again, although that made sense geographically, it should still have been faster to continue to I-64 and take that road.  This two-lane, undivided highway—not much more than a street, really, bordered by fields and the occasional house or stand of trees—had forced his speed to drop to a mere 90 kph, despite the road being completely empty.

Well, not quite completely.  There was that car following him which had been there since exiting I-57.  Possibly even before that, Fred hadn’t been paying attention.  If it was being hand-driven, whoever was back there might be getting frustrated with Fred’s pace.  If so, that was their problem.  Overriding the autopilot to go faster would earn him a reprimand.  It wasn’t worth it.  Fred looked at the map again, then checked the time remaining on his vid.  Screw it. If they didn’t get back on the Interstate at O’Fallon, on the outskirts of St. Louis, then he’d pull over and call in the problem.  He relaxed and sat back to finish the movie.

∞ ∞ ∞

“This is turning out to be easier than I thought,” Hendricks, the muscle he’d brought along, said to Reid.  “Are you sure there’s even somebody driving that truck?”

Reid and Hendricks were behind the Steel Mesa truck, following it closely.  They weren’t frustrated at all with it’s pace; they were tapped into its computers and controlling the ride.

“Oh, there’s somebody in there all right, but so far we haven’t done anything that he couldn’t explain away.  He’s obviously not trained to think like a security guard.”

“I guess he’ll notice soon.  That sign said five miles to Carlyle Reservoir.”

“All right.  Is the jammer ready?”

Hendricks pushed a TEST switch on the box in his lap, a lunchbox-sized contraption with a parabolic dish attached to the end.  A light lit up in response.  “Ready.”

“Okay, here we go.”

∞ ∞ ∞

When the truck slowed again and pulled off onto a small side road just past the sign that had said something about “South Shore State Park” and “Saddle Dam 2 Road,” Fred could no longer fool himself that there was nothing wrong.  “What the hell?”

He tried twice with his implant to command the vehicle to stop, then, slapped the emergency manual override switch and stepped on the brakes.  He managed to bring it to a stop around a curve where trees blocked his view of US 50.  As he did so, the black car—which had apparently followed him off the highway—pulled around in front of him, blocking his path.  Two men stepped out, one pointing a boxy device with a dish at the truck, the other pointing a gun.  It finally dawned on Fred that this might be a hijacking, although he couldn’t imagine what might be in his cargo to be worth it.  Old files?

Fred raised his hands so the men outside could see them.  He didn’t want any trouble, and with this implant he didn’t need hands to make a call.

He was halfway though making the connection when a sudden burning pain and sharp electric tingle from the implant site made him remember why one of his friends had said they were a dumb idea.  That guy outside had some kind of EMP generator, a magnetic pulse gun, and he’d just fried all the electronics in the vehicle, including his implants.  Feels like being tased from the inside, were his last thoughts before passing out.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Who uses implants anymore?” Hendricks asked, noting the deep burns behind the driver’s ear as they pulled his body from the truck.

“People who don’t know their history, I guess.”  Implant burnouts had been a significant cause of injury during the Unholy War, in areas affected by EMP but not the direct blast of nuclear weapons.  “And who don’t travel much in space.”  Radiation and electromagnetic effects from warp were minor, but over time they’d degrade the nanoscale electronics of implantable systems.  Antirad drugs helped the body repair organic damage, but they couldn’t do a thing for implants.  Ship and portable electronics were more robust, and more easily repaired or replaced.

“So, is he still alive?”

Reid checked for a pulse.  A fried implant wasn’t necessarily fatal, it would depend on specifics, including how strong the victim’s heart and nervous system were.  Apparently this driver’s systems weren’t strong enough.  “Nope.  One less thing to worry about.”

They retrieved the keys—mechanical, so they wouldn’t have to use the tools—and opened the back of the van.  Another van had just pulled in off the highway and pulled up behind them, the driver hopping out and opening the doors of his own vehicle.

“Okay, we’ve got a lot of boxes to move, let’s hustle,” said Reid and began shifting boxes in the Steel Mesa vehicle to get to the ones he wanted.  They soon had a kind of bucket brigade going, with Reid grabbing boxes and handing them to Hendricks, who in turn handed them to the new guy who stacked them in his van.  In a few minutes they were done.

“All right, let’s get—” he read the name on the driver’s jacket “—Fred here into the back.”

Together they unceremoniously dragged the body around and dumped it in the back of the Steel Mesa truck, and locked the doors.

“Now let’s dump this and get going.”

The Steel Mesa truck was un-driveable with its electronics fried, but they’d planned for this.  The reservoir’s shoreline near the dam was just a few meters away from the road here, and the bottom dropped off rapidly.  It was an easy job to use one van to push the other out to where it drifted a few more meters before submerging.  It would be found eventually, of course, possibly within the week—although they’d start looking from where the van’s transponders dropped off line, back in Effingham— but there wouldn’t be anything that could trace it back to the Velkaryans, and Reid himself would be off-planet by then.

27:  Blue Book

“What do you mean, missing?”  Hubble demanded over the phone.

“What I said,” replied Reid.  “I’ve gone through all twenty seven boxes.  There’s no Hill file, there are almost no photographs in any of the files, and what is there is just blurs in the sky or empty scenery on the ground.  Okay, I haven’t gone through page by page—” that would take a lot longer “— but photos tend to stand out, they’re on a different kind of paper.  The ones that are there are easy to find.”

“So there’s nothing there that isn’t already on microfilm and digitized?”

“It doesn’t look that way.  Do you suppose this stuff was removed a long time ago?”

“We haven’t heard any suggestion of that.  It might be possible.  Is there any way Lee could have arranged to have that stuff removed?”

Reid didn’t think so, but if he gave it some thought he might come up with some possible scenarios. “But why go through with the heist?  If he had what he wanted, why bother?”

“I don’t know.  To keep us distracted?”

The pieces started to fall into place.  Shit!  He wondered if Lee had made him back at that first meeting at the maglev station.  “Is Lee still in Denver?  What about Brown?”

Reid heard Hubble relaying the question to someone else, then he came back with: “So far.  In fact they haven’t left the hotel since yesterday.  Maybe waiting for your call.”

“Or waiting for something else.”  Reid was sure of it.  “Keep them under surveillance, I’m heading for Denver.”

“And if they move?”

“Stop them.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Brown clicked off his omni.  “The package is here,” he told Rico, “we can come and collect it.”

“Where’s ‘here’?  The Federal Center?” Rico asked, referring to the aging campus of federal government buildings on the west side of the city.  The trick would be showing ID to get into and out of the campus, but that shouldn’t be too hard.  They tended to worry more about what got in—concern about bombs and the like—than what got out.

“No, even better.  A BOR building that’s off the main campus.”

“BOR?”

“Bureau of Reclamation.  These files supposedly relate to dam construction in the 1930s.”  Brown smiled.  “Nobody cares about that anymore.  I just came up with a reason to need the originals rather than digital scans.”

Rico shook his head in disbelief.  “Whatever works, I guess.”

“Then let’s be on our way.  We can pick up the files on the way to the spaceport.”

“Wait a moment, Doc.”  Rico hadn’t survived this long by being careless.  “They know what I look like.  We’ll take two vehicles, me trailing you.  You get the boxes.  If it looks like you’ve picked up a tag or run into trouble I’ll intercept.  If I pick up a tail I’ll lead them on a chase.  Stay in touch, I’ll meet you at the spaceport.”  While saying this, Rico had checked his pistol and slid it into a shoulder holster.

“I hope all that is unnecessary, but all right.  Do you think you’ll need that?” He gestured at the gun.

“If I thought I was going to need it I’d bring more firepower.  This is just in case.  Let’s go.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Something is definitely up, they’re both leaving the hotel but taking separate vehicles,” the Velkaryan observer relayed to Reid, who was nearing the city.

“Can you follow them both?  You have enough people?”

“We may have to split the team, which will make us easier to spot, but yes.”  Normal surveillance technique was to have at least three cars following the subject so they could trade off, making it less likely the subject would realize he was being followed.  Of course there were transponders, but a clever subject would destroy or discard them, and a crafty one would hack into the transponder and feed it false data.  These subjects were likely to be the crafty type.

“Do it.”

The two subject vehicles seemed to be headed to the same place, one trailing the other by a block, sometimes two.  That suggested he might be looking for a tail.  They’d have to be careful.

∞ ∞ ∞

Rico spotted another tail car, a grey two-door Taprobane, as they passed the intersection at Sheridan and Alameda. Who names a car model after a planet?  wondered Rico.  He told his omni to contact Brown.

“Keep driving around a bit, I need to lose some people,” Rico said.  After Brown acknowledged, he placed another call.

“Hervis Rental Agency.”

“I need a local rental, one day, as soon as possible.  Meet me at—” he looked around to get his bearings and made a decision, which he relayed to the rental. He authorized his omni to send the appropriate identification and payment data, and clicked off.  Here’s where it got to be a bit of a challenge.

He sped up the car—he’d been driving manually since they left the hotel—and abruptly made an illegal left turn at the next major intersection.  The car’s guidance system chided him about that, and Rico told it: “Emergency override, for safety reasons.”  The car accepted that, although Rico thought it seemed a bit sulky about it.

He’d shaken the Taprobane with that maneuver, but his other tail, a black sedan, had made the same turn and still followed.  No matter.

He kept driving, making a series of not-quite-random left and right turns, until he’d left his convoy behind.  That would only be temporary, especially if they had him boxed.   He tapped his omni and a half-block ahead, a parked car, a dark blue Plazma, flashed its lights.  He dimmed his rear window, then slowed and re-engaged his car’s AI.  He stopped just ahead of the Plazma and opened his passenger side door.

“Resume operation,” he told his car.  “Destination, Denver Maglev Station.  Take a scenic route.  No passengers. Go.”  With that he rolled out of the door, staying low to prevent his followers from seeing him above the intervening cars, and slammed the door.

His former car pulled away as he ducked around and entered his new rental from the passenger side.  Rico stayed low, watching as the black sedan and the Taprobane continued on past, trying to catch up to the now empty car taking the scenic route to the maglev station.  It had worked.

Now to help Brown shake off his baby ducklings.

Interlude II

Near the Yucatan coast, circa 100 CE

“I spotted some of the intelligent natives in the jungle,” Quetz said.  “I think they have some kind of encampment or village nearby.”

“What were they like?” Kukul asked.  It had been only a handful of days since the crash.  They had stayed close to their campsite at first, but were now venturing further afield, both in search of things they could eat, and samples to analyze.  They hadn’t seen any of the natives until now.

“Bipeds, of course, but no tail.  About my height but their necks are shorter and heads rounder. ”

“So, mammals?”  Kukul felt there was something vaguely disgusting about mammals, despite their prevalence on the life-bearing worlds.  Something about a mammal’s method of growing offspring within its body, rather than laying eggs like every other order of animal, struck him as vaguely parasitic.  It was surprising how successful they were.  The short necks were characteristic, as was a fine skin covering which superficially resembled very thin pinfeathers, but soft like down.

“Yes, although they confused me at first,” Quetz said.  “Their skin was smooth, with no hair, and they had crest and display feathers.”

“They had what?”

“Exactly, you understand my confusion.  As I looked closer, however, I realized the feathers were attached, like clothing or ornaments, not growing from them.”

“That’s interesting.”  Kukul considered the implications.  “Do you suppose they were mimicking Kesh?  The reports we had that there were no priest-observers on this continent.  If there are, we need to be extremely cautious.”

“As you said before, we had incomplete data.  But it’s possible the contact was a long time ago and the natives have continued a tradition.  Perhaps they have a priest class of their own.”

“Or it could be coincidental.  Mammals have drab coloring, like females.  Maybe these want to pretty themselves up.”   The display and crest feathers of Kesh males were far more colorful and elaborate than those of Kesh females, a trait Kukul knew carried over to some avian species.

“There is that,” Quetz agreed.  “But we should be cautious until we determine whether there are other Kesh about.   Could they detect the radio if we’re just using it to listen?”

“No, it was designed for that.  We need to be monitoring it anyway.”  The radio was designed to scan across a broad range of frequencies, especially standard Kesh communication channels, and store whatever it heard in its capacious internal memory.  They should be listening to some of that, it might give them an early warning if their crash landing had been detected.  It had a transmitter function too, but Kukul didn’t see any use for that in their current circumstances.

∞ ∞ ∞

The original plan had seemed straightforward.  Perform a quick geological and biological survey, record all signal traffic, and return home with the data for others to analyze.  The hope was that whatever was so special, so secret, about this planet would hold some key to breaking the grip of the Priesthood that held sway over their entire civilization.

Kukul’s people had been spacefaring for over a thousand years, yes, but they had made little progress in the interim.  Their rigidly stratified society blocked advancement, blocked innovations that might upset the order of things.  The reform movement had been growing on some of the planets more distant from the home world.  The FTL drive had been almost an accident, a new way of looking at how the old sublight warp technology was applied which bypassed the quantum instabilities which arose when trying to go faster than light.  Not without a catch, of course.   FTL also limited the size of a ship to something that could hold no more than a few travellers and the fusion fuel to power it.

The priesthood controlled their massive pyramid-shaped ships as they controlled everything else, claiming a sort of divine right of the priestly clan dating back to the dawn of Kesh civilization.  The priest class claimed spiritual, and sometimes genetic, descendency from the discoverers and tamers of fire, electricity, and gravity.  Of course they should rule; they were the font of all knowledge, all technology, and all wisdom.

Except that they weren’t.

The Reformers had discovered that the oldest, most sacred pyramids—fixed structures, not ships—pre-dated by some several thousand years the historic rise of civilization as held by established dogma.  The priest class hadn’t built them, they’d found them.  Oh, their knowledge came from the gods all right, but not by divine inspiration, but rather by literally reading the writing on the walls.  A disillusioned priest-candidate had revealed as much, and further investigation, spying, and exploration had verified it.  A thousand or more years of history, of tyranny, of serfdom, were based on a hoax.

The Kesh had explored many worlds, but settled on only a few, most being cooler than the Kesh preferred.   They had found evidence of primitive civilization—stone age level—on some planets, none on others.  The civilizations on this planet, the pockets of it in the river valleys and protected seas of the larger continents, were considerably more advanced than stone age, but still not what would be considered technological.  The natives, in those few societies, had mechanical and even a few steam toys, but relied on slaves for labor.

There were several massive stone pyramids near one river where stone age civilization had flourished for several thousand years, but they were nothing like the archival pyramids of his home planet.  Kukul suspected that if there had been, they’d have been destroyed or buried by the Kesh priest clan long ago.  Clearly they were worried about the possibility of this species becoming a threat, but not to the point they were willing to overtly interfere.  That was another question they had hoped to answer: why not?  There were rumors that another attempt to interfere with a local civilization had ended badly, but only rumors.  It wouldn’t be something the priest class would want known, if it were true.  But the reason might relate to whatever was special about this planet.  Was it under the protection of the ancient spacefarers who had built the original pyramids?  If so, why would the priests risk any presence here at all?  There must be some secret here, some insidious threat to the priesthood or to the dogma that helped keep them in power.

If he and Quetz could discover it, and get that information back to the Reformers, it could be the key to breaking the priesthood’s hold.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Kukul?  Are you still with me?”

Kukul shifted his focus back to the present.  “Sorry, I was just thinking about our mission.”

“For a moment there, I thought you were estivating.”

“Ha, not likely.  Anyway, I think we should try to keep clear of the natives until we are certain that they’re not in contact with any other Kesh.  Later perhaps we can approach them, they may be able to help us survive, or even give some insight as to what is so special about this planet.”

“If they don’t roast us and eat us first,” said Quetz, never the optimist.

“Maybe we can do something to help them.  I imagine their medicine is primitive.  But that’s for later.”

“Agreed, although if we want to properly carry out our mission, we’ll need to move at some point.   Aren’t we well south of our intended landing area?”

That was true, the damage from the volcano had forced them down early.  The original plan was to land toward the northern continent, and further inland.  They were supposed to retrieve and date geological samples.  Anything collected too near the coast might prove to be merely young deposits from an era when the sea level was higher.  But that would be a considerable hike overland.

“By a thousand miles or so.  That’s a long walk.”

“We could do it in less than a year, easily.  And let’s face it, the only people likely to rescue us before that are the local priest-observers, especially if we stay near the crash site.”

Quetz had a point.  At least they had navigation gear in the emergency pack, loaded with what digital maps of this planet the Reformers had gathered before their mission had been dispatched.  They’d manage a broader survey of the plant and animal life, too.  But they’d have to proceed carefully.

“Let’s take some time to plan this out,” Kukul said.  “We don’t want to find ourselves in the middle of a desert or something with no supplies.”

“Of course.”

28:  Evasion

Denver, Earth

“I’m on Federal just crossing West Center” Brown’s voice came from the omni on Rico’s wrist.  It was on a secured channel, so there was no chance the Velkaryans could overhear.  Rico had come up earlier behind Brown’s car, a Tesla, and noted his tails, a dirty white Galaxy and and a black two-door.

“Okay, Doc,” Rico said, “I’m on your next cross street.  Go ahead and speed up.  Take the next right after that.”

“Right.  Good luck.”

Rico accelerated his own vehicle, the second rental.  He’d already overridden the safeties in its on-board systems, thanks to some illegal software in his omni.  He sped toward the intersection.  As he approached it, he saw Brown’s Tesla flash by on the other road.  He shoved the accelerator down hard, getting into the intersection behind Brown and ahead of his tails.  He braked hard and braced himself for the impact.

He heard a squeal of tires as the oncoming cars’ computers reacted to the sudden obstruction, then a double bang as the black two-door slammed into his Plazma and the airbags deployed.  The impact shook him like he’d just tried to tackle a brick wall.  He’d angled the car at the last moment so the crash had been on his rear left quarter, but the driver’s door was bent beyond use.  Ignoring his bruises, Rico exited on the passenger side and rolled clear of the vehicle, then he drew his pistol and scanned the oncoming traffic as he crouched behind a lamp post.

Several cars in both directions had swerved and stopped to avoid the crash scene.  Signals would already be going out to emergency services, but Rico wasn’t going to stick around.  There, three cars back, that was the Galaxy, the second of Brown’s followers.  He was hemmed in by other cars but working on getting out.  There was no activity within the car that had hit him, the driver was still recovering from the impact.

“One out, one delayed,” Rico said.

“Got it, thanks.  You okay?”

“I’m alive.  Go get the files, I’ll keep this guy distracted.  See you at the spaceport.”

“Okay.”

Fortunately there were no pedestrians around, although one or two noble souls had gotten out of their stopped cars, apparently to offer help.  One thing about automatic cars, they were programmed not to leave the scene of an accident.

That didn’t seem to apply the Galaxy, though.  It was either far enough back or the driver had overridden the system.  It had managed to maneuver out of the mini traffic jam surrounding it and was pulling around to pursue Brown.  That would be tough, Brown was well out of sight by now, but Rico didn’t want the Galaxy wandering around loose.

Rico’s gaze darted around.  Bystanders were an unpredictable element.  It seemed clear enough, everyone was focused on the crash scene, or trying to get themselves clear of the jam.  He fired four quick shots at the Galaxy, a double-tap toward the driver and another toward the front tire.  Rico didn’t really care if he hit the guy, he just wanted to make sure he was distracted.  The car’s passenger window starred at one impact, and a bullet-hole appeared near the front wheel.  Damn, I’m getting rusty.

But the bullets had done their job.  The driver had instinctively swerved and hit the brakes at the bullet’s impact, and turned to look toward Rico.  It looked like he might be fumbling for a gun of his own as he brought the car around to chase him.

Time to go, Rico decided.  He quick-fired another two shots back at the driver and ran back down the cross street he’d come out of.  The Galaxy would have to maneuver around the crashed vehicles to follow him, but Rico didn’t think that would take long.  As he ran he tapped a sequence on his omni and ahead of him a grey Tesla flashed its lights and popped the driver door.  His third rental of the day.  Good thing he wasn’t paying for them.

∞ ∞ ∞

“What do you mean, lost them?”  Reid yelled.

“There was a third car, and a crash.  We’ve still got Hernandez on Rico but it’s just him.”

“Which way is he headed?  No, never mind.  If they’re leaving they’ll head for the spaceport.”  Reid had done some checking while his car zoomed towards Denver.  There was a slim chance they might drive to some other town and depart from there, but there was nothing else within a few hours drive.  Travel up and down the Front Range was by car or maglev.  And the maglev station was at the spaceport.  “Get everyone available to converge there.  Check out the maglev station too.  If they’re running this hard they must have what we want.”

“Got it.  What about you?”

“I’m almost there, I’ll meet up with you at the spaceport.”

“And Rico?”

“Stay with him, report if he stops anywhere.  If you lose him, head for the spaceport.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“How’s it going, Brown?”

“I should be at the spaceport in fifteen minutes.  I have the packages.  From a quick glance they look good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rico said.  “I have a persistent tail, although I’m not trying hard to lose him.  I think I pissed him off by shooting at him.”

“You what?”

“Nothing.  When you get to the port, keep your eyes open.  They might guess we’d go there, and it looks like they know you’re with me after all.”  Rico wondered how many people the Velkaryans would have on this.  He was still a bit unfocussed, that crash had shaken him hard.  Okay, spaceport.  There’d been the protesters he’d passed in the terminal, some kind of Velkaryan supporters, but low level.  They wouldn’t know anything.  Could they be enrolled to help?  Of course they could.  Just flash his and Brown’s pictures out to their omnis on the Velkaryan chat group or whatever, and all they’d need to do is check in if they spotted either of them.  Yeah, best to assume they’re doing that.

“Brown,” Rico continued, “stay clear of the terminal building if you can.  They may put out a bulletin to their protesters there.”

“Damn.  All right, I’m sure there’s a way to get to the charter without going through the main terminal.  Let me check and get back to you.”

“Okay.  And Doc, if you need to leave in a hurry, don’t wait for me.  I’m a big boy and can take of myself easier if I don’t have to worry about you.”

There was a long pause before Brown answered.  Rico wondered if he’d already disconnected to call the charter.  Then: “Got it.  If I don’t see you on the ship I’ll see you at Alpha Centauri. Good luck.”

“You too.”  Rico clicked off his omni and checked the rearview to see what his tail was up to.  Yep, the Galaxy was still just behind him, not even trying to stay hidden.  Time to lose it.  He pressed down on the accelerator, feeling the bruises from the crash as he pressed back into the seat.

29:  Deep Space

Two light-years from Zeta 1 Reticuli

“Stand by for zero gee.  I’m going to drop us out of warp,” Roberts announced over the ship’s intercom.

“We can’t be there yet,” Marten objected, “I thought we had another two days.”

“If there’s a dust ring, I want some warning of it.  We can come in well above the plane of the ecliptic if so.  Also, if there are alien spacefarers there, I don’t want to de-warp in the middle of the system, not until I know what we’re getting into.”

Carson came forward from the galley and joined the conversation. “That’s a good point.  Think how Earth would react if an alien ship suddenly appeared in the outer Solar System. But do you expect to detect anything this far out?”

“A dust ring I could detect.  If the hypothetical spacefarers are putting out enough signal to hear it this far away, then wouldn’t you rather detect it now rather than later?”

“Well, yes, but that logic seems a bit twisted.  Why not do that with every system then?”

“So far this is the only one with suspected aliens.  Also the only one allegedly haunted,” Roberts said.  “Better safe than sorry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Marten.  “Give me a few minutes to stow my gear.”

“Sure.  Carson, is the galley secure?”

“It will be.”  He headed back to take care of that.

30:  Rico

Denver

“I’m at the spaceport perimeter, what’s our status?” Reid said.

“We lost Rico, we have operatives in the terminal and maglev station, and the auxiliary is on the lookout.  So far, no sign of either of them.”

“Flights?”

“We’ve been watching local departures, although there are enough we might have missed something.  There’s a flight for Alpha Centauri in two hours, we have people watching that and the Lunar Shuttle.”

“Okay.”  It sounded like they’d covered everything they could.  If Brown and Lee—or Rico, Reid was now sure of it—came to the spaceport or the maglev station they’d probably be spotted.  Was there anywhere else they could go?  A sign beside the road into terminal parking caught his eye.  Astro Courier Services.  A charter, of course.  Reid took control of the car.

“Keep watching the terminals,” he told his contact.  “Did you have anyone check on charters?”

“Shit!  Nobody thought of that.”

“I’m on it,” Reid said as he pulled off onto the side road towards the commercial and freight area.

∞ ∞ ∞

Rico parked the Tesla in a temporary spot by the Astro Courier building, got out, then turned and told the car to go turn itself in.  Another car pulled in just as his was leaving.

He glanced over at it as it slowed.  The driver seemed familiar, that couldn’t be a good sign.  But who?  This damned headache made it hard to think.  Then he had it.  His second contact, the Velkaryan, from St. Louis, Reid.  Shit.

Rico reached for his pistol while telling his omni to call Brown.  Had Reid spotted him yet?

“Brown here.”

“Go!  Lift now, they’re right outside.  Don’t wait, go, go!”

“What?”

“GO!”  Reid had seen him.  He was talking into his own omni as he moved the car to cut Rico off.  Rico squeezed off two shots then turned and ran.  What the hell, it had worked before.

A bullet spang’ed off the ground near his feet, and he heard the shot.  Well, he had Reid’s attention.  He glanced back over his should to see Reid, now out of the car, following him, gun raised.  Rico dived and rolled to his left, taking two more shots back at Reid.  Damnit, that side was already bruised.

As he scrambled to his feet again, he heard the hissing roar of a ship’s thrusters starting up, deepening as the pilot entrained outside air to cool and quiet the exhaust.  I sure hope that’s Brown.  He ran through the parking area, ducking behind cars, and briefly wished he hadn’t dismissed his own vehicle quite so quickly.

Rico and Reid were exchanging shots every few seconds now, ducking around cars, then popping up and firing.  This is ridiculous, thought Rico.

He stretched out on the ground and peered in Reid’s direction under the cars.  There.  Rico took a bead on the other’s feet and fired several shots.  He heard a scream and one of the legs bent to one knee.  Got him!  But Reid now pointed a gun in his direction under the cars.  Rico rolled away hastily as bullets whined past him.  Time to run some more.

Two other cars were coming up the side road towards Astro Couriers, a grey Taprobane and a black sedan.  Shit, Velkaryan reinforcements.  Rico fired at them, then quickly reloaded as they swerved sideways and stopped.  Guess I should have brought more firepower after all.

Something slammed into the back of Rico’s right thigh and he went down.  He scrambled to get back up into a crouch, turning and squeezing off more shots at Reid, who was limping towards him, and then forward again, firing again, to give himself a moment to assess.

A couple of men had piled out of each car and were now hunkered behind them, firing over and around at Rico.  Reid was yelling something.  A bullet slammed into his left shoulder.  Again on the left?  Rico fell forwards but raised his gun and kept firing, shot after shot after shot.  He felt another impact, but by this time he was so dazed he wasn’t even sure where.  He rolled to his back, weakly raised his pistol in Reid’s direction and fired some more.  Why was it getting so dark out?  He looked up at the sky, his vision fading.

The last thing Rico saw was the charter ship lifting towards space.

31:  Nearing Zeta Reticuli

One light-year from Zeta 1 Reticuli

“Anything?” Carson asked.  There’d been nothing at two light-years, no dust rings and no alien signals.  They’d dropped out of warp again at one light-year, and Roberts had been scanning radio frequencies for a half-hour now.  Marten had gone back to strap himself into his berth, it helped him with the transition to free fall.

“Not so far,” she replied.  She touched a set of controls and opened another display on her command panel.  “No obvious indications of warp fields on the gravity sensors, either, although there’s a bit of low level gravity noise that looks odd.”

“Comets?  That wouldn’t be too unusual this far out.”

“Actually they’d be pretty far apart.  But no; masses big enough to show up on the sensors exhibit smooth variations.  This pattern is irregular.  Even if it were an oddly shaped body spinning rapidly, it would show periodicity.  It’s probably just noise in the sensors, not enough to worry about.”

“So we continue on?  Marten will be happy to be back under gravity.”

Roberts thought it over.  A radio signal would have to be pretty strong or directional for her to pick up at almost a light-year distance, especially if they were using tight beam or spread spectrum. Just because she couldn’t detect any signs of civilization with the Sophie’s sensors didn’t mean that there was no civilization there; she wasn’t exactly equipped for a deep sky survey.  But she wouldn’t just go warping deep in-system anyway, no more than would an old sea captain deliberately run into the shallows at full sail.

“We continue on,” she said.  “But I’ll drop us out again further out-system than I normally would, a light-month out. We’ll re-scan then and play it as appropriate.  Then maybe take it in half-hour jumps, a light-week at a time.”

“Marten’s going to hate that.”

Roberts agreed.  The timoan could adapt to zero-gee after a while, it was the transitions that were roughest on him. “I know.  Poor guy.  I’m sorry but I think it’s best.”

Carson nodded.  “You’re the captain.”

32:  Leaving Earth

Charter Ship Dragonfly, en route to Alpha Centauri

“All right Dr. Brown, we’re safely in warp, next stop Sawyers World,” the captain said.  “Now, do you want to explain what that was about back there?  I mean, I appreciate the bonus, but I probably violated a few regulations.  First time I’ve ever heard of declaring an emergency to take off.”

“There were people shooting, you don’t think that’s an emergency?”

“Not if they’re not shooting at me.  But if you don’t want to explain . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit shaken up.  I had a . . . a friend out there.  I don’t think he made it.”  That was probably true, Brown realized.  Rico would have kept up his “distraction” as long as he could until Brown was away.  He might surrender if he was still alive to do so once Brown and the files were clear, but even that wasn’t certain.  Rico lived for action, he probably would have wanted to die that way.

“Oh, sorry,” the captain said.  “Look, this is on the up and up, right?  You said something about UDT business.  You’re not a crook are you?”

Brown shook his head.  “No.  Those people shooting out there were the bad guys.  This is important.  I need to get this information to Sawyers World.”   That was true, it was important.  It was three days to Alpha Centauri, he could get a lot of analysis done in that time.  Rico deserved it.

The captain seemed to come to a decision and nodded.  “All right, sir.  If you need anything, just let me or my partner—” he gestured at the co-pilot “—know.”

33:  Zeta 1 Reticuli

Sophie, near Zeta 1 Reticuli

They didn’t detect anything unusual at a light-month out either, nor at any of the light-week-apart hops.  Marten had given given up fighting the weightlessness, and with a sullen “I’ll be in my bunk,” had gone to strap himself in.

At what would be considered the outer fringes of the system, at about the distance of the furthest planet, they heard something.

“It’s not a radio signal as such, but we’re picking up electromagnetic fluctuations.  Faint, and scattered.”

“Radio noise?” Carson asked her.  “Lightning storms, or something from the gas giant?  Doesn’t Jupiter emit—”

“Give me some credit for my astrophysics training,” Roberts cut him off.  She’d eliminated those explanations, and a half-dozen more subtle that Carson probably wasn’t aware of, before raising the issue. “No, what I’m seeing is faint, and from what I can tell the sources don’t correspond to any of the obvious bodies in this system.  It’s more like the transients you’d see from circuit switching.  Artificial satellites or probes, perhaps.”

“Human explorers perhaps, maybe prospector beacons? Should we try hailing?”

“Beacons would be sending a clearer signal.  It could be passive emissions from survey instruments or other ships.  Ordinarily yes I’d hail, but I’m not sure we want to do that if this system belongs to technological aliens.”

“But there’s no sign of them.”

“Not out here.  We’ll need to get closer to any terraformed planets to be sure.”  Roberts wouldn’t be so worried if there’d been no anomalous sensor readings.  Zeta Reticuli was far enough out, at the edge of explored T-space, that it wouldn’t be frequently visited by humans, if had even been visited at all.  The Chara system had been radio-quiet because the small human settlement there was Mennonite, and they avoided technology.  If the same were true here, what were the EM emissions she was picking up?  They’d have to go deeper in-system, to where Sophie’s instruments could pick up more detail.  If only there were a way to send out a hail without actually revealing where they were.

Oh.  “I’m stupid,” Roberts said.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to tell anyone we were here.  I’m going to send out a hail, but we won’t be here by the time anyone gets it.”

“Huh? Oh!”

“Yes. I’ll broadcast then warp to a few million miles away.  Then we’ll see if anyone answers.  Even if they answer on tight beam we should pick something up, or see some activity.”  It was more complicated than that, and they’d want to get in closer so they wouldn’t have to wait all day for a signal return, but there was no point trying to explain the details to Carson.  She’d leave a relay in place before warping away.  The disposable communication relays were standard equipment for exploring worlds where a team might be out of direct line of sight communications, the Sophie had plenty in inventory.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Relay is away.  Stand by for warp in thirty seconds.”  That gave the relay a chance to get clear and for her to broadcast a hail.

Jackie keyed the transmit button and spoke into the microphone, for some reason feeling more self-conscious than usual.  “Calling anyone in range.  Calling anyone.  This is S-class ship Sophie, just entered the Zeta Reticuli system, calling anyone in range.  General call.  Anyone there?”  She paused for a few seconds, then “I say again, calling anyone in range, this is the Sophie making a general call.  Please respond.  Listening out.”  She clicked off the mike and turned to Carson, who was strapped into the other cockpit seat.

“That ought to do it.  It’s set to repeat periodically.  Warping in three, two, one. Now.”  The warp field engaged and the view out the windows went away. A couple of seconds and a few million miles later—Jackie had dialed down the speed—the warp collapsed and the stars came back.

“That was short,” Carson said.

“I didn’t want to go too far, or we’d have to wait too long for this.”  So saying, Jackie tapped a switch to put the comm on speaker.

“—general call.  Please respond.  Listening out.”  Jackie’s earlier voice came over the radio.

“You wanted to hear yourself?”

“I wanted to make sure the signal had passed before turning up the gain,” she said as she made some adjustments to the comm. “That would have killed the sensitivity for a while.  Now we listen.”

“How long?”

Instead of answering, Jackie brought up a display on the main screen, a schematic of the Zeta 1 Reticuli system showing the approximate orbits of the planets and their current positions. A small triangle marked the Sophie’s location, near the center of a slowly expanding circle.

“That’s us, although we’re actually above the plane of the ecliptic.  The circle is the wave front of my hail.  We’re almost fifteen AU out, it will take two hours for the signal to reach the primary, another eight minutes to reach this planet,” she pointed at a dot on the far side of the central star.  The planet wasn’t in direct line, their signal wouldn’t be blocked by the star.  “It will take the same again for us to get a response.  Obviously we’ll hear sooner if anyone is closer and replies.  I’d say we wait about five hours to be sure.”

“All right.”  Carson unstrapped and floated up out of his seat.  He paused at the hatch into the main compartment, hovering with a hand on a yellow grab rail.  “I’m going back to the galley to eat.  Can you put that screen on the galley monitor?”

Jackie touched a control. “Channel 237.”

“Thanks.  Want anything?”

“No.  I’ll stay here and monitor.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Hannibal had just taken another bite of something vaguely burrito-like when Roberts called back to him.  He chewed it unenthusiastically.  The choices for zero-gravity meals were rather limited, but at least this one was well-spiced.  Redistribution of body fluid in weightlessness tended to make his nose stuffy, with the result that he found most food rather flavorless.  Roberts’ voice was a welcome interruption.

“Carson, I’m seeing that odd gravity noise again.”

He swallowed and glanced over at the monitor, which showed the wave front of their broadcast had passed the orbit of the system’s largest gas giant and was nearing the outer edge of the habitable zone.  “Any radio signals?” he called.  He popped the last bite of his lunch into his mouth and disposed of the wrapper.

“Nothing yet,” she replied. “Wait, we just got a burst of EM noise.  Nope, that’s gone now.”

“I’m coming forward.”  He pushed off and glided down the short corridor to the cockpit. “Still getting anything?”

“No, it’s quiet now.  That was strange.”

“Does that burst of EM correlate with anything?”

“I’m checking now.”  She tapped a few keys and a second curved line, this one bright green, appeared on the Reticuli system schematic. “If our broadcast had triggered something, it would have to be somewhere on that line given the time delay.  There’s nothing big enough to be visible, no planets or large asteroids.”

“A beacon or probe perhaps?”

“If it’s correlated at all.  The signal is weak for a beacon.” She turned back to look at the screen.  “I don’t think that . . .  wait a minute.”  That last was more mumbled to herself as she started tracing lines on the screen with her finger.

“What is it?”  Carson watched as Roberts traced out a line between Zeta Reticuli and the gas giant, and then two more lines to make an equilateral triangle with the third point lying on the green arc representing possible locations of their EM source.

“Ha!  Elf hive point. That must be it.”

“Must be what?  What’s an elf hive?”  It sounded vaguely familiar, but Carson couldn’t place it.

“Not elf hive. Ell. Five. L5 is the fifth Lagrange point.  They’re gravitationally stable points in an orbit; L4 and L5 are sixty degrees ahead of and behind the planet in its orbit.  There must be something there.”

“So why didn’t it answer?  Or was that burst of EM an answer?”

“It doesn’t correlate with anything I’ve ever seen before. It doesn’t look like a deliberate signal, at least not meant for us.  Could be something encrypted.”

Carson wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.  “Really?”

“Not likely.  It’s just that any sufficiently well encrypted signal is virtually indistinguishable from noise, especially if it’s spread-spectrum.  Since we’re not hearing anything else, it probably is just noise.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Fifteen minutes later,   Roberts announced another burst of noise.  “This one doesn’t correlate with anything either.”  She displayed a third arc on the screen, this one blue.  “See, our broadcast has passed the habitable planet, Zeta 1 Reticuli III, but the line at which we’d be hearing an echo isn’t there yet.”

Carson examined the image.   He imagined a line drawn between the L5 point and Z1R III.  The blue arc would cross it just about at its midpoint.  Coincidence?  He didn’t like coincidences.

“Jackie, how long would it take us in warp to go from the L5 point there,” he pointed at the screen, “to Zeta . . .” he trailed off, then said: “How about we name that planet.  I’m already getting tired of saying Zeta One Reticuli Three.  Even Zee-One-Are-Three gets old.  Considering how the latter looks abbreviated, how about Zirth?”

“Zirth?  We haven’t landed, we don’t have naming rights.  And it’s a dumb name.”

“Just between us,” Carson said.  “And it rhymes with Earth.”

“Zirth is still a dumb name.  How about Zarathustra?”

“That’s almost as bad as Zee-One-Are-Three.  Zirth.”

“Oh all right.  But just between us.  I’m not logging that.”

“Fair enough.  Anyway, how long would it take us to travel in warp from that L5 point to Zirth?”

“I wouldn’t warp the whole way, not in an unknown system.  There could be—”

“I’m not asking you to, just asking how long would it take.”

Jackie looked at the screen.  “That’s about twelve AU.”  She turned back to Carson.  “A bit under twelve seconds at our top speed.  A minute at—”

“Close enough.  Check me out on this.  If a ship—or a message torpedo—left that L5 point when our broadcast reached it, heading for Zirth, and there was a signal emitted from Zirth when it arrived, when would we detect it?”

Jackie’s eyes widened.  She looked at the screen again, as though to double check.  “Just about now.  But Carson, we didn’t detect anything that looks like a ship or torpedo going to warp.  There’s an electromagnetic spike as the power ramps up, then a distinctive gravity wave signature.”  She turned back to the console, tapping controls.  “Let me double check.”  She pulled data up as a series of graphs on another display.

“Our warp drives, perhaps.  Would an alien warp drive have the same signature?”

“I don’t see how it wouldn’t.  Better shielding or more efficient systems might reduce or hide the EM pulse, but I don’t see how the gravity wave would be any different.  That’s like the wake behind a boat in the water.”  She paused, as though considering what she’d just said.  “Something small would produce a smaller wake, of course.  A message torpedo might be too small for us to detect at this distance—military or research sensors could pick it up easily—but that’s about as small as you can build a warp drive and power supply.”

“So, not ruled out, then.”

“Technologically, no.  But does that make sense?  Assume a listening post at L5.  Maybe there are others, L4 for example.  Is it worth sending a ship, even a message torpedo, to the planet just to announce a signal that will get there in an hour or two anyway?  I mean, it might make some kind of sense for traffic control, except you’re adding to the traffic you have to control.  They don’t even do that in the Sol system, they just have lots of beacons and strict rules about in-system traffic.  We haven’t detected any beacons here.”

“All right.  How soon before we can move in for a closer look?”

“Call it two hours, just to give us a margin for someone slow to answer.”

Carson turned to head back to the galley but paused, struck by a thought.  “Jackie, how detectable are we when we warp?”

“In general?  We leave a gravity wake same as anything else.  There’s no EM pulse when we drop out, but there is a small one just before the warp generator switches on.  And of course if there are enough gas molecules we’ll leave an ionization trail from interactions at the warp boundary.  That’ll be very faint; if there were too much matter the safeties would drop us out of warp.”

“What about specifically?”

“A gravity wake is only obvious if you know what you’re looking for, and the detectors work best away from large rotating masses.”

“Like planets?”

“Yes, or stars.  Frame dragging blurs the signal.”

Carson wasn’t exactly sure what frame dragging was, other than something related to spinning gravity fields, but it didn’t really matter.  “What about the EM spike?”

“That depends on the design of the power supply.  In our case the power ramps up smoothly and charges a capacitor bank.  When the warp field actually switches on there’s a startup transient, a sharp spike as the capacitors discharge, but by the time the pulse propagates out of the warp field we’re several hundred meters away and moving, so the pulse is smeared.  Again, obvious to someone who knows what they’re looking for.”

“But perhaps not to the casual observer.”

“It would be detectable, but they wouldn’t necessarily recognize it for what it is, if that’s what you mean,” Jackie said.  “But Carson, anyone—any species—with warp drive is going to know what they’re looking at, and if they don’t have warp drive, they’re not your Spacefarers, are they?”

That was a good point.  Unless there was some other easy method of interstellar travel, and as far as Carson knew there weren’t even theoretical possibilities, the Spacefarers must have had warp drive.  Indeed, the disintegrator tool they’d found in the pyramid on Chara III had been, as best they could determine, based on warp technology. “No, probably not.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Twelve hours later, having heard nothing more beyond a few faint noise bursts which, despite Roberts’ protests, Carson felt inclined to discount as emissions from the gas giant, they were approaching ZR III—Zirth—from the far side of its moon.

“Anything?” asked Carson.  A bleak landscape filled one of the screens.

“Just cratered terrain,” said Jackie.  “We could be missing something small but there are certainly no major installations on this moon.  If this is an inhabited system the locals are primitive.  I think this system is a washout, just like Alpha Mensae.”

Marten was awake now and watching the screen with the others.  “Some of those craters seem awfully bright, like they’re fresh.”

“Fresh?”

“Relatively speaking.  They could be a million years old, hard to say without knowing more about the impact rates and solar wind effects in this system.  But fresher than everything else.”

“Is that unusual?” Carson wasn’t sure of the significance, but it wasn’t his field.

“It is for a terraformed system,” said Roberts.  “The Terraformers left their systems in better shape, with most of the debris in safe orbits.  Accidents happen over a few tens of millions of years, though.  Perhaps a large comet broke up passing one of the gas giants and the fragments happened to hit the moon.  Some probably hit the planet at the same time, if that were the case.  But Marten’s right, they do look fresh.  Without more data there’s no easy way to tell from here if they’re a couple of weeks or a couple of million years old.”

“Craters on the planet would give us more information,” Marten said.

“Sure.”  Terrestrial geology was something Carson knew more about.  Determining precise erosion rates would take ground surveys, but they could guess to within an order of magnitude from the terrain type.  “So, let’s go take a look.”

34:  Analysis

Sawyer City, Alpha Centauri

“How is the analysis coming, Brown?”  Ducayne was out of his usual office, now down in the secret offices under the aging hangar at Sawyer Spaceport.  With the augmented Blue Book data in hand, Brown was reviewing all the reports in light of current knowledge.  It had been unfortunate about Rico.  Ducayne had lost agents before, ones he’d known a lot longer than Rico, but it was never easy.

“Tediously.  Even with the data all re-scanned and the AI parsing out the relevant details, the sheer volume of reports is amazing: 56,323 pages’ worth, not counting photos and some other documents which were not originally scanned.”

“But surely you can eliminate most of those?”

“Oh, certainly.  Most of them are either the planet Venus or advanced-for-the-time military aircraft being kept secret.  Many just don’t have enough detail to even try analyzing.  I mean, ‘I saw a light in the sky’ is hardly a report.  Makes you wonder why they even made a record of it.”

Ducayne understood bureaucracies well enough—more than he liked—to be able to explain that.  “The more reports they filed, the more important the project looked, so the bigger the budget next year.”

“Didn’t anyone look at the quality of the reports?”

Ducayne didn’t think Brown was really that naïve.  Of course that had been back almost before automated systems even existed, let alone were capable of a degree of contextual analysis and evaluation.  “What do you think?”

Brown shook his head.  “No, probably not.”

“So you haven’t turned up anything interesting?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that.  There are a few cases which aren’t obviously Venus or weather balloons or aircraft, and which are internally self-consistent enough that they’re not obvious fabrications,” Brown said.  “That’s where it gets interesting.  When those are analyzed in light of what we know, some of the reported behavior makes sense.”

“Such as?”

“There are reports of craft settling near bodies of water, or hovering above lakes or ponds and siphoning up water.”

“That is interesting,” said Ducayne.  Most current starships used water as a convenient and dense store for their hydrogen fusion fuel.  It held fifty percent more hydrogen by volume than pure liquid hydrogen, and warp ships cared more about volume than mass.  Scout ships in particular were typically equipped to refuel in the wild, as it were.  “Do the shapes of the craft make sense too?”

“Some do.  There are egg shapes and cigar shapes, they’d both work well in a warp field, although less well for in-atmosphere flight requiring lifting surfaces.”

“No pyramids?”  Carson and his team had seen, or thought they’d seen, a flying pyramid on Chara III.  His own people had found debris that could have been from a pyramidal ship, although someone or something had removed it all before they’d had a chance to recover it.

“Not so far.  But that’s an interesting point.  A pyramid isn’t a good aerodynamic shape either.  Did Carson report seeing an exhaust?”

“No.  It might have been too far away, but Roberts suspected some kind of antigravity.”  It wasn’t Ducayne’s field, but Roberts, and some of the other experts Ducayne had talked to, had explained that antigravity was a theoretical possibility given the same space-bending technology that allowed for warp drives.  So far nobody had figured out exactly how to do that.  Algernon Brenke was the acknowledged expert in the field—he’d almost single-handedly invented the warp drive—but he had died in an unfortunate and rather messy field test accident before he could explore all the possibilities.

“Antigravity would explain those shapes.  It’s not needed for the classic flying saucer, of course.  A saucer is a lifting body, just not a very stable one,” Brown said, then paused as if reconsidering.  “Well, not unless it’s spinning, like a Frisbee.”

“Oh, that would be a fun ride.”  Ducayne shook his head, then leveled his gaze at Brown again. “So what’s the bottom line?  Were any of them really alien or not?”

Brown sat back and put his hands together, steepling his fingers.  “The official conclusion of Project Blue Book was that UFOs were not a threat to national security.  In hindsight, since Earth has never been invaded by aliens, that was clearly true.  They took no position on whether any of the sightings represented actual alien contact.”

“I want to know what you think, not what Blue Book thought.”

“I’m getting to that.  So far I haven’t found anything that clearly and unambiguously indicates any contact with aliens, or observation of a craft that couldn’t have been built with twentieth-century technology.  But, on the other hand, there’s a significant number—a small fraction, but out of the thousands still a significant number—of reports which could more easily be explained by some kind of vehicle built with twenty-second century technology, or perhaps the alien equivalent, especially if we consider the possibility of antigravity.  So by Occam’s Razor, we’re talking either time travel or aliens, and I think I’d give aliens the edge on that.”

“Please let it be aliens.  I don’t even want to think about the trouble time travel could cause.”  Ducayne shuddered at the thought.  “What about actual contact?”

“Nothing definitive.  There are too many conflicting descriptions or inexplicable behavior. Sure, some of that might be reconciled as embellishment of something actual, so I couldn’t give you a flat ‘no’, but I think it unlikely.  Either that or twentieth-century America was a crossroads for more intelligent species than we’ve encountered so far in T-space, even counting primitive and extinct ones.”

“Okay.  Let’s assume that’s a no.  The odds that a score of  different species of spacefaring alien all decided to abandon T-space when humans first set foot on the Moon is pretty slim.  We can’t be that scary.”  The thought amused Ducayne.  It might make his job easier if humans really were that scary.  On the other hand, he considered, there’s a fine line between fear and aggression.  He wasn’t sure that he wanted technologically advanced aliens thinking of humans as a threat.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this, then.”  Ducayne wanted to be clear.  “No actual contact but a high likelihood of sightings of one or more actual alien spacecraft?”

Brown frowned and looked like he had discovered half a worm in a piece of fruit he’d just taken a bite of.  “‘High likelihood’, yes, I think that’s the best way to put it.”

“All right.”  He considered his options.  “I’d really like to dispatch another ship to Zeta Reticuli.”

“Another?  I thought you told Carson to stay away from there?”

“Carson wouldn’t be half as useful to us as he is, if he always did what he was told,” said Ducayne.  “Anyway, it’s a moot point. If Carson’s not there already he will be in a few days.  We don't have anything worth sending.”  Even a fast courier ship, with antimatter drives and twice the speed of Roberts’ Sapphire,  would take almost two weeks to get there . . . if it weren’t for the fact that such ships had only one-third the needed range.

Brown nodded.  “I suppose a message torpedo is out of the question?”  It wouldn’t be much faster than a courier ship, but would have the range.  But Carson and Roberts wouldn't be expecting one.

“Right.  I'm not about to send a message torpedo blindly into an unknown and possibly inhabited system.”

Brown gestured at his analysis of the Blue Book data.  “So, shall I continue with this?”

“Please do.  And something else.  For the incidents where an alien spacecraft might be an explanation, see what you can pull together in terms of capabilities of said craft.  Size, speed, maneuverability, and so on. ”

“So treat it like a technology evaluation based on limited surveillance data, then?”

Ducayne knew Brown had experience with that sort of thing.  “Exactly.”

“And the sooner the better, of course?”

“Yesterday, if possible.”

“I thought you didn’t want to think about time travel,” Brown said, and grinned.

Good, Brown was getting past his survivor guilt.  There really was nothing else he could have done.  “Touché.  Just get it finished.”

35:  Exploring

Aboard Sophie

As they rounded the moon, Z1R III—Zirth—looked like any Earthlike planet—perhaps except Verdigris.  Blues and whites—oceans, cloud and ice—dominated, with browns and greens, and much more of the former, dominating the continents.

“Looks like a lot of desert on this world.  Take us into a high inclination orbit,” Carson said as they approached.  “Let’s do a survey first.”

“Not a polar orbit?” Marten said, and grinned.

“No.  We don’t need really, really detailed maps of the poles.  And I don’t think you want to spend a couple of weeks in zero gee.”

Marten winced.  “Ouch.  You got me.”

Jackie made the necessary course adjustments and put a magnified image of the planet up on the central screen.  “We’re still kind of far out, but I’m not seeing any lights on the night side.  No cities, anyway.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The reason for this became obvious a few hours later as they orbited the planet.

There were craters, not everywhere, but scattered around coasts and rivers.  They were all of a range, no more than two or three kilometers in diameter.  The absence of small ones could be explained by erosion or the filtering effect of an atmosphere on small meteorites, but there were no huge impact structures either; no Chixulubs or Sudburys or Vredevoort Rings.

Some of the desert areas showed signs of earlier forestation, with significant deadfall or burn damage.  But Jackie had been wrong.  There were cities, or ruins of cities.  And they were all dead.

“What happened here?”

“A comet?” Jackie said.  “If it had broken up you’d get a few big fragments and lot of small ones.  Ice chunks would probably explode before reaching the ground, like Tunguska back on Earth.  Rocks would dig craters.  That would also explain the moon’s impacts.”

“It’s curious that it would wipe out every single city.”

“It could have been a massive bombardment.”

“Then the rest of the continent should show more impacts.”

“What if . . .”

“Yes?”

“Consider Earth prior to the Unholy War.  What if this place was like that, with nuclear-armed nations.  A meteorite bombardment could set off a nuclear war, if they didn’t realize what it was.”

“Or even if they did, if they were crazy enough.”  Some nations on Earth had been that crazy.  “That could explain the destruction of all the cities, although even Earth never went that far.  Are you detecting any nuclear debris?”

“Only trace amounts of fission debris, not what you’d expect from a conventional nuclear exchange.  Maybe they used pure fusion bombs.  Or . . .”

“Or what?”

“Spacefarer disintegrators.  Create a warp field in atmosphere—or worse, up against something solid—and you get a big bang.”

Carson well remembered that from Chara III.  Such an explosion had helped their escape from attackers intent on stealing the artifact they’d recovered. “But that big?  I thought there was a limit to how big you can make a warp bubble, and the interaction would only be at the surface.”

“You’re right. That’s why I hesitated to mention it.  You could do a lot of damage but that’s not a city buster.”

“Let’s keep looking, maybe we’ll find more clues.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“How long ago did this happen, do you think?”

“Hard to say.  Depends on how bad the initial damage was.  A minimum of a hundred years; there’s new growth in amongst the treefall in some of the crater blast zones, as well as in some areas of the cities.  A maximum?  It depends on growing conditions both now and after the event.”  He paused, feeling as if a cold, lonely wind were blowing over him.  “Perhaps a thousand years, surely no more than two.”

“You know, Carson,” said Marten, “looking at the planet, it’s almost as if there were two separate bombardments.”

“Oh?”

“Well, some of the craters look a lot more eroded than others.  Likewise in some places the re-growth is a lot more dense than other places.  Now, sure,” Marten held up a hand to forestall Carson’s obvious objection, “some of that can be explained just by different climate in the different regions, but look at this.”  He flipped through a series of images, finally bringing one up on the screen.  It showed two circular scars in the landscape, surrounded at some distance by the vague rectilinear outlines of what could well have been city blocks, and beyond that, the brown-green of scrubby vegetation.  The vegetation grew somewhat closer to the eastern crater than the western, and the gullies in the walls of the eastern crater seemed deeper.

“Son of a gun,” Carson said.  “That eastern crater is easily a century older than the other, probably more.”

“Yes.  I would say more; the local vegetation suggests a semi-arid climate, so erosion rates would be low.”

It could be coincidence, of course.  This might be the one city which had been hit by a meteorite or suffered some other massive explosion years before the rest of the bombardment.  The odds on that were tiny, and Carson had a feeling that if they examined the data, they’d find more examples like this.  Apparently Marten had already seen some.  “I don’t like it.  What happened here?”

Nobody had an answer.

∞ ∞ ∞

“I can understand the rumors about this system being haunted,” Jackie said as they completed another orbit.  They’d seen ruined city after ruined city, and signs of agricultural land long-abandoned.  “The place is a graveyard.”

“But how did that rumor get started without tales of these bombed out cities making their way back to settled T-space?  This is big news.”

“I suppose artifact smugglers might want to keep the place quiet.”

“Anything from here would be completely different from the neolithic artifacts from elsewhere.  For a collector to be interested they’d have to know about this place.”

“A well-kept secret?”

“I don’t think so.  Not that well kept.  We’d hear rumors, some trace of unusual artifacts.  Marten, ever hear of anything that might be related?”

“No, not me.  Sure, we get rumors and crazy emails, same as any archeology department, but nothing that I can recall that would correlate.”

“Well, I think we’re accumulating more questions than answers up here in orbit.  Captain,” he said, turning to address Jackie, “let’s find a city that isn’t completely flattened and land.”

“Land?  I’m thinking we should just get out of the system and report back.  This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

“It’s not haunted, Jackie.”

“That’s not what I meant.  Besides, how many millions are dead down there?  If anywhere was haunted it would be this place.  But no, there’s too much unexplained, including the weird signals we saw from out-system.  Call it my pilot instincts.  If something bad has happened and you don’t understand it, then don’t proceed.”

“Nothing bad has happened to us.”

“And I want to keep it that way.”

“Don’t we need to refuel anyway?”  Carson knew that they did.

“I can do that out-system.  The gas giant will have ice moons.”

“The gas giant has something at its L5 point, it may also have something in orbit.”

Roberts scowled.  “We don’t know there was anything at its L5.”  She looked at the images of the planet below, then at her instruments.

“Okay,” she said. “It will be quicker to refuel from a liquid water source.  But I want to make this quick.  If you can find a city with a landing spot near a lake or a river, then I’ll take her down.  Otherwise . . .”

Carson wasn’t sure what the alternative was, and perhaps Jackie wasn’t either.  It didn’t matter.

“Two orbits back,” said Marten.  “There was a city with a cleared area and a small lake, perhaps it was a park.”

“I remember.  Bring up the pictures, let’s see if there’s anything still standing.  Captain, can you take us back to that one?”

“Give me the coordinates,” she said, and sighed with resignation.  “I’ll adjust our orbital phase back to that track.  But I’m going to drop some probes in orbit first.  We might need an early warning.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The devastation became more evident as they approached the ruined city.  Roberts had seen pictures of nuked cities; they were part of any history of the 21st century.  But those had been images of fresh disaster, not something that had apparently happened hundreds of years earlier.  The difference was subtle, but in the former there were signs of people attempting clean up and even rebuilding, whereas this place had just been abandoned.  There was almost as much rubble between buildings as on the bases of the collapsed structures.  Weeds, bushes and even a few scraggly trees pushed themselves up in random patches, often marking low hills where drifting dust and dirt had piled and given them a foothold.  The place gave her the creeps.

She found the clear area with a large pond as Marten had suggested.  The lack of rubble or nearby ruins suggested that it had indeed been a park.  She flared Sophie to a near stall and set her down with ventral thrusters.

“Okay, pay attention,” Roberts announced. “I’m going to run out the hoses and top up our tanks.  Stay here, or at least near the ship.  When we’re done fueling and I’ve prepped the ship for a quick getaway, if we need to, then we can talk about wandering off.”

“Seems like a bit of waste of time for us to wait here while you’re fueling,” Carson said.

“It won’t take long, ten or fifteen minutes.  If something comes up I may need help stowing things quickly.  Captain’s orders, stay here until I say otherwise.”

Carson sighed.  “Aye aye, Captain.”

36:  Planetfall

Zeta 1 Reticuli system

The Velkaryan ship Cacharodon had entered the system several hours earlier, and had been cruising deeper into the system at modest speed, instruments scanning.

“Sir, we’re detecting a plasma trail on the third planet.  Readings that look like standard ship’s thrusters, too.”   It was hard to hide a ship entering atmosphere from orbit, the ionization trail stood out like a beacon and thruster exhaust differentiated it from a large meteor.

“How fast can you get us to the planet?” Vaughan demanded of the pilot.  If they were picking up the signal now, the ship would have landed over an hour ago.

“Is thirty seconds fast enough for you?”

“You’re going to warp to the planet? Are you crazy?  We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

“Not to the planet.  I’ll aim for just above the limb of the planet, we’ll come out about a thousand kilometers up.”

“You can aim that well?”

“Sure, but if you like we can stop half way and do a course correction.  That would only add a couple of minutes.”

“All right, do it.”

A few minutes later they were in space above Z1R III, firing thrusters to establish an orbit.   The gravity pulse from that warp outran the Carcharodon’s earlier gravity pulses, from when it entered the system, like a speedboat outracing the ripples of an object thrown overboard.

∞ ∞ ∞

Zeta 1 Reticuli III, a ruined city

The refueling had gone without incident, and finally Carson was leading the team through what was left of the Zirth city streets, if that’s what they’d been, towards the stumps of several buildings.  That had seemed like good direction to try.

Carson heard Jackie’s omni beep as they clambered over another rubble pile.  He turned as she raised her wrist to check it.

“Radiation warning?” he asked, although his own omni remained silent.

“No, it’s from the ship.”  She examined the screen, touched it in a couple of places, and muttered to herself.

“Is there a problem?”

“The probes picked up a gravity pulse, like a ship dropping out of warp.”

“I thought that didn’t leave a signature?”

“Not an EM pulse, but the energy in a warp field has to go somewhere when it collapses.  Ducayne’s team modified my warp generators to smear that out a bit.”

“Friendly or alien?” Carson wondered aloud.

“Could be both or none of the above,” Jackie said, remembering their encounter with Hopkins in the Chara system.

“You think we were followed?”

“The Rockhopper from Alpha Mensae?  No, but someone might have guessed where we were going.  I didn’t file a flight plan but I didn’t try to hide our departure vector when we left Delta Pavonis.”

“Couldn’t it be the Spacefarers?” Marten asked.  “Did you detect a gravity pulse when the pyramid ship showed up on Chara III?”

“I wasn’t looking for one then.  I suppose it could be, but what are the odds of an alien ship arriving here so soon after we did?  I think it’s more likely someone who knew we were coming.”

“Velkaryans, then,” Carson said, scowling.

“Best bet,” Jackie agreed.  “We should get back to the ship.”

Carson was torn.  That was probably the safest course but they had just reached one of the more-intact buildings, and he was anxious to explore it.  He looked at Marten, who looked back at him made a shrugging gesture.  Good enough.  He surveyed the area for a reasonably flat spot.

“Marten and I want to stay here and check out this building.  Can you bring the ship here, land it say over there and pick us up?”

Jackie turned to look where he was pointing.  “It’s a bit rough, and the approach will be steep over the ruins, but it’s not like I need a runway.”  She nodded.  “Sure, I can do that.”  She checked her omni again.  “It’ll take me a half-hour to get back to the ship.  You’ve got that long.”

“Whoever warped in couldn’t get here that quickly, could they?”

“If they warped to just above atmosphere, they probably could.  But not likely, that would be some tight flying.  Okay, one hour.”

Carson checked his own omni.  “An hour then.  Be careful.”

“Same to you.”  With that, she turned and headed back in the direction of the Sophie at a quick walk.

Carson watched her as she left, his gaze lingering.

“Admiring her form?” asked Marten.  “Not my type, being human and only the two breasts, but—”

“Ah, making sure she’s safe,” Carson said a bit more forcefully than he’d intended.  He turned back toward the building.  “Come on, Marten, we’ve only got an hour.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Aboard the Carcharodon

“We have a location for Carson’s ship, we’ll be over it in a few minutes.”

“Good,” Vaughan said.  “Can you get an image of it?”

“I’m working on that now.”  The pilot adjusted a control.  “There, on screen two.”

The image, a steep angled view from not quite overhead, showed the triangular outline of a Sapphire class ship parked in a clear area near a small lake, on the middle of what appeared to be the ruins of a city.

“Look at the ruins.  This is a big find.”

“But what caused them, I wonder?  It must have been a major catastrophe for them not to rebuild.”

A shape edged into view from one side of the screen. Vaughan could make out a 90 degree angle and two straight sides.  “Zoom out a bit, what is that?”

The pilot zoomed the picture out, revealing a large square outline equivalent to several city blocks, with triangular shading.  “Is that a pyramid?”

“It is.”  Vaughan studied the image, and compared the outline of the square to the terrain.  It was moving.  He looked at the shadow it cast.  Yes, almost certainly a pyramid, but more than that. “And it’s flying.”

“You’re right.  That’s not possible.”

“Hold position here, let’s see what happens.”

The pilot applied braking thrust to kill some of their orbital velocity, and gravity came back to the ship as he throttled up the ventral thrusters to keep the Carcharodon from falling out of the sky.  “I won’t be able to maintain this for long.”

“Do what you can.”  On screen the flying pyramid had moved close to the Sapphire, which it dwarfed.  The shape drifted over until the human ship was no longer visible beneath it.

“What’s it doing?”

How would I know? thought Vaughan, but said “Inspecting the ship, obviously.”

“It could crush it flat.”

“No, it’s moving away now.” The square had begun to move again, drifting away to reveal empty terrain as it passed.

“Where’d the Sapphire go?”

“Zoom in on that,” Vaughan pointed to where the ship had been.  “Look for debris.  Did they destroy it?”

The enlarged picture showed no sign of debris, nor of any blast damage to the ground beyond what could be explained by the Sapphire’s landing jets.

“Maybe it took off and it’s flying beneath the pyramid?”

“I don’t see any blown dust.  For that matter, what’s holding the pyramid up?”

By this time the pyramid was moving away, out of screen.

“Zoom out again, track that pyramid.”

The pilot zoomed the picture out further and re-centered it on the pyramid.  “I can’t hold this position much longer; we’re going to run out of fuel.”  As he said this, the pyramid accelerated out of frame, and when the sensor tracked to follow, the pyramid had vanished.

“You lost it!”

“It accelerated away.  It was too fast to track.”  The pilot pulled back on a control and the weight lessened. “I need to cut thrust.  Shall I land?”

“Yes.  Land by that lake.  Refuel and be ready to take off at a moment’s notice.  Whatever happened to Carson’s ship, we don’t want it to happen to us.”

“Roger that,” the pilot agreed.

37:  Trouble

The landing site, Zeta 1 Reticuli III

Roberts lengthened her stride as she cleared the rubble pile, checking her bearings against the ruined building before her.  That was on our right as we came in.  She adjusted her path to the left.  As she rounded the shattered foundation her omni chimed again.  She slipped it out and checked the screen.  It was the Sophie again; it and the probes had picked up more gravitational anomalies.  She touched a pad to download more data, slowing her pace to study it as she walked.

That was odd; these didn’t look like a warp signature at all.  She selected the live feed, streaming data from the Sophie as it came in.  Those are definitely some odd gravitational waves.  Then the stream stopped and the display froze.

Roberts muttered and banged the side of the omni, as though that would make a difference.  It didn’t.  Maybe something was interfering with the signal.  She tried calling Carson, but he didn’t answer.  If he was inside that building already, it could be blocking the signal.  But why wasn’t she getting anything from Sophie?  She broke into a run.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Carson,” Marten said as they rounded a corner, “is that an entrance?”  He pointed to a broad recess, partially hidden by shadow, in the side of the ruin.

“Let’s hope so.”

It was.  It was completely open, although littered with  the remains of what might have once been a door, or doors.  They made their way inside.  The interior was gloomy and dust-laden.  Daylight filtered in through streaked and muddy windows.  Carson pulled a flashlight from his pack.

“Are we looking for anything in particular, or just looking?” Marten asked.

“We’re just looking right now.  That and taking pictures.”  He had brought a recorder specifically to do so. “Let’s see what we can find to give us an idea of what the inhabitants were like.”

“Given the height of these buildings, they weren’t like us.” Timoans had evolved from burrow-dwellers, and had a genetic distrust of heights.

“Perhaps not, but the scale isn’t too far off.  They were within the range of our size I think.”

“We knew that from the pyramids.”

“True enough.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Roberts didn’t know what to expect.  What happened to Sophie’s signal?  Could it be the Velkaryans?  If their ship had entered atmosphere nearby they would have heard a sonic boom, or the roar of thrusters, or something.  It could be interference, but from what?  Maybe a circuit breaker had tripped, in which case it should auto-reset in a minute unless there was a serious problem.

She jogged on.  There, that low hill, it overlooked their landing area.  Her breath came in ragged gasps as she climbed.  Too much time in zero gee, I need to get more exercise.  But as she reached the top what she saw knocked the remaining breath out of her.

The Sophie was gone.

38:  More Trouble

Exploring the building

“Carson, over here!  I’ve found a stair well.”

“I’m glad we found something.”  So far, the main level of the building had been empty. “So I guess they’d invented stairs after all.”

Marten looked at him with, as best as Carson could read timoan facial expression, a puzzled look.  “Why wouldn’t they have?”

“No reason at all, but all we found in the pyramids were sloping floors and a ladder.  No, I didn’t mean anything by it.  This is just the first tall building we’ve found that isn’t a pyramid.”

“Oh.  The stairs do look a bit odd, though.”

“I see what you mean.” Each step was considerably deeper from front-to-back, perhaps a half-meter, than it was high, only ten to fifteen centimeters. They were more like ceremonial or decorative steps than the sort of practical rise-equals-run of human or timoan stairways.  “This doesn’t seem an efficient use of space.”

“Could it tell us something about their anatomy?”

That was such an obvious question that Carson was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him.  “Good point.”  He placed his foot on the first step, with an easy few inches to spare at toe and heel. “They must have had big feet.”

“Or short legs.  Or both.”  Marten looked at Carson and grinned.  “Ducks?”

Carson laughed.  “Bloody big ducks if so,” he said.  “And what would they use for hands?”

“Curses, another fine theory shot down by logic.  So much for Anas martenis.”

“Marten’s Duck?”  Carson shook his head.  “I never took you for a biologist.  Anyway, wouldn’t it be Anas martenis sapiens?” he said, and grinned.

“Details.”

“Come on,” he said as he started up the stairs, “let’s see what’s up here.”

The second floor proved to be about as empty as the first.  There were rooms with scattered furniture, or what was probably furniture, but nothing small.

“It looks like they cleaned out anything that could be carried.”

“So they had warning.  Unless they came back afterwards?”

“I don’t think so.  The streets, if that’s what they are, are too littered,” Carson said. “They must have had enough time to evacuate.”  He was about to say more but the timer on his omni trilled. He glanced at it.  “Damn, we’re out of time, we need to get to the rendezvous.  There’s not even anything small to grab as a souvenir.”

∞ ∞ ∞

As they descended the stairs, Carson considered their shallow angle again.  “Marten, it occurs to me that these stairs may tell us something else about the builders’ anatomy rather than just the size of their feet.”

“Oh?  What, specifically?”

“Consider that some animals can climb human or timoan stairs but not easily come down again.  Cows for example; coming down regular stairs would put their hindquarters too far above their heads.  That wouldn’t be a problem with these.”

“You’re not suggesting this place was built by cows, are you?  Space-going cows?”

“No, no, of course not,” Carson said, and bit back a joke about the cow that jumped over the Moon; Marten wouldn’t get it. “That’s just an example.  But perhaps a quadruped.”

“Hands?”

Marten had a good point, a quadruped wouldn’t have free hands to develop technology.  A centaur-like species would have free hands, but wouldn’t be derived from Terrestrial biology . . . which would be a significant find in itself.  A trunk?  Something lighter on its feet than an elephant?  That might work.  “How about something like a kangaroo?  Biped but with a thick tail to balance the weight.  The tail would drag going down steep stairs.”

“A kangaroo?  Do you mean a quarrengara?”  Marten asked, naming a Taprobani animal that looked like bear standing on hind legs, but with a more pronounced tail.

“No.”  Carson pulled up a picture on his omni and showed it to Marten.  “Like this.”

“They have big feet too.”  There was an amused tone in Marten’s voice.

“Never mind.”  He was probably right.  Carson wasn’t sure a tail would work with a fully upright biped; it would be unnecessary, so evolution would atrophy it quickly.

They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and as they made their way out of the building, something else occurred to Carson. “Does anything strike you as odd about the architecture of this place?  Of all of what we’ve seen here?”

“Compared to what?  The stairs are different, but—”

“Compared to the two Spacefarer pyramids we’ve been in.”

“Well, there’s nothing pyramidal here, if that’s what you mean.  The buildings, or what’s left of them, have vertical sides.  But now that you mention it, the building material is different.  That’s probably just a difference in local materials.”

“No, the pyramids weren’t local material.”  They’d been a dull pinkish material which could have been an ultra fine-grained granite, but harder and more homogeneous, possibly an engineered material.  The buildings here were grayish.

“The different color you mean?  A result of whatever destroyed the city?”

They reached the entrance to the building and Marten scanned the entryway as they left.  “No talisman-shaped key recesses, either.”

Carson chuckled.  “They probably used something more practical.  Same for the lighting system.”  The lights in the building hadn’t worked.

“The lights in the pyramids were fifteen thousand years old and still working. This place isn’t that old. Why use something different?”

“Expense, perhaps?  They built the pyramids to last.  Also, the pyramids weren’t nuked, that might make a difference.”

“You don’t suppose . . .” Marten trailed off.

“What?”

“We had iron age technology when you humans contacted us.  In another thousand or two years, we might have developed space flight on our own.”

“What, with timoans afraid of heights and zero gee?”  Carson meant it as a joke, but there was an element of truth to it.

“We’re not all like that—”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, my point is that the locals here may not have been the pyramid-builders, they may have just developed space flight a couple of thousand years before humans.  If they even had space flight; we haven’t seen anything to prove that yet.”

“You mean not the original Spacefarers?”  Carson didn’t like that idea.  “What about the pyramid ship?  They must still be around.  And if you’re positing yet another technological species . . . well, Occam’s Razor says no.”

“Occam’s Razor also doesn’t answer the question of what happened here, the two waves of destruction.  Suppose the pyramid-building spacefarers wiped them out?”

“Why?  Why build teaching museums, like the Chara pyramid, if you’re going to wage war on folks when they do develop technology?”  Carson couldn’t see any sense in it, except in some bizarre “give them a sporting chance” sort of way.  Which made no sense either.

“Bait for a trap?” Marten said.  “As long as the locals can’t figure the pyramids out, they’re pre-technological and not a potential threat.  Once they get in, they trigger an alarm.  So far the two advanced tech pyramids we’ve found were on planets where the local intelligent species is no longer around.”

“But why give them information to let them advance their civilization more quickly if you’re just going to wipe them out?  Why not put the alarm where it will only trigger if they’re a true threat, like on the moon?”

“What if there is no moon?”

“All terraformed planets have large moons.  It helps keep them stable.”

“Oh.  But consider the corollary to that hypothesis.  Any technological civilization still around would have developed on its own, with no pyramids.  There are no alien pyramids on Taprobane, and none on Earth, right?”

“Not as far as we know,” Carson was forced to agree.  He was uncomfortable with that conclusion.  “But a lot can happen in fifteen thousand years.  Much of Earth was still under a mile of ice back then.”  There was something else, he remembered, that he had come across in his research. “There’s the Visočica hill in Bosnia, which someone last century claimed was a pyramid.  It’s huge, big enough to bury the Chara pyramid.  ‘Pyramid of the Sun’ he called it, but most researchers discount it.  Nothing has ever been found within it, as far as I know. But I don’t know how thoroughly it’s been examined.”

“Fair enough.  And Taprobane hasn’t been thoroughly explored with modern gear.  What about Kakuloa?”

“Good question.  There are ruins there, but they obviously weren’t built by the tree squids.”  Kakuloa boasted a population of octopus, not squid, which dwelt in and around the mangrove-like trees in certain coastal swamps.  They were unquestionably intelligent, though just how intelligent was the subject of much debate.  They “spoke” with each other by shifting chromatophore patterns on their skin, and humans—even when mimicking the patterns on screens—seemed to hold no interest for them.

“There’s nothing pyramidal about the ruins there, either,” Carson continued.  “Not that the area has been examined very thoroughly either.  A lot of the place is off-limits now; a tree-squid reservation, even inland.”

They’d reached the relatively clear area where Jackie had said she’d meet them.  Carson checked the time on his omni.  “We’re just on time, Roberts is running late.”

“That’s not like her.”

“No, it isn’t.”  Had something happened?  She could have called, although perhaps the building had been blocking the omni signal.  Carson tapped a key on his omni to call her when Marten interrupted.

“Listen,” he said, “here she comes.”

Carson canceled the call and listened.  Marten obviously had better hearing than he did, but then came the distant hissing roar of a ship’s thrusters.  He looked around and spotted the vehicle high up, coming from a different direction than the one in which he had thought they’d landed.

“That’s odd.  I wonder what’s up.” The ship was dropping towards them now and grew in his sight.  There was something strange about it.

“Carson,” Marten said, grabbing Carson’s arm and starting to tug him away from the approaching ship.  “We need to get out of here. Let’s go.”

“What?  Why?”

“That’s not the Sophie, it’s a different ship.”

Marten was right; the outline didn’t look anything like the Sophie. The Velkaryans?  “Oh crap. Run!” Carson said as he turned.

The timoan was already several meters ahead, making surprising speed.  Carson sprinted toward the shelter of the buildings, but his foot hit something, hard, and he stumbled and went down, pieces of rubble digging into him as he rolled to take the impact.

∞ ∞ ∞

Jackie ran for the clearing, her pulse racing.  She was sure this was where she’d landed Sophie, but she must be mistaken.  Was there another, similar park?  She scanned the landmarks as she went.  There was the lake where she’d refueled.  That was the building stump she’d passed on her approach . . . or was it?  It looked different from this angle, perhaps there was another clearing where the Sophie was parked.  Her ship certainly wasn’t here.  She reached the center of the field, a knot growing in her stomach.  But for her missing ship, this looked too damned familiar.  Then she saw the clear signs of a ship’s landing exhaust and gear imprint.  She wanted to throw up.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the pain in her gut and the pounding in her chest.  Think this through.  There was no ship debris or crater, it hadn’t exploded.  She examined the landing area more closely.  No, the disturbances were just from her landing jets, a takeoff would probably be more violent, and surely she would have heard it.  What the fuck?

Could the Velkaryans be responsible?  How?  Again, there was no debris and no other landing or liftoff signs.  She tried her omni again, trying to raise any signal from the ship.  Nothing.  A thought broke through her rising panic, and she smiled a brief, wry smile.  Ducayne is going to be pissed. That was enough, the panic was under control.  She’d better get back to Carson and Marten; they’d work out their next steps together.  She took a last look around the landing site then turned to head back to the rendezvous point.

∞ ∞ ∞

At the rendezvous point

There was no sign of either of the archeologists when she reached the flattened rubble field they’d designated as the meeting spot.  The panic started to creep back. Don’t tell me I’ve lost them, too.  No, they were probably just late, still exploring the building.  Please let it be so. She started towards the building, scanning the area for any sign of them.  There, in the shadow, was that . . . ?  Yes, that was Marten, crouched in a recess in the building wall, waving at her.

“Marten!” she called.  “Are you all right?  Where’s Hannibal?”

Marten dashed from the building to Jackie’s side, then pulled her down beside a pile of rubble.  “It’s not safe in the open.  The Velkaryan ship, they got Carson.”

“What? How?”

“We were waiting at the rendezvous for you.  We saw a ship descending, and then realized it wasn’t the Sophie.  We started to run but somehow Hannibal wasn’t behind me.  He may have tripped.  When I turned back, the ship had landed and Velkaryans had grabbed him.  I should have tried to help, but—”

“But they’d have grabbed you too.  No, I’m glad you stayed free.  We have to get him back.”

“Agreed.”  Marten looked around, then toward the clearing.  “By the way, where is the Sophie?”

“I wish I knew.  When I got back to the landing area it was gone.  I thought perhaps I’d gone to the wrong place, but I looked around and saw clear signs of my landing.  It was just gone.  No debris, it wasn’t destroyed.”

“Somebody stole it?  The Velkaryans?”

“They’d have had to figure how to crack the ship’s security, and then figure out how to take off without me hearing them or leaving extra exhaust marks on the ground.”

“What?”

“It’s like it just disappeared.”

Marten darted a look around.  “Could it have been targeted by some kind of defense system?”

“Unknown.”  She pressed a hand to her forehead and kneaded her brow.  What were they going to do now?  Well, there was one possibility.  “I’m wondering if making some kind of deal with the Velkaryans might be our only way to get home.”

As she said that, a glint of light in the sky caught her attention.  She looked up.  A small dot was growing as it approached.  “And it looks like here they come now.”

Marten followed her gaze and held up a hand for silence.  He listened for a few seconds then said “I don’t hear their thrusters.  If it’s the Velkaryans, they’re either gliding or falling.”

Roberts studied the growing dot.  Definitely not gliding, and probably too slow to be falling, although it looked like they might be almost directly underneath it.  “Let’s move,” she said. She looked around and pointed.  “Back to that building.”

From the entranceway, Jackie watched as the dot grew large enough to make out a shape. “Marten, that’s not any kind of ship I recognize.”

“No,” Marten said. “I think it’s a pyramid.  It looks like our Chara friends are back.”

“I hope you’re right about ‘friends’, although I’d be surprised if it’s the same ones.  It looks like we’re about to get a first contact.  Remember Captain Cook,” Jackie said, recalling a conversation they’d had the last time they had seen a pyramidal space ship.

“Cook?  Ah yes, Hawaii, killed by the natives.  But Carson said that was a second contact.”

“And this is the second time we’ve seen a flying pyramid.”  The pyramid itself was much lower now, looming very large.

It paused nearly overhead, looming huge, and hanging there in an unnatural way.  Then it slowly started to descend.  On the ground they could feel a rumbling vibration, almost infrasonic, barely perceptible at first but now growing.  Jackie and Marten looked up at the descending pyramid, out at the clearing, at the building they huddled beside, and ran the mental geometry.  It would nearly fill the clearing, but it wouldn’t land on them.  They breathed a small sigh of relief.  But they didn’t relax.

The rumbling was becoming quite audible now.  The vibration under Jackie’s feet was growing, accompanied by a slight swaying, as if a mild earthquake were taking place.  Whatever it was must be related to their anti-gravity.  The technology they must have!  The pyramid starship lowered further, crushing a small boulder that had been out alone in the clearing, and settled to the ground.

Interlude III

Northeastern Mexico, circa 100 CE

It had taken closer to two years.  The trek west and north had involved many detours, many occasions where they’d spend days or even weeks with local tribes.  In some cases word of their existence had preceded them, and the locals treated them like minor gods.  Kukul began to understand the temptation that had befallen the original priest class.

They had also made some surprising discoveries.  There was a great diversity in the local lifeforms, but that in itself was not startling.  The lifeforms on this world were hardly unique, but there were odd gaps.  There were no feathered lizards like the Kesh; all the feathered animals on this planet, or at least this corner of it, were almost completely covered with feathers, had beaks instead of teeth, and were small.  Most were specialized for flight, and all lacked forelimb digits.  Those lizards without feathers were all cold-blooded.  Neither Quetz nor Kukul were biologist enough to know if this pattern was common on other life-bearing worlds, but the protein and gene analysis confirmed a strong connection with life elsewhere.  One theory held that because life on all the planets was so similar, it must have been seeded from elsewhere, although Kukul thought this begged the question of where it came from in the first place.  If the life here had been transplanted from elsewhere, somebody had forgotten to bring his ancestors.

Or so Kukul and Quetz had thought until they’d left the Yucatan some distance behind them.

“This deposit is considerably older than what we were finding earlier,” Quetz said, scanning a sample of sedimentary rock.

“Oh?”

“The oldest we found there was about 20 million years old .  These rocks are over 80 million.”

“Okay, so it’s from early in the planet’s history.  Lots of planets have rocks older than that.”

“Igneous and metamorphic, yes.  Sedimentary rocks tend to be younger, something about how long it takes oceans to form,” Quetz had continued to examine the specimen as he talked.  “But there’s something even more unusual about this one.”  Quetz paused.

“Well?”

“It has fossils.”

“What? That’s not possible.”   On no planet had fossils—other than some microbial remnants—been found which were more than about sixty to sixty-five million years old, curiously much younger than how old estimates based on genetic drift suggested complex life should be.  The discrepancy was generally assumed to lie in some massive mutation event which triggered the beginning of complex life in the first place, but there were other theories.

“If the seeding theory is true, then that seeded life came from somewhere.  Here?”

“But . . .” Kukul felt the implications rolling over him like an avalanche.  “But, that would mean that life arose here first, not on the Kesh homeworld.  That would mean—”

“That our ancestors evolved here first, yes.”

“It would also mean that there were spacefarers 65 million years ago—beyond whoever it was that built the original pyramids.”

“I’m beginning to see why this world is off-limits.”

“I’m starting to wonder why the priest class hasn’t wiped everything out to destroy the evidence.”

“That’s more easily said than done, that would be a massive operation.  And it might piss off the natives.”

“So what?  They’re barely out of the stone age at best.”

“No, Kukul, think it through.  If 65 million years ago a spacefaring species was seeding other planets with life from here, where did they come from?”

“Uh. . .”  There was only one answer that made sense.  “Here?”  But that didn’t seem right either.  “I don’t know, Quetz, you’re reading an awful lot into one sample.  How complex are those fossils?”

“Invertebrate shells.”  He sounded disappointed.

“Okay.  That shakes up what we know but wouldn’t generally be considered significant.  We need to explore further.”

∞ ∞ ∞

As they continued northward they also steered inland to higher ground, to where the ancient deposits were more likely to be shores and beaches and coastal plains rather than old sea beds.  They found older fossil-bearing rocks, with more complex fossils.  Finally, in part of what would later be known as Texas, they found a clincher.

“Look at that streambed,” Quetz gestured.

“And what am I looking for?”

“I’ll show you.”  They scrambled down the gentle valley slope to the broad shallow stream at its base.  Quetz started wading out into the ankle-deep water, then stopped about a third of the way across the stream.

“What are you doing?”

“Come here.”  When Kukul had joined him, Quetz pointed down at his feet.  “Look down.”

There, beside Kukul's feet, was a three-lobed depression, easily three times the size of his foot, pressed into the smooth stone the stream flowed over.  Was that...?

“And over there,” Quetz pointed.  “And there.”

“Footprints!” Kukul realized. They formed a clear pattern, the half-dozen impressions running along the streambed for 20 meters or so.  “Whatever made these was big.”

“But how long ago?” said Quetz.

He had a point. The strata they’d been exploring had registered at about 100 million of this planet’s years old, perhaps a bit older.  They’d been finding many invertebrate fossils now, shells, something like sea urchins, and fragments something that might be crabs or large insects.  This all suggested shallow coastal waters—but soft sand might have taken footprint impressions.

Quetz had been looking for a crack or the edge of a layer so that he might break a piece off.  He held up a fragment triumphantly and ran the scanner over it.  “Ignoring recent contamination, the youngest reading I get is 103 million years old, plus much older readings for the larger grains.  That will be the parent rock.”

“Could the footprints have come later?”

Quetz's crest feathers waggled.  “Point me to something that leaves footprints in solid rock.”

“So, there’s our proof.  A huge animal, surely a vertebrate, almost twice as old as what the priests say anything could be.”  The idea was no longer shocking, they’d had been growing to accept it for several months now.

“What now?”

“We record all this, of course.  Beyond that, I don’t know.  Look for vertebrate fossils?  Are they likely?  Find somewhere to set up a more permanent base to see if rescue ever comes?”

“Perhaps the latter. Settling down would be a nice change.”

Kukul had to agree.  They'd been on the move for a long time, and if the Reformers did come for them, they might be easier found if they stayed put.  “All right.”

A month later their radio began to beep.  The coded signal which triggered that would only have come from a Reformer ship.  They’d be going home after all.

∞ ∞ ∞

The evidence Kukul and Quetz brought back—the biological and geological samples, recordings of compromising transmissions by the priest-observers, as well as the fossil evidence—didn’t incite a revolution on its own.  But a revolution had been brewing for a long time; the Reformers were gaining power, and these proofs that the priest class had been deceiving the population for generations was one of the final straws.  It would take several hundred years to build, but Kukul and Quetz's findings would trigger a revolution.

39:  Carson’s Questions

Aboard the Carcharodon

Carson stood in what seemed to be a briefing room, although it probably doubled as a mess or galley, aboard the Velkaryan ship.  His hands stung as he brushed his palms to clean out the grit embedded in them, and his foot, hips, elbows and shoulders ached from where rocks had dug into him when he fell.  The ache in his shoulders hadn’t been helped by the two burly men who’d grabbed him and dragged him aboard.  They’d also relieved him of his pistol and omni.  There was still gravity, but the faint vibration he could feel through the deck implied they were airborne.

“What is this, a kidnapping?  What do you want?” he demanded.

“Welcome aboard the Carcharodon,” said a tall man who seemed to be the one in charge.  “You might want to think of it as a rescue.”

“A rescue?”  That wasn’t at all the response Carson had expected.  “From what?”

“From being stranded here.  Or weren’t you aware your ship had disappeared?”

“What?  What did you do?” He took a step forward, and was grabbed from behind.  “Where’s Jackie?”  If these bastards had hurt her . . .

“We didn’t do anything.  I don’t know who Jackie is—your pilot?—but from orbit we saw something fly over your vessel and after it passed, your ship wasn’t there anymore.”

“What?” I’ve got to stop saying that, I sound like an idiot.  “When was this?”

“About a half an hour ago.  But whatever it was also disappeared.”

A half an hour, so Jackie might not have made it back to the ship before whatever happened, had happened. “You say my ship disappeared.  Was it destroyed?”

“Unknown. We didn’t see any evidence of that.” The tall man straightened up, looking more serious.  “But tell me, Doctor Carson—you are Carson, aren’t you?—what brings you to this God-forsaken place?”

Carson didn’t see any problem with telling him the obvious.  “Rumors of aliens and artifacts.  Some prospectors back at Alpha Mensae even said the place was haunted.  If you know who I am, you know I’m an archeologist.  Who are you?”

“The name’s Vaughan.”

“Vaughan.” The name wasn’t at all familiar.  “You saw something fly over my ship.  What was it?”

“Sorry, it’s my turn to ask questions.  Why Zeta Reticuli? It’s a long way from your home base.  What did you find on Verdigris?”

“Verdigris?  Nothing at all.  Oh, about a year ago I found an unusual tomb loaded with artifacts, but we got jumped by tomb raiders.  They got everything.”

“So why did you go back?”

“A follow-up survey, there are still plenty of ruins in the Verdigris jungle.  Do I get to ask a question now?”

“No.  So you found nothing on your last trip?  Then why blow a hole in the jungle?”

So Vaughan knew about his daisy cutter.  Somehow that didn’t surprise him.  “Okay, I found another pyramid-shaped tomb.  It turned out this one had already been looted before we got there, it was empty.  Now, what did you see fly over my ship?”

“Hard to tell from orbit.  From overhead it looked square.”

“A pyramid?”  Carson blurted out, and then cursed inwardly.  He shouldn’t have revealed that.

“A flying pyramid?  That sounds a bit like something out of a cheesy science fantasy vid, don’t you think?”

Carson just glared at him.

“Interesting that you should say so, though.  As a matter of fact I think it was a pyramid.  How did you know?”

Again, Carson said nothing.

“You’ve seen one before, haven’t you?” Vaughan raised his voice. “Where?”

“In a cheesy sci fi vid, where else?”

Vaughan nodded slightly, and Carson felt a sudden blow above his right kidney as the man behind him punched it. He staggered and started to turn to fight back, but two pairs of strong hands gripped his arms.

“Let’s try that again.  Where have you seen a flying pyramid before?”

“Just images.” That was technically true, since he’d observed the flying pyramid on Chara through electronic binoculars.  “Old files of UFO reports.” That might not be.  Had any of the hundreds of blurry, out of focus and overexposed pictures he’d looked at had anything like a flying pyramid?  He couldn’t remember.

“I’m not sure that you’re telling me the whole truth, but let’s go back to another question.  Why Zeta Reticuli?”

“Again, just rumors.  There was a star map—”

“A map?” Vaughan leaned forward, an eager glint in his eye. “What kind?  Where did you find it?”

Carson wondered if Vaughan thought he’d meant a talisman. “Just a hand-drawn map,” he said.  “In the UFO reports, a supposed alien abduction.”  The glint in Vaughan’s eyes dimmed.  “Betty Hill, the person’s name was.”

“Alien abduction?  Such nonsense.”

“Yet here we are at Zeta Reticuli with a ruined city outside.  And something has apparently abducted my spaceship.”  The connection jarred Carson.  He hadn’t put it all together before; he had assumed that the Betty Hill incident was a hoax or a delusion.  But what he’d just said was true.  Could there have been something to the report after all?  It would mean that aliens had not just been observing Earth back in the mid-twentieth century—possible, if the Spacefarers were still around—but interacting with humans to the point of abduction.  Or it was all just coincidence.  Carson didn’t like coincidences.

“You raise a good point.  All right, that’s all for now.”

“What are you going to do with me?  I need to find my shipmates, find my ship.”

“You’re our guest for now.  We’ll help you find your shipmates.  And we’d be happy to give you all a ride back to civilized T-space.”

“I’m sure.”

“Take Carson to cabin two,” Vaughan said, directing this to the men behind Carson.  “I’m sure he wants to clean up.  And secure the door.”

∞ ∞ ∞

On the planet (Zirth)

The pyramid was down.  It was huge.  Jackie had never been to the Egyptian pyramids, which this resembled, but she’d been to Mesoamerica.  This might be as large as some of the pyramids at Teotihuacan.  It was hard to judge scale this close to it, and surely the clearing hadn’t been that big.  But it was larger than any spaceship, let alone starship, had a right to be.  Even as it sat there, the ground trembled briefly beneath it, adjusting to its weight.  Marten and Jackie had already walked away from the building towards where the giant pyramidal ship rested.  Unmoving.  Silent.  Still as a brick.

They stood there, waiting for whatever would happen next.  Five long minutes went by since the landing, and still nothing  happened.

“What’s happening?” Marten said.  “It’s just sitting there.”

“You’re the archaeologist.  Now what?”

“You’re the space pilot, Jackie.  You tell me.”

A fair point, thought Jackie.  If she had just landed a ship—let alone a huge thing like this—she’d be going through shutdown procedures, checklists, making sure things were ready for takeoff on short notice, testing the air . . .  The list was numerous and lengthy, probably more so for something this size.  On the other hand, something this size could be crewed by a medium sized army, shutdown shouldn’t take that long.  She looked back at the pyramid ship.  Partway up the side nearest them, a door began to slide open.

40:  Ketzshanass

At the Pyramid Ship

In the open doorway stood a humanoid figure, holding its hands—forelimbs, anyway—raised.  In surrender or greeting? wondered Jackie, or perhaps threatening, like a bear.  As part of her training she’d had a course on first contact, but it had been hypothetical.  Nothing she’d studied, not the historical record or the numerous speculative fiction stories, really prepared her for this.  The smooth side of the pyramid below the door shifted, morphing into a stairway.  That was a good trick.  Humans had polymorphic materials of course, but they generally weren’t used in ship hulls; radiation effects damaged the nanostructure and could cause random shape changes.  The alien—the proportions weren’t quite right for a human or timoan—began to descend the stairs.

“Greetings,” an amplified voice came from the pyramid.  In English?  They must have a translator, Jackie decided, and this isn’t the first time our species have met.  “Human and timoan, please do not be alarmed, we intend no harm.”  They’d obviously been seen, the building hadn’t afforded much cover.

The alien stopped at the bottom of the stair and waved in a beckoning gesture.  “Please, there are things we must discuss.”

“Should we answer?” Marten whispered to Jackie.

“They know we’re here,” Jackie said, and although she wanted to just retreat into the building and hide, it might not be the best course.  “If we ignore them it may just piss them off.  But remember Captain Cook.”

“If they wanted to hurt us they could have already.”

“True,” Jackie said, and came to a decision.  “Okay, but if his eyes start glowing, run.”

“Why would his eyes glow?  Wouldn’t that interfere with vision?”

Of course Marten wouldn’t get the reference.  Carson might, although he’d once said “science fiction” was an oxymoron.  A review of science fiction films and literature had been part of her starship pilot training, to encourage flexibility in unusual situations.  “Never mind.  Old Earth vid show.  I was joking.”

She raised her voice, calling back to the alien.  “Greetings yourself, what is it you want?”

“Please, we must go inside.  It is not safe to remain here.”

“Let’s go,” said Marten.

“What?  Are you crazy?”  The phrase alien abduction resonated in Jackie’s brain.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve boarded an alien ship.  I stowed away on a human ship when I was a kit.  With the Sophie gone, and Carson taken by the Velkaryans, what options do we have?”

Jackie considered that.  Marten was right, and perhaps these aliens knew what had happened to her ship.  She wasn’t happy about it, though.  “All right, let’s go.”  She felt a hard knot in her stomach as she followed Marten toward the humanoid at the foot of the pyramid.

“Greetings,” she said to the alien again as they reached him.  Or her? she wondered. The creature was not mammalian, not with the fine scales on its skin and the colorful plume of feathers at its brow; feathers she’d originally assumed were clothing or decoration.  “You’ve apparently met humans or timoans before, how is it we don’t know of you?”

“It will be explained.  Come, we must get inside.  It is not safe out here.  We have your ship.”

“What?  You have the Sophie?  How? Why?”

“Later.  Inside now, please.”  The alien made herding motions.  Marten was already part way up the pyramid stairs.

“Come on Jackie,” he called back, “we don’t know what happened here.  It really may not be safe.”

Jackie looked around, taking in the ruined city.  Marten was right.  She wondered briefly which was the frying pan and which the fire, but she hastened up the steps, the alien close behind her.

∞ ∞ ∞

They passed through what was clearly an airlock, although both inner and outer doors had been open.  The outer door closed behind them as they entered.  Jackie turned to her . . . what?  Host? Captor?  “What’s going on? Where is my ship?”

“We will explain.  Please, accompany me to a more comfortable location.  Your ship is safe, we have it aboard.”

Aboard?  That was interesting, and might give Jackie some leverage.  There were over two kilograms of antimatter on the Sophie, courtesy of Ducayne’s extended range modifications and the message torpedoes.

“Who are you?” Marten asked.  “Was this . . . is this your planet?”

“Please, follow me.  We will explain.  You can call me Ketzshanass. ”

“Is that a personal name or your species name?  If there’s a difference.”

“There is,” Ketzshanass said as he led them down a corridor.  “It is my personal name. You can call us collectively Kesh.  And you are?”

Jackie and Marten introduced themselves, although Jackie wondered how much Ketzshanass might actually know. They entered a room which held a table and several backless chairs, more short bench seats really, each with the seat scooped out in the back giving them a slight hourglass shape.

“Please, sit if you will be more comfortable,” Ketzshanass said, gesturing to the seats.

They all sat.  Ketzshanass’s anatomy overhung the indentation at the rear of his stool in an odd fashion.  A tail? Jackie wondered.  The Kesh’s loose clothing made it hard to tell.  If it was, it was a short one.  “So—” began Jackie, but Ketzshanass cut her off with a raised hand.

“I know you have many questions.  Probably many that I cannot or may not answer.  Let me say first that I will not answer any questions about the locations of any planets we currently occupy, nor is this a formal ‘first contact’.  We’ve had contact with humans, and timoans,” he said with a glance at Marten, “before.  We are not sure that you as species are quite yet ready for full-fledged contact and commerce.”

“So why are you here, now?” asked Marten.

“And how are you here?  Were you following us?”  Jackie fired off questions in rapid succession.  “Why was it unsafe outside?”

Again Ketzshanass held up a hand.  “I will not give details of technologies you do not yet possess.  In any case it is not my field.  But we have been observing you for . . . a while.”

“The ruins,” Marten said. “There was a war, wasn’t there?  Is that why it is unsafe?”

Ketzshanass paused before answering.  “As you surmise.  There are automated defenses in this system, some of which are still active, some of which exceed their original parameters.  It would not be well to be caught in the open.”  He turned to look at Jackie.  “That is why we took your ship aboard, to protect it.”

“So you’ll give it back?”

“When it is safe to do so, yes.”

Jackie felt herself relax a little, although she still wondered what Ketz’s definition of “safe” might be, and for whom.

“How is it you speak English?”

“Nous parlons de nombreux des langues humaines, français par example,” Ketzshanass said.  He followed with something in a language Roberts didn’t recognize, although it reminded her of the most common timoan dialect in Clarkeville. She looked at Marten, who was nodding as if in understanding.

“Obviously you’ve been observing us for a while, and closely,” she said.

“Consider your town on Taprobane, and your observation of timoans.  Like you, we try to observe without interfering.  It wasn’t always this way, our ancestors were more direct.  We think that was a mistake.”

“Ancestors?  From fifteen thousand years ago?”

Ketz’s brow crest feathers waggled, lowering slightly.  “These details are not relevant at the moment.  What is it you are doing in this system?  You are a long way from home.”

“We’re exploring.  We found some things elsewhere that made us think there might be something interesting here, although we didn’t know what.”

“Elsewhere?  Chara III perhaps?”

“You know about that?  We saw a flying pyramid there.  Was it this ship?”

“No, we do not follow you that closely.  There was a report.”

Jackie considered the dynamics of this.  They’d spent over a month on Sawyers World while the Sophie was being overhauled and they researched the talismans.  It was possible.  She took note of the Kesh’s feathers and finely scaled skin.  “Excuse me if this is an indelicate question, but you’re not mammalian, are you?”

Ketz snorted and waggled his brow crest.  “No.”

“So, what then?  Avian?  Dinosaur?”

“What makes you think we’re even descended from Earth life?” Ketzshanass asked, his brow crest feathers tilting forward in what might have been amusement.

“Everywhere we’ve found life higher than primitive single celled organisms, its DNA has been traceable to Earth.  Most of the higher plants and animals have clear Earth heritage.  Your scales and feathers suggest an avian origin, but your teeth and hands belie that.  And we’ve never found any sign of non-avian dinosaur descendants.”

“Fair enough.  If you analyze our DNA you will find it remarkably terrestrial too.  We may be Earth descended; independent evolution of complex organisms like ourselves is indeed rare in the galaxy.  Not unique, but rare.”

“But the fossil record on your home planet, surely—”

“I will not provide information about my home planet.”

“So the planet we’re on is not your home planet?”

Ketzshanass’s crest flattened back.  “I said, I will not provide information about my home planet.”

“Okay, sorry.  What about the planets that have been terraformed?  Who did that, and why?”

“That was tens of millions of years before us, how would we know?”  The brow crest waggled again.

“In your travels and studies . . . .”

“I can tell you this.  We don’t have all the answers.  But from what we do know, or think we know, the ‘why’ is more relevant today than then, and the answer to ‘who’ may be closer than you think.”

“What does that mean?  That gives us more questions than answers.”

“Sometimes the path to the right answer is by way of a different question.”

“That wasn’t very helpful,” said Jackie.

“It’s a pity that Hannibal isn’t here,” Marten said.  Jackie wasn’t sure whether it was because he was concerned for Carson’s welfare or because Carson was missing out on something he’d been seeking for years.  Possibly both.

“Hannibal?”  The Kesh’s feathers became more erect, like an animal pricking up its ears.

“Hannibal Carson, the third member of our party,” Marten said.  “The Velkaryans grabbed him.”  Jackie wondered if telling the Kesh that was wise.

“Velkaryans?”

Oh, so they didn’t know who the Velkaryans were?  Then perhaps they hadn’t been observing humans that closely after all.  Or was this a trick question?  “A radical human political and religious group.  They’ve given us trouble before, including on Chara III,” she said.

“And they’re in this system?”

“Yes, that is . . .” Jackie turned to Marten.  “You’re sure that was a human ship you saw?”

“No question, and I saw two humans physically grab Carson after he fell.”

“Then yes, they’re in system, unless they’ve already left.  Didn’t you detect them?”

“It’s entirely possible.  Excuse me a moment.”  Ketz touched a panel on the table and spoke in a sibilant language which Jackie didn’t recognize.  A different voice speaking the same language came back from a speaker embedded in the panel.  “Yes, the ship was spotted.  It hasn’t landed for long enough to worry about, not yet.”

“We have to get Carson back!”

“What would you suggest?  Even if we were to choose to intervene in what is apparently a strictly human affair, what can we do beyond ask?”

“Is this ship armed?”

“That is irrelevant.  If it were, and again, if we chose to intervene, how could we attack the Velkaryan ship without injuring Carson?”

“I don’t suppose you could teleport him?”

Ketzshanass’s brow feathers waggled.  It must be a sign of amusement, Jackie decided.  “As in ‘beam me up Scotty?’” he said.  “We’re not magic.  There’s no such thing at the macro level.  Nor do we have stun rays. Not that we wish to get involved anyway.”

The cultural reference surprised her.  It confirmed that they’d been watching humans for a while.  “The Velkaryans are dangerous,” she said.  “Carson would be a helpful ally.”

“Dangerous to whom, and why would we need an ally?”

“There’s something out here you’re scared of, isn’t there?”

“The automated defenses—”

“Are pretty useless if two human ships could make it all the way in-system and land on this planet without being fired upon.”

Ketz’s brow crest feathers were not waggling now, in fact they were flattened back against his head, and his eyes had narrowed.  Jackie had the impression of a cobra sizing up prey, or an opponent.

The feathers relaxed, just a little.  “You were saying, about the Velkaryans.”

“They’re xenophobes.  Part of their philosophy is that the terraformed planets were created for humans.  They pursued us to Chara III looking for weapons technology.  If they knew you existed, they’d fight you.”  The words were out of her lips when Jackie realized that might have been the wrong thing to say.

“All the more reason for us to avoid them, is it not?”

Jackie thought fast.  “They probably already know you’re here.  This pyramid isn’t exactly stealthy.”  At least, it hadn’t been when they’d seen it . . . but that didn’t really prove anything, did it?  “Carson has been studying them, and your ancestors, for a long time.  If you wanted to contact us, even unofficially—especially unofficially—he’s the man you want.  He can give you insights and options.”  She hoped she wasn’t overselling him.  But if they got him back they could worry about that later.

Ketz shook his head.  Did that mean the same to the Kesh, or was it just for her benefit?  “I don’t think—”

“Did I mention that my ship had two kilograms of antimatter aboard?”

The feathers flattened back down.  Marten darted an alarmed look at her.  Both of them said “What?”

Jackie wasn’t sure without doing the math, but she estimated that it was about the equivalent of a twenty megaton nuclear bomb.  And the Kesh had brought it aboard their ship.  She had their attention.

“It’s an emergency range extender.  Quite safe . . .” she made an elaborate show of checking the time her omni “. . . for a while longer anyway, if I can’t check the containment system.”

“Why would you mention this now?” Ketz asked.  Marten looked as though he wanted to ask the same thing.

“Just so you know that we’re on the clock here.  You can let us go and give me my ship, and we’ll take our own chances with the Velkaryans.  Of course if they get the better of us, then they’ll have two kilograms of antimatter.  It’s not something I’d really want them to have.  Or it might go off.  I’m sure that would attract the attention of your defense drones, although I’d probably be past caring.”

“You are threatening us?”

“Not at all.  I’m in no position to make threats because I don’t know what you’re capable of.  I’m just laying out some of the natural consequences of things as they stand.”  That and bluffing like crazy.  “If you have other information that may alter my understanding, now would be the time to share it.”

Ketz’s response was to mash a fore-digit down on the comm panel and carry on an extended hissing conversation with whoever was on the other end.  It almost sounded like a cat fight.

When it was over, he continued in English.  “We’ll escort you to your ship and release you and it.  We’re currently in high orbit over the planet.”

When did that happen? wondered Jackie.  She hadn’t felt any movement, and they still had gravity.

“Do not try to engage the Velkaryan ship.  Wait for us on the far side of the moon.  We will attempt to retrieve Carson.”

“What? How?”

“Never mind.  Now please, take your ship and its antimatter away from here.”

Wow, thought Jackie, that worked better than I’d expected.  Although they still didn’t have Carson back, or any proof that the Kesh would do anything about it.

∞ ∞ ∞

“What was that about Jackie?” demanded Marten when they were safely away.  “Do you really have antimatter aboard, and do you really expect them to rescue Carson?  What were you going to do, detonate it?”

“Yes, I don’t know, and no.  The antimatter really is a range extender.  There’s a modified power plant below deck.  I can’t easily detonate it because it’s divided up for storage—although I suppose once it got started it might well chain-react as the containments failed in the blast.  As for Carson . . . if they don’t then we’re no worse off than before they picked us up, and at least we have the Sophie back.  Maybe we can work something out.”

“So we go to the moon and wait?”

“That and talk.  There’s more here going on than meets the eye.  I want your take on what Ketzshanass said.”

“He did seem to be hiding something.  Some of his answers were evasive or ambiguous.”

She angled the ship toward the edge of the moon, which showed as a crescent almost directly opposite the planet, and said “Hold on.”

“What?” Marten settled into his seat and grabbed the arms.

Roberts touched a control and the ship warped for a few milliseconds, placing it beyond the moon.  “I wanted to get here quickly,” she said as she rotated the Sophie and applied thrust to enter orbit.

“You’re not worried about our warp pulse triggering the defenses?”

“Only a bit.  We’re not going to be where we came out, and I don’t think there’s any way to track us in warp anyway.”  She looked over at Marten, who showed evident stress, clenching and unclenching his fists and breathing deeply.  That was probably just the zero-gee.  “I’m going to land us on the far side.  It’ll be a few minutes.”

The relief in Marten’s face was obvious.  “Thank you.”

Z1R III was nearing the moon’s horizon behind them when Jackie noticed certain monitor readings begin to climb.  “That’s odd,” she said, and keyed another panel to bring up more data.

“What is?”

“I’m getting some strange . . .” her voice trailed off as she looked at the numbers.  That could almost be— “Hang on! Emergency thrust!”  She slammed a control forwards and dived the ship towards the moon’s surface, feeling herself pushed back into the control chair.  Behind them, the planet dipped below the horizon.

As Roberts watched, her attention split between the monitor numbers and her flying, the numbers dropped back to normal.  She eased up on the controls.

“What was that all about?” a shaken Marten asked.

“Some kind of energy surge was building up.  Outside the ship.”

“Another ship?”

“It didn’t look like that kind of signature.  It looked more like somebody warming up an accelerator, or a particle beam.  Remember Ketzshanass’s warning about defense systems?”

“Remind me never to complain about your flying again.”

Roberts grinned.  “You never have in the past, just the weightless parts.”

“We’re safe now?”

“We’re not in line of sight of the planet, and the readings have dropped off.  Is that good enough?”

“It will have to do.”

∞ ∞ ∞.

They touched down in a crater about two kilometers across, with an even floor.  Jackie put the ship down in the shadow of the ring wall.

“Okay.  That won’t conceal us from anyone with instruments, but we won’t be obvious to the casual observer.”

“Expecting many casual observers?” Marten wondered aloud.

“Heh, no.  But there are already far too many interested observers:  the Velkaryans, the Kesh, and whoever left these ‘automated defenses’ Ketzshanass mentioned.”  She looked at Marten, perhaps his alien point of view, or archeological background, could make some sense of this.  It sure didn’t make much to her.  “Any idea what’s going on?”

“No, but we can approach it logically.”  Jackie remembered that Marten was a college professor back on Taprobane.  She hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a tutorial.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“We’re reasonably sure that Carson was taken by Velkaryans.  That was a human-built ship and humans who took him.  I can’t imagine who else would be out here and would do that.”

“Prospectors might be out here, but why grab him?”

“Indeed.  It could also be random tomb raiders, but this is probably too distant to be very profitable, and again, why take Carson?”

“So let’s assume Velkaryans, and that they somehow followed us here from Verdigris.  What about the Kesh?”

“We do seem to keep running into them, or their ships.  The explanation that they’re observing us makes sense, but why here?”

“This is obviously a system of interest to them.  They were in-system when we arrived, unless they knew we were coming here,” Roberts said.

“The strange signals you picked up, and the alleged automated defenses.  Could they have signaled the Kesh to come from elsewhere?”

Jackie shook her head.  “No.  Even if they were at Zeta 2 Reticuli it would take thirty to thirty-five days for a radio signal to reach there.”

“Faster than light signaling?”

“We didn’t detect anything like a message torpedo warping out, but I suppose we could have missed it.”

“What about faster than light radio?”

“Doesn’t exist.”

“Could it?”

“N-no . . .” Jackie wasn’t so sure about that.  Of course it wouldn’t be radio by definition; radio was an EM wave the same as light.  Something else?  Not in normal space, lightspeed was still a hard limit there, and she didn’t think there was any way to create a warp bubble without some kind of generator inside that bubble.  Then she realized that if the alien disintegrator had worked the way they’d thought it had, that couldn’t be true; there had to be a way to do just that.  But the data on how fast a gravitational wave propagated through the hidden dimensions, the ones which bled off gravitational energy from a warp field, was very sketchy.  Could it be possible?

“I don’t think so,” she continued.  “We don’t even have a theory for it.  Even if they did have FTL radio, they couldn’t have been any further away than Z2R.  They must have been in-system.”

“The size of that ship, it’s almost a space station.  Garrison duty wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.”

Marten was right.  They could probably hang around for years in that thing without worrying about landing.  But why?

“What did you and Carson find in the ruins?  Any clues?”

“It looked as though there had been two separate waves of destruction, many decades or even a century or two apart.  Impossible to tell exactly without some baseline data on local erosion rates, what materials the buildings were made of, and so on.”

“Huh.”  Jackie pondered this.  Two wars?  Two attacks?  Two separate clusters of impact events?  The latter might make sense with a large meteoroid stream on a multi-decade orbit, but why wouldn’t the inhabitants have rebuilt in the interim?  Two unrelated events?  No, that would be improbable.  They needed more information.  “Go on,” she told Marten.

“We didn’t find much in the way of artifacts for personal or daily use, mostly just the buildings and some built-in furnishings.  It had been cleared out, but we don’t know if that was before, between or after the waves of destruction.  The structure stairway suggested they might have larger feet and shorter legs in proportion to humans or timoans.”

Well, that was something.  “Like the Kesh perhaps?”  Ketzshanass had seemed taller than her sitting down, but about the same height standing up.   More of his height must have in his torso rather than his legs.

Marten looked thoughtful.  “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to Ketzshanass’s feet.  Silly of me.  But from what I remember, I wouldn’t absolutely rule it out.  On the other hand the stairs could be that way for some other reason.  Carson thought so.”

“But still, as a working assumption, this is either the Kesh home world, or it’s one they colonized.”

“Subject to revision, yes.  If it isn’t, then there’s yet another species of spacefaring alien to consider.  Either way raises yet more questions.  We really need more data.”

“Okay.  Is any of this going to help get Hannibal back?”

Marten looked glum, or that’s how Jackie interpreted the expression.  “I don’t see how.  Do you think the Kesh will retrieve him?  And how?”

“Unless they’re lying about teleports or stun beams, I don’t know.  If they are armed, attacking the Velkaryan ship is just as likely to get Hannibal killed.”

“Do you suppose there’s anything to the Betty Hill abduction story?”

“What? Why?”  The question surprised her.

“They might be able to use whatever technology on the Velkaryans that they used to abduct, and then wipe the memory of, the Hills.  They managed to bring this ship aboard theirs, after all, perhaps they could do the same thing with the Velkaryans.”

Roberts considered that.  There were a lot of ifs in that scenario, starting with whether or not there was anything to the Hill story and whether the Kesh had been responsible for it.  “They’re likely to be more wary about bringing ships aboard now that they know they might contain antimatter.”

“You suppose the Velkaryans have antimatter?”

“Probably not, that’s highly controlled.  But the Kesh have no way of knowing, so they might choose to play it safe.”

“So what are we going to do, just sit here?”

“Hell no.”  Roberts thought for a few moments.  “The first thing to do is send a message torpedo back to Ducayne with a copy of my logs and flight recorder data . . . just in case we don’t make it back.”

Marten nodded.  “Agreed.  And then?”

“Then let’s go check out some of the fresh craters on this side of the moon.  If we don’t hear from the Kesh in a little while, maybe we’ll go back to the planet.  From the instruments, the Velk are still in-system, probably still in orbit over the planet.”

“Is there something you’re looking to find in the craters?”

“If they’re not meteor impact craters, perhaps some idea of what did cause them, and when.  There’s clearly more to what went on in this system than Ketzshanass was willing to tell us.”

“All right.  But one thing—”

“Yes?”

“Can we cruise on thrusters rather than going orbital?” There was a pleading tone in Marten’s voice.  “The gravity . . .”

Roberts checked her fuel levels and made a rapid calculation.  There was enough for a couple of days thrust at this moon’s meager gravity, if she wasn’t worried about cooling the exhaust.  She just had to keep their horizontal speed down so they wouldn’t go ballistic by accident.  “Sure,” she said, and made ready for flight.

∞ ∞ ∞

Aboard Carcharodon

“Just what do you Velkaryans want, anyway?”  They’d brought Carson back to the briefing room slash galley area, and he stood facing Vaughan again.  There was still gravity, and still the low rumble and vibration in the deck.  Either they were still flying in atmosphere, or under constant acceleration in space.  He hadn’t seen a window or viewscreen to tell him which, but to Carson it felt more like the latter.

“Terran space for terrans.  Humans, in particular.  The goddamn UDT keeps closing off worlds.  Kakuloa, Taprobane, —”

“Kakuloa isn’t closed, just one continent.”

“Sure, the one with all the squidberry plantations.  Even inland, where the natives don’t wander—not that we should even care about the damn squids.”

“Technically they’re octopus.”

“Fine, arboreal cephalopods, then.  Just like HG Wells’ damned Martians.”

The mention surprised Carson.  He’d never considered the resemblance; he hadn’t read Wells, although he was certainly aware of the stories.  Could there be a connection?  No, that was ridiculous.  The treesquids barely had any technology, and Wells’ story was pure fabrication.  But Vaughan was still talking.

“. . .had to be due to pressure from Earths’ biopharm companies to cut competition with their synthetic squidberry compounds.  And Taprobane.  Why leave that to the fuzzies?”

“Because they were there first?”  Carson hadn’t heard timoans referred to as ‘fuzzies’ before—they weren’t, very—but supposed one derogatory term was as good, or bad, as another.

“When has that ever stopped us?  Let whoever can make best use of a world do so.”

“And when some advanced aliens come along and decide they can better use of our worlds than us?”  Carson said.  He shook his head.  “That’s the kind of thinking that got us a nuclear war last century.  You want that again?”

“All the more reason to spread out to as many different planets as possible.  Besides, the war wasn’t that bad.  Most of the dead were Arabs.”

Carson clenched his fists; that attitude disgusted him.  “And Persians, and Indians. And Europeans.  Did you forget the nuke that hit Rome?”  That may have been targeting the Vatican.  It wasn’t clear if that was in retaliation for, or prompted, the nukes which turned much of Mecca into a glassy, radioactive plain. The details were lost.  “And what about the deaths from fallout and epidemics?  Those weren’t limited to South Asia either.”

“Relax.  I said ‘most’, not ‘all’.  And we survived.  Hell, we humans wouldn’t be out here yet if it wasn’t for the war.”

“How do you figure that?”  He’d heard the idea before, but didn’t put much stock in it.  Technological advance would have happened regardless, and without the negative impact of the war they might be even further ahead.

“There was no project to develop a warp drive.  The original pitch to the funding agencies was to develop a force field which could protect cities, or at least important buildings, from a nuclear blast.  That never worked, but they ended up with a way to generate a warp bubble.”

“Well, that’s one I hadn’t heard before, at least.”

Vaughan shrugged.  “Believe what you like.  I believe I’ll have another drink.”  He strode over to the autobar and touched a pad, then turned to look at Carson appraisingly while the machine dispensed his drink.

“But enough about us, Carson.  The question is, why are you here, and what do you want?”

“I told you before.  I’m an archeologist.  I came to investigate rumors of ruins.  Well-founded rumors, as it turns out.”

“So you said.  But why here?  Why Zeta Reticuli when there are plenty of incompletely explored archeological sites a few weeks closer to Earth, or to Sawyers?”  Vaughan picked up his glass and sipped at it.  “There’s something you’re not telling, and that intrigues me.  Why do you think you have something to hide, and what is it you’re hiding?”

“Why do you care?”

“We have some reason to believe that you’ve interfered with our operations before.  Possibly twice.  As the saying goes, ‘three times is enemy action’.  Are you our enemy, Doctor Carson?”

“Honi soit qui mal y pense.”

“Excuse me?”

“‘Evil to him who thinks evil of me,’ more or less.  I’m not your enemy unless you make me one.”  Well, that ship had long ago left the spaceport, but there wasn’t any point in revealing that. “And I don’t know what you mean about me having interfered with your operations before.”

“You’re not familiar with the names Hopkins, or Maynard?”

“Hopkins?  There was a Hopkins on Verdigris about a year back, the tomb-raider who cleaned out my excavation.  He interfered with my operation, although he was going by the name of Stephens.  I found out his real name later. Was he your guy?”

“Tomb-raiding isn’t our style,” said Vaughan with a perfectly straight face.  It was as well Carson hadn’t been offered a drink; he might have choked on it.  “And Maynard?”

“I’ve never met the man, as far as I know.”  Talked to him by radio, perhaps, but never actually met, thought Carson.

“You have a particularly unsatisfying way of answering questions, Doctor Carson.”  Vaughan set his drink down and leaned back against the edge of the counter, his hands beside him.

“Sorry.  My students generally don’t have any complaints, but they ask different questions.”

Vaughan’s right foot lashed out, catching Carson in the shin before he could react.  A spike of pain went through Carson’s left leg and he bent over, pulling up his leg.  A cross from Vaughan’s left took Carson on the side of the jaw and he went down, leg and jaw aching.  “Wha?” he mumbled.

“You were starting to annoy me,” Vaughan said, rubbing his knuckles.  “I feel much better now.”

“Gla’ one of uf duv . . . does,” Carson managed.  He tasted blood where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek, and could feel his lip swelling.  It could have been worse.  Vaughan’s blows had meant to be a lesson; he looked athletic enough to have inflicted worse damage if he’d wanted to.

Carson had picked himself up and was rubbing his jaw when the ship lurched sideways, accompanied by a loud bang!  The lights flickered.  His ears popped with a pressure change and he heard the thud-thud-thud of automatic hatches slamming into place.  Then the gravity quit and everything felt like it was falling.  Well, he thought, I guess that answers the question of where we are.  But what just happened?

Vaughan was obviously wondering the same thing. He’d grabbed a handhold and was yelling into the intercom on the wall.  “Report!  What was that?”

“Hull breach,” a voice answered. “Radar didn’t pick up anything.  There was an energy surge, like we were hit by some kind of beam weapon.  Tripped some of the breakers, we’ll have the thrusters back on line in a moment.”

“Status?”

“The breached compartment is sealed.  We’re stable for now. No casualties.  I’m making for the planet, we need to get back in atmo for evaluation and repairs.”

“Who attacked us?  Was it the pyramid ship?”

“Unknown.  There was nothing on radar.  If it was the pyramid they were either stealthed or very far away.  Automatic defenses perhaps?”

“All right.  Get us down fast.  Evasive maneuvers on the way in, whatever the ship is capable of.”  Vaughan slammed the intercom switch off, reaction causing his body to pivot around the handhold so that he faced Carson.  His face was a snarl.

“What do you know about this?” he demanded.

“No more than you do,” Carson said.  “My ship isn’t armed with anything that could do this, and so far I’ve seen nothing to suggest the pyramid builders were hostile.”  Carson had been reviewing the possibilities in his mind as he’d listened to the voice on the intercom.  “We detected some odd signals when we came into the system.  Your man may be right about automatic defenses.  We’re obviously in space, but where?  And where were we going?”

“Never mind, that doesn’t matter now,” Vaughan growled.

The intercom came on again in PA mode.  “Thrusters are back on line.  Brace for acceleration.”  Carson grabbed for a handhold as the deck rose to meet him.

∞ ∞ ∞

The Sophie was cruising at ten thousand meters, near the limb of the moon, surveying the craters.  Zirth was just showing above the horizon when the flash hit.

“What was that?” Marten yelled as the screens all flashed and the instruments flickered red.  An alarm warble began rising in pitch just as Roberts slapped a hand on the control panel to silence it.

She rapidly scanned the board, touching controls to initiate diagnostics and reset sensors.  The reds, mostly, began to turn back to yellows and greens.  “Some kind of EM pulse.  Doesn’t read like a nuke or a stellar flare.  Matter hitting a warp field, perhaps, but not us.”  They weren’t in warp.  “Possibly a particle beam weapon, or something like it.  That might have been what we almost encountered earlier.”

“Who is shooting at whom?  I thought the Kesh weren’t armed.”

“They didn’t actually say that, but they know shooting at the Velkaryans won’t get Carson back.  Maybe the Velkaryans shot at the Kesh.”  She realized as she said it that the EM pulse was probably too powerful to be anything that a ship her size could mount, which was probably also true of the Velkaryans.  Unless they’d tapped into the main warp power busses.

“Or the automated defense systems Ketz spoke of.  I think they’re waking up.”

Unfortunately that made more sense than her theory.  Being deep in a system filled with the likes of that was like waking up in a mine field.  But if it had fired on the Velk...

“That’s the bad news,” she told Marten.  “The good news is that this may be our opportunity to rescue Carson, if the Velkaryan ship is still in one piece.”

“How so?”

“If they’re damaged, they’ll land to assess and make repairs.  They won’t be in any shape to go anywhere, and they’ll be distracted.”

“So, what, we go in with guns blazing and haul Carson out?”

“Something like that, yeah.  But first we need to find them.  They can’t be too far away, given the side blast from that beam.”

“If you say so.”  Marten did not look convinced.  “Why only the one blast, anyway?  And what’s to stop it shooting us too?”

Roberts turned to look at him and smile, her teeth bared.  “I don’t think the systems are at the top of their form.  And strap in, you’re about to see what a Sapphire is capable of.  Chara was nothing.”  She’d pulled some air combat maneuvers back on Chara III to evade missile fire, but that had been over quickly.

Marten’s eyes were wide and his ears flattened back.  “How about I get out and wait for you here?”

At least this time they had a space suit that fit him, but Roberts wasn’t about to wait for him to don it, she was going to get Hannibal back.  “Depends.  How long can you hold your breath?”

“Never mind.”  He began tightening the straps on his seat.

∞ ∞ ∞

Roberts quickly triangulated the data from the probes she’d left in planetary orbit and located the Velk ship.  It was re-entering the atmosphere over the northern continent, making a series of irregular S-turns.  Evasive maneuvers.  Two could play that game, and then some.  She tapped in a series of commands, activating software modules that would have no practical use in her routine charter work.  Routine, that was a laugh.  Panic was the new peaceful.  “Okay Marten, it’s going to get a little bumpy.  Sorry about that.”

Marten sighed.  “Banzai,” he said resignedly.

The Sophie accelerated away from the moon at two gees, rotating as it did so while  Roberts shifted power from one set of thrusters to another.  The net effect was to accelerate in an irregular curve while bringing Sophie’s nose around at sharp angle to her flight path.  She kept an eye on the tracking scope, watching the image of the planet come into view.  There!  She stabbed down on a button.  The thrusters cut off a fraction of a second before the warp engaged, also for a fraction of a second, and they were above the planet, just beyond the atmosphere.

“What—?”

“Not done yet,” Roberts said, rolling the ship so that the planet was overhead.  She shoved the throttle forward, and the Sophie dived toward the planet at three gees.

41:  Escape/Rescue

Aboard Carcharodon

“Mignon, take Carson back to his cabin and lock him up.  We’ve got other things to deal with,” Vaughan said.

“That’s the one that got breached.”

“Damn.”  Vaughan darted a look at Carson.  “You’re a lucky man.  Guess I saved your life.”

Carson didn’t feel very lucky at all, this wasn’t over yet.  “I wouldn’t be on this ship at all if it weren’t for you.”

“Whatever.”  Vaughan turned back to Mignon.  “Put him somewhere where he’ll be out of the way.”

The man grabbed Carson roughly and hustled him down the corridor.  Carson wondered where he’d end up; this ship wasn’t a lot bigger than the Sophie.

The answer was soon coming.  Mignon opened a small door marked “Stores,” revealing a space about the size of a small closet, lined with storage compartments.  “In here,” he said, shoving Carson in.  The door closed behind him, and he heard the click of a lock.

There was just enough room to let Carson bend his knees to a crouch, although he couldn’t quite reach the lowest level of compartments.  In the dark, Carson began working by feel to carefully open each compartment in turn and explore its contents.  Something felt like wire or cables by his left knee.  There were tools of some kind in the one above that, and something that might be a roll of duct tape.  He opened and closed doors in turn, working his way up.  It was almost impossible to tell what some of the contents were, beyond being random rectangular packages sealed in plastic.

There was something cylindrical in the one he’d just opened, perhaps twenty centimeters long and two in diameter.  A flashlight?  He felt around for a switch and, finding a button on top, clicked it on, dazzling himself for a moment.  At least now he could see what he was doing.

He looked around at the lockers and drawers in his little cell.  They were only labeled with letters and numbers, not descriptive tags.  Carson opened a couple that he hadn’t identified before.  Oh ho, so that’s what that was; one he’d thought was beverage packs turned out to be containers of hydraulic fluid.  It was a good thing he hadn’t been thirsty.  On the other hand, hydraulic fluid.  This had all kinds of potential for trouble.  He grinned widely, ignoring the throb of his cut lip.

He’d gone through only half the storage compartments when he felt the ship’s motion change, and heard a rumble below him as of landing gear extending.  They’d be down soon.  He moved more quickly, pocketing several items and then beginning to work on a device he had set on an opened drawer.  It was awkward in the tight space, but he could manage.

They hadn’t locked him in the armory, but this was almost as good; it was amazing what you could do with self-heating food packages if you knew how.  He opened another compartment and found a survival kit.  Jackpot!  He flipped open its cover.  Among other things, it contained a food-can sized package: a self-deploying tent.  Carson felt his grin widen.  This was almost going to be fun.

∞ ∞ ∞

Aboard Sophie

“What are you doing?” Marten said from between clenched teeth, fighting the gee force.

“Forced orbit.  Going round the back, going to come in out of the sun.  By pushing down with the thrusters, we can orbit faster.”

The high-gee, forced maneuvers would also make it more difficult for any hypothetical defense system to track her, or so she hoped.  The occasional sub-millisecond warp jump would clinch that; she was untraceable while moving faster than light.  It was hard on the ship’s systems, though, pulsing the power demand like that.  It took more energy to initiate a warp field than to maintain it.  The fusion unit couldn’t keep up with it for long, so she was tapping into the special antimatter unit.  Again, not something it was really designed for, but at least it could keep up.  She hoped.

They were around the planet now.  She ran a scan.  Yes, the Velk ship was still emitting signals.  She pinpointed it.  All right, up-sun from there would be . . . she touched the controls and lined the Sophie up for the de-orbit burn.  Three, two, one  . . She throttled up again and the Sophie plowed into the atmosphere.

As the orange re-entry glow enveloped the ship and the gee forces dropped back to saner levels, Marten eased his vice-grip on the chair arms and unclenched his teeth.  “Is this where you tell me what we’re going to do when we land?” he asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

∞ ∞ ∞

The Carcharodon was on the ground now. Carson had felt the thumps of landing several minutes ago, and he hastened to finish his makeshift escape package, accidentally spilling some of the hydraulic fluid.  He hoped it hadn’t leaked under the door; a pool of fluid on the floor might tip them off.

Surely someone would show up any time now to move him back to his original cabin.  The breach wouldn’t matter if they weren’t flying, and he didn’t imagine it could be big enough to escape through.  Or perhaps they were happy to let him stay locked in here out of the way and they wouldn’t come until they needed something from this storage bay.  He was ready now; the longer they took, the less edge he’d have, and the less distracted they’d be by whatever had happened to the ship.

He heard the thumps of hatches opening and closing and the sounds of someone working on ship’s frame, together with the occasional shouted command from Vaughan or a reply from somebody else. Come on, he willed, somebody come and open the door!

∞ ∞ ∞

The Sophie glided through the atmosphere in a series of gentle S-curves, both to shed velocity and confuse anyone tracking them from above.  On one screen a magnified image showed the Velkaryan ship ahead of her, parked in an open field covered in sparse, straggly vegetation, like dried grass.  Two figures were outside, examining a large burn mark on the hull.  She wasn’t worried about them looking in her direction, all they’d see would be the glare of Zeta 1 Reticuli.

Marten interrupted her thoughts.  “Uh, Jackie?  Shouldn’t you be turning on the engines about now?”

“No.  I don’t want them to hear us.”

“But . . .”

“With a good landing spot and a bit of headwind, I could dead-stick the Sophie all the way to the ground,” Jackie said.

“It’s the ‘dead’ part that worries me.”

“Relax.  This will work.”  At least, I hope so.  “You have your weapons?”  Once their flight path had smoothed out after entry, Marten had gone back to the arms locker to get the gear they’d need.

“Yes.  And the retro-pack.  I’m not looking forward to this; the idea of a timoan skydiving is ludicrous.”

“It’s not skydiving, you won’t have a parachute.”

“And that somehow makes it better?”  Jackie wasn’t familiar enough with timoan vocal range to tell if that rising note was impending hysteria or not.  Marten always came through in the end, she suspected some of his protests were part of an act.

The retro-pack was a rocket pack, part of a bailout and reentry kit a ship’s crew-members could use if for some reason the ship were too damaged to survive reentry itself.  In this case it would brake Marten’s descent at ground level so that he’d be away from the Sophie when she landed.  Surprise and speed, it all depended on surprise and speed.

“You’ll do fine,” she told him.  “It’s all automatic.”  She checked the instruments.  “Almost there.  Get to the aft hatch, you know what to do.  I’ll be on the ground right behind you.”

Marten muttered something unintelligible and headed aft.  Roberts heard him donning the gear and picking up his weapons.  That part he could handle; he’d won prizes in competitive shooting back at his college.  Between that and his native timoan reflexes, she thought they had a good chance.

A few moments later his call came forward.  “I’m at the hatch, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jackie touched a switch to slide the hatch open, and angled the Sophie around to adjust her approach vector.

∞ ∞ ∞

Carson heard someone fumbling with the locker door and got ready.  As the locker door opened, he triggered his impromptu smoke bomb—made from a meal heating pack and the hydraulic fluid—and pushed the door open, to evade any attempt to grab him.  The thick billow of acrid, choking smoke confused his captor, and Carson dived for the deck to evade him.  His right foot slipped on the fluid he’d spilled earlier, and his knee hit the floor hard.  His left knee, the same leg Vaughan had kicked.  Damn.  Despite that, he managed to hold onto the emergency tent canister in his left hand.

“Carson’s escaping!” the man behind him yelled, and then “Fire!”

Carson didn’t know if that last was meant as an alarm because of the smoke, or a command to someone with a gun. He wasn’t waiting to find out. He rolled upright and ran down the corridor, favoring his injured leg and hoping he remembered the right way to the entrance hatch.  As he went, he pulled the tab on the tent package and tossed the pack back over his shoulder.

“Stand clear, tent deploying,” it said in a synthesized voice, then promptly began to extrude poles and unfold itself, jamming the passageway.  Carson heard yells and curses behind him as he reached the main hatch.

∞ ∞ ∞

Marten crouched on the deck, helmet and retro-pack on, tools strapped to his side, and clutching a carbine across his chest.  He checked the heads-up display in his helmet again. Yes, the retro pack was armed.  Jackie had started a count-down, which was also displayed.  He looked out at the ground rushing backwards below him.  I should never have left home, he thought.

The countdown reached zero.  Jackie’s voice yelled “GO!” in his helmet speaker, and he rolled forward out of the hatch.

He felt the slipstream buffet him as he cleared the doorway, and in his inverted view, saw the Sophie flying away.  Then the retro’s stabilizing rockets fired and he was jostled violently as it turned him into position for the full braking thrust.  He caught a glimpse of the ground bare meters away, and then felt a huge shove from behind as the braking rockets fired.  Then he hit the ground with a slam.

∞ ∞ ∞

Jackie banked the ship hard right to give her some distance from where Marten would land, and then flared the ship a hundred meters from the Velkaryans.  A burst from the ventral thrusters slowed the Sophie and she settled to the ground.  Jackie hoped that between the repairs the Velkaryan ship needed and Marten providing a distraction, they wouldn’t notice her right away.

∞ ∞ ∞

Marten shook off the impact and hit the quick releases on the retro-pack.  He fired three quick shots at the Velkaryan ship, not intended any damage but wanting to keep their attention away from Jackie’s ship.

Smoke billowed from a gap in the Velkaryan’s hull.  That was new.  As he watched, the two men who had been working on that gap dived to the ground and rolled under the ship.  His shots were having the desired effect.  He fired again at the ship, then paused as the hatch slid open.  He shifted his aim towards it.  If anyone came out of there with a weapon. . .

Wait, was that Carson?  It was!  He came running out of the hatch, bobbing and weaving as though he expected somebody to start shooting at him.  But he wasn’t running towards Marten or to the Sophie, just away from the Velkaryan ship.  That complicated things.

Marten shifted his aim again, leading Carson.

∞ ∞ ∞

Jackie grabbed her pistol and ran for the hatch.  Now she was to be the distraction while Marten freed Carson.  This was the dicey part of the plan.  The Sophie’s hull should help protect her from small arms fire, but the Velkaryan ships they’d encountered previously had also mounted heavy weapons. Please let them be fried from the particle beam’s EM pulse.  Jackie ducked under the hull and fired several shots toward the Velk ship.  There was someone a dozen meters from it, running hard.  Carson?  She saw Marten, saw him fire, and Carson went down.

∞ ∞ ∞

Carson ran as fast as he could away from the Carcharodon, trying to ignore the pain in his leg where Vaughan had kicked him.  He didn’t have a destination in mind, just as far from there as possible, and perhaps hide in the scrubby vegetation until he figured something out.

He heard shots, and ahead of him the dirt fountained as bullets hit.  He dived for the ground and rolled sideways, away from his previous track.  As he lay there, panting, he heard shouting from the ship but no more shots.  He cautiously raised his head, then ducked again as he saw someone running towards him.

Wait, had that been Marten?  Carson looked again.  Yes it was, the timoan was running towards him, periodically turning and firing a carbine towards the Carcharodon.

“Carson, this is no time to take a nap!  Let’s go!  To the Sophie!”  Marten held the carbine in one hand and gestured with the other, then swung back to fire again.

Carson turned to look.  Yes, there was the ship.  Jackie was crouched underneath it, shooting at the Carcharodon.  Carson scrambled up and started to run again.

∞ ∞ ∞

Between shots, Jackie turned her head to check on Carson and Marten.  They weren’t in the line of fire, that had been part of the plan, although Carson managing to get out of there and take off on his own had not been.  At least he’d been on this side of the Velkaryan ship.  She turned back and fired again.  Several men were coming around the aft end of the ship carrying what looked like short rifles.  There must be a hatch on the far side.  She fired in their general direction, forcing them to duck, and yelled at Marten and Carson.

“Hurry up; they’re going to start shooting!”

As if to confirm her warning, two of the Velkaryans raised their weapons and fired several bursts in her direction.  Dust puffed up in front of her and she heard bullets ricochet off of Sophie’s hull.  Something slammed into her left shoulder.  She collapsed to the ground.

Shit, that one hurt!  It had hit her from the back; it must have been one of the ricochets.  She fired a few unaimed rounds and then transferred the pistol to her left hand so she could cautiously feel the injured shoulder with her right.  It was wet and sticky.  A glance at her blood-covered palm confirmed her fear.  I don’t have time for this!

She switched the gun back to her right hand and squeezed off another shot, doing her best not to flinch at the rattle of impacts on the hull above her and hoping that none of those were armor-piercing.  She fired again. How much ammo did she have left?  She looked back towards Marten and Carson.

Carson was limping a little. Marten had caught up to him and was helping, but their height difference made that look awkward.  She turned back and fired a couple more shots towards the Velkaryans, then, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, swapped the magazine for a full one.

Carson was only a dozen meters away now.  Jackie and Marten both began to lay down concentrated fire at the Velkaryans to force them to keep down while Carson crossed the remaining distance to the Sophie.  At least one of them went down as if hit, she didn’t know if that had been her or Marten.  It didn’t matter.

Carson was on the boarding ramp now, on the side away from the Velkaryans.  Jackie fired a few more shots as she backed away under Sophie’s hull, coming up the ramp just behind him.

“What about Marten?” Carson yelled over the sound of gunfire.

“We’ve got it covered.  Grab a seat!”

Jackie hastened to the control deck, trying not to wince at the pain burning her left shoulder, and slapped at the controls with her right hand.  The ship’s systems had been idling, the thrusters powered up immediately.  She left the hatch open and the ramp down.

“What are you doing?” Carson demanded.

“Rescuing you.  And now Marten.”  She lifted the Sophie a few meters above the ground and steered toward the Velkaryan ship at low altitude, ignoring the thump of bullets hitting the hull.  Sapphires were tough to start with, and Ducayne had beefed up the hull plates after the incident on Chara III.

“You’re hit!” Carson said.  He’d seen her blood.

“Good of you to notice.  Grab something to put on that while I fly the ship.”  She could still use her left hand, but moving the arm was painful.  Fortunately she could fly Sophie one-handed, and with either hand.

Twenty meters from the Velkaryan ship she turned hard to port and touched a series of controls on a side panel.  Outside, the scrubby vegetation burst into flame in the now oxygen-rich exhaust of the Sophie’s thrusters.  She swept her ship in an arc, leaving a trail of fire on the ground as she went.  That would screen Marten’s pick-up from the Velkaryan shooters.

Heading back to his position, she killed the oxygen feed and opened the scoops to mix in outside air, cooling the exhaust.  She reached Marten moments later, dipped the ship towards him and he leapt for the boarding ramp.  As he scrambled up it towards the hatch, she was accelerating away from the Velkaryans.  As she looked back she saw the last of them hustling to get aboard their ship.

Carson came back then, just ahead of Marten. She felt her left shoulder go cold as he sprayed something on it, then felt him press a bandage into place.  “It doesn’t look deep,” he said, “but we should get you into the traumapod when we can.”

“Thanks.”  She hit a switch to close the hatch.  Looking at the rear view screen, she saw the flames from the fire she’d set being fanned outward by the Velkaryan’s thrusters as their ship lifted.

“Here we go again,” she said, “strap in.”

42:  The Kesh

Aboard Sophie

“Quickly, what can you tell me about their ship, Carson?” Roberts asked as he finished buckling himself in.

Carson thought.  “Not much.  Named the Carcharodon, run by somebody named Vaughan but I don’t think he’s the captain.  Sorry, no idea on what armaments it might have.  It was damaged by a particle beam and that took out the electronics briefly.”

“That’s something, anyway.”

“But they may be back on line by now.”

Marten had been watching the aft view screen.  “Yes, they’re in pursuit.  No sign of a weapons pod yet.”

“They wouldn’t be chasing us if they couldn’t do anything when they caught us,” Roberts said, and made random motions with the controls.  The Sophie twitched and weaved in response.

Carson looked at the rear view and then out front.  There was something in the sky ahead of them.

“Again?  Is that a flying pyramid ahead of us?” he said.

Roberts glanced up at the screen.  “So, the Kesh decided to come back and play after all.”

“The Kesh?  You’ve already met them?”

“Long story, no time.  Yeah.  Marten, what’s the Carcharodon doing?”

Marten didn’t answer right away.  Carson turned his head to see what the timoan was looking at.

“Nothing,” Marten finally said.

“What do you mean, nothing?  Is he closing on us?”

“No, he’s falling behind.  In fact, I don’t think he’s moving at all.”

“What?”  Roberts banked the Sophie into a right turn, making space between herself and the two other ships.  Neither was moving relative to the ground.  As they watched, the Velkaryan ship began to move towards the Kesh pyramid, at a sideways angle to its normal fore-aft axis.

“Well, well,” Carson said in a hushed tone.  “Does that mean what I think it does?”  If so, this was another technology beyond anything humans had.

“Tractor beam,” Jackie said.  “I guess that makes sense.  If they can manipulate gravity, why not a tractor beam?”

By now the Carcharodon was almost close enough to dock with the pyramid ship, if it had docking facilities.  The pyramid, with the Velkaryan ship in tow, began to accelerate upwards.

A voice came over the comm system.

“Ketzshanass to the Sophie.  Please meet us on the far side of the moon in two hours.  There are things we must discuss.”

Roberts keyed her mike.  “Uh, Sophie here, Ketz.  Copy that.”

The pyramid picked up speed and disappeared into the sky.

“Is it just me, or did that—alien—sound annoyed?” Carson asked.

“No,” said Marten, “it’s not just you.  I think we pissed them off.”

Carson looked back and forth from Marten to Jackie.  What had they been up to?  “All right you two.  While we’re on our way to keep that rendezvous on the moon, I want you to fill me in.  What was that all about?”

“You’re welcome,” Jackie said.

“What?”

“For the rescue, Carson.  You’re welcome.”

Oh.  He’d escaped by himself, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.  And it was nice to have had a getaway vehicle waiting.  “Uh, thank you.”  He looked at Jackie’s shoulder and felt a twinge of guilt. “You should get into the traumapod.”

“And leave you to fly the ship? I don’t think so.  I’m not bleeding out.  Just cut away my shirt, clean up the wound, and put a fresh bandage on it.  That should hold me for a couple of hours.  Pod later.”

Carson knew better than to argue.

∞ ∞ ∞

The far side of the moon

“Why did you not follow protocol?  You were to wait here, not engage the Velkaryans,” Ketzshanass said.  He, Carson, and Marten were gathered in a pressurized tent on the back side of the moon.  Jackie was present via commscreen.  It was neutral territory; the Kesh had no desire to bring Sophie on board again so long as it held antimatter, and Jackie refused to leave her ship.

“The opportunity arose,” Jackie said over the comm.  “The particle beam—a defense system?—engaged them first.  We hadn’t heard anything from you, we didn’t know if you really intended a rescue.”

“We did.  We had to disengage certain defense systems first.”

“Apparently you didn’t quite finish,” Jackie said.  “What did you do with the Velkaryans and their ship?”

“We left them somewhere where they won’t bother anyone for a while.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marten.

“That’s all I am going to say on that matter.”  The crest feathers lowered a little.

“Oh.  Well, thank you,” Carson said.  “We do have some other questions, certain things which don’t quite add up.”

Ketzshanass said nothing, appearing to consider this.  “Yes.  I am afraid we have not been entirely truthful with you,”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Jackie said over the comm.

Ketzshanass’s crest feathers rippled.  “Excuse me?”

“It’s a surprise that anyone admits that sort of thing unless they have to.  But I was also being sarcastic, for which I apologize.  There were too many little inconsistencies and large omissions in your story so far.”

“As you say.”  Ketzshanass paused again.  “There are still some things we will not discuss, but ask what questions you have.”

Marten got in the first question, but Carson had been wondering the same thing.  “Is this—the planet—is it your home world?”

“It is a world we inhabited.  Leave it at that.”

“There were two waves of destruction on the planet, some decades apart,” said Carson.  “What happened?”

“There was a civil war, a violent one.  The background will require more explanation.  We Kesh damaged ourselves badly, but worse, we apparently attracted the attention of someone else.”

“What?” said Carson.  Just how many spacefaring species were there?  “Who?”

“A species from outside of what you call T-space.  We call them degkhidesh—” the middle syllable sounded like someone clearing their throat “—which means roughly ‘enemy’ or ‘beings that hate the Kesh’.  They apparently evolved independently of the terraformed worlds, although we don’t have a lot of information on that.  They initiated the second round of attacks here and nearly finished what we’d started.  Records are incomplete.”

Ketzhanass paused, then continued.  “We don’t think we drove them off, we think they left when they decided they were done.  Perhaps they have no interest in terraform planets, artificial or natural, and just decided we were no longer a threat.  Since we suspect they left monitoring systems in place, that is a belief we try to encourage, by the way.  Your actions here did not help that.”

Carson thought he saw Jackie’s image on the commscreen  blush, and he felt a twinge of regret himself.  “Sorry about that,” he said.

“They would have noticed eventually.  We have been considering how and when to contact you humans to warn you.”

“Warn us?”

“Just so.”

That put a chill on the conversation.  During the lull Carson decided to ask something which had been nagging at him.  “Did you, the Kesh, build the pyramids?”

Ketzshanass paused for a considerable time before answering that.  “We built our pyramid-shaped ships.  We did not build the pyramid you found on Chara III, or others like it on other terraformed worlds.”  He raised a hand to forestall Carson’s obvious next question.  “No, we don’t know who did.  But our ancestors did pretend we were the builders, that was part of what caused the civil war.”

“What?”

“The details are lost, deliberately suppressed by a Kesh ruling class which would have everyone believe that our—their—ancestors lifted us from the mud to the stars completely independently.  We now believe the truth is that they found and exploited a pyramid on our ancestral homeworld, allowing us, them, to develop star flight some ten thousand years after the original builders were gone—”

“Whose years?” said Carson.

Ketzshanass’s crest feathers rippled.  “The difference is not significant.”

For an Earthlike world, Carson decided, this probably meant a G-type star.  He filed that away. “Sorry, go on.”

“This caste built up a priesthood around the secrets of the pyramids.  They monitored your homeworld, Carson.  The pyramids of Egypt were probably part of their influence.”

Carson felt his world shift.  That had been argued back and forth for decades, but the evidence always came back to purely terrestrial construction.

“But . . .”

“Not that Kesh built them, or even helped.  It may have been something like your South Seas cargo cults.  Build it and perhaps they will come.”

“Cargo cults?” asked Jackie from the commscreen.

“The short version,” Carson began, “is that after Earth’s mid twentieth-century war, natives on remote Pacific islands which had been used as military staging areas built replicas of aircraft out of twigs and branches, hoping to attract the real thing which had—to them—magically brought cargo to the islands before.  Egyptian pyramids make about as good starships as tree branches do airplanes.”

“Copy.  Please go on.”

“Later,” Ketzshanass continued, “when a small group discovered faster than light warp travel and —”

“Wait, what?” gasped Jackie.  “You didn’t have FTL?”

Ketz looked at her image on the screen, apparently startled at the reaction.  “Surely you know that our pyramid ships are far too large for a superluminal warp bubble?”

“Yes, but —”

“We use a sublight warp.  It gets us almost up to lightspeed, and the ships are big enough to have all the comforts of home.  Surely that was obvious?”

“I, . . . sublight warp?”

“Oh dear.  You seem have some gaps in your knowledge of folded space.”

Jackie’s image nodded.  “We do.  Brenke, our pioneer in the field, died too young in a field test gone wrong,” she said.  “Something about gravity fluctuations.  Nobody since has had quite his insight, and most of the research has been toward FTL warp improvements.”

Ketzshanass made a facial expression that might have been a wince.  “Yes, there are things that can go wrong.”  He paused, then continued.  “We have FTL ships, of course, but they’re small, like your Sophie.”

“They’re not saucer- or disk-shaped by any chance, are they?” Carson asked.

“That would not be an optimal shape for an FTL warp bubble.  Some of our in-atmosphere scout craft are that configuration, however.  Why?”

“Just a thought.  When was the last time you—the Kesh—visited Earth?”

“We’ve stayed clear since you developed spaceflight.  We don’t think you’re ready for official contact yet.”

“So the Betty Hill incident . . . ” Carson paused, wondering the best way to raise the subject.

“Where is Betty Hill?”

“Not a where, a who.”  Carson quickly described the incident, and the Zeta Reticuli star map.  Ketzshanass’s crest feathers kept twitching as Carson spoke.

“Fascinating,” Ketzshanass said when Carson had finished.  “What you describe, making allowances for embellishment and misinterpretation, could have been a Kesh survey, but that’s not the procedure we would have followed, and so far as I know there is no record of such a contact on our side.”

“When will you be ready to make formal contact?”

“A better question would be when will you be ready.  Your Velkaryans are not a good example.”  Ketzshanass’ crest lowered.  “Unfortunately all our hands may be forced by events.  If the degkhidesh return, we would consider an alliance.”

“Just how dangerous are these,” Carson hesitated at the word, “these degkhidesh?”

“You’ve seen the destruction on the planet below.  We did part of that in our civil war—the ruling caste was not willing to just step down—but most of the damage was inflicted later, by them.

“There was a gap of many decades, so with any luck it will be many more decades, perhaps centuries before they show up again.  With even more luck they’ll wipe themselves out before that happens.  Meanwhile we think it best to keep a low profile.”

“You don’t want revenge?”

“We just want the problem to go away, permanently.  That is a kind of revenge, if you like.”  Ketz’s communicator chimed and he looked at it.  What Carson could see of the text reminded him of ancient cuneiform, almost Sumerian, stylized and simplified as it might be if you weren’t pressing the symbols into clay with a cut reed.  But Ketz was talking again—

“— afraid that’s all we have time for,” Ketz said.  “Please depart this system as promptly as possible.  Do not return to the planet.  Aside from being dangerous, we consider it a memorial or shrine; it would be disrespectful.”  He rose and made his way to the pressure tent’s airlock.

“You guys might as well come on back too,” Jackie said over the commscreen.  “I’ll be glad to get out of here.”

43:  Leaving Z

Aboard Sophie

“I think the Kesh are afraid of us,” Carson said as he came aboard.

“Us?  I thought they were afraid of whoever bombed Z1R III?  Not that I would blame them for that,” said Jackie.  “But they’ve got technology beyond ours, why would they be afraid of us?”

“We’ve developed too fast.  Sure, they beat us to technology and star travel, but they had a head start.  They exploited their ‘teaching museum’, when there’s no evidence Earth ever had one.”

“Nor Taprobane,” Marten said.  “Although it’s possible that the early Kesh destroyed or buried our Spacefarer pyramid, as well as Earth’s.”

“If they were willing to do that, why just observe Earth’s early civilizations at all, why not just destroy them?” asked Carson.

“What if they thought there was something special about Earth?”  Jackie said.

“Like what?”

“It’s the ancestral home of all terraform life, so presumably of the Kesh too.”

“Is it?  We don’t know about the origin of the Kesh.  They resemble something that might be descended from dinosaurs, but we’ve never found the like anywhere else.  Just birds.”

“Including birds with teeth,” Jackie said.  “Perhaps their ancestral species survived the K-T extinction.  Perhaps it was a primitive bird that reverted.  Atavism happens.”

“Perhaps,” Carson said.  “On the other hand if they’re not Earth-descended, that might be more reason for Kesh to interfere.”

“I don’t know,” said Marten. “Would you want to mess with a planet which might be the home world of the Terraformers?”

“What, Earth?” Carson turned toward him.  “The dinosaurs?  Surely you don’t think they were the Terraformers?  Yes, some people do, despite the complete lack of evidence for it on or off Earth, just because of the timing.  But that’s ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was or not, it’s the potential that it was.” Marten grinned, he was just playing devil's advocate. “Would you be willing to risk annoying someone capable of that technology 65 million years ago?”

“Perhaps not.  But if there was already a pyramid on Earth, built by the Spacefarers, that might indicate the original Terraformers no longer cared.”

“Then why wouldn’t the Kesh have hidden the pyramids on Chara, or Verdigris?” Jackie protested.

“Probably because the indigenous intelligent species had already died out by the time they showed up,” said Carson. “They were no longer competition.”

“Could the Kesh . . .” Jackie’s voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Could they be responsible for eliminating those species?  It would be more of a sure thing than just destroying the pyramids.  It might not even be deliberate, if they’d inadvertently introduced a disease the natives had no resistance to.”

“Marten suggested the same thing back on the planet,” Carson said.  “I don’t think so.  We don’t know enough about when the Chara natives died out—if indeed they all have—but indications are that on Verdigris at least they died out before the Kesh had star travel. ”

“Do we know that for sure?” asked Jackie.  “The Kesh could be lying about how long they’ve had that.”

“You’re getting as paranoid as Ducayne.  But yes, there’s a gap of at least five thousand years.  As for your second point, about disease, the Kesh are dinosaurian or avian, not mammalian.  The chances of a disease hopping from them to an alien mammal species is infinitesimal, let alone of a disease hopping to two independent alien mammal species.”

“Diseases hop from birds to mammals on Earth.  The flu, for example.”

“Yes, where the domesticated birds and mammals in question have been living in proximity for thousands of years, not where they’ve been isolated for tens of millions.  And there’s still the time gap.”

“Okay, that aside.  Again why would they be afraid of us, just because we developed faster?  They’re still ahead of us.”

“For now,” Carson said.

“But we only developed faster because they were under the yoke of a monolithic religious government.  By its nature any group in power will oppose anything that changes the status quo, and outside of a narrow range almost any major technological change will upset that status quo.  We have the same thing in our history, but we managed to get out from under, at least the societies which succeeded did.  It goes for bureaucratic democracies and republics as well as theocracies, although surprisingly not necessarily monarchies.”

“Not surprising at all. In a hereditary monarchy or even hereditary aristocracy, at least, succession and thus power isn’t going to be affected by technological change, not in the short run.”

“Not always,” Jackie said.  “Came the Revolution, the French aristocracy found out differently.  So did the Russian.”  Carson had long ceased to be surprised at the random snippets of information that she sometimes came up with.

“Their aristocracies had other problems,” he said.

“We can discuss that on the way back.  It’s a long trip, and I want to get started.  As soon as I get us underway I can hit the traumapod for a few hours to get my shoulder fixed.”

Carson felt a sudden pang of guilt.  Not only had he forgotten her injury, but she’d received it helping him escape the Velkaryans.  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

She turned to him with a stern look in her eye but also with a half grin.  “And don’t you forget it.  Make ready for departure.”

44:  Home

Sawyers World

“No, Carson, I don’t think we can reveal the existence of the Kesh,” Ducayne said, returning Carson’s glare.  “Especially since they’re not ready to make open contact.”   The two of them were seated at the conference table in one of Ducayne’s briefing rooms.  Roberts was in another, going over her observations and the Sophie’s sensor logs with Jones and  Brown to see what, if anything, they could make of the Kesh’s antigravity and tractor beam technologies.

“Damn it, Ducayne,,” Carson said, thumping his fist on the table for emphasis.  “This is exactly what I’ve spent the  last five years of my life trying to prove, that there were recent spacefaring aliens.”

“Recent as in fifteen thousand years ago, not recent as in they’re still around now.  These aren’t the aliens you were looking for, Carson.  Humans—on Earth, anyway, which is all but at most two percent of us—aren’t ready for contemporary spacefaring aliens.  Come on; remember what happened when we realized the nearer planets had been terraformed?”

That was before Carson’s time, but he knew the history.  There’d been a lot of near-hysteria before it finally sunk in that sixty-five million years was a long time, and that the Terraformers were probably as extinct as the dinosaurs.  As he'd told Marten, some people even believed, despite a complete lack of evidence, that the Terraformers were dinosaurs, which somehow made them feel better.  Apparently Earth dinosaurs weren’t as scary as extraterrestrial aliens.  But that cultural hysteria had also helped spawn the Velkaryans.  “Do you think it will make the Velkaryans stronger?” he asked.

“Of course it will.  You don’t see it much out on the fringe, but there’s a level of fear of the alien back on Earth, and even here on the older settled planets.”  Ducayne swiveled his seat and turned to stare at the blank wall for a moment, as though it were a window, then turned back.  “No, we have to keep it quiet for now.”

Carson tightened his fists and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Then I suppose saying anything about the degkhidesh is right out.”

Ducayne reddened.  “You’re damned right.”

“But we’re going to need to work with the Kesh to be ready in case the degkhidesh show up again.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”  Ducayne pushed his chair back and stood to begin pacing the room.  “What happened to Zeta Reticuli is my worst nightmare.  Of course we need to find out everything we can from the Kesh . . . including whether or not we can trust them.”

“They’ve been watching us for a long time. If they meant us harm they could have done that a while ago.”

“You said they fought a civil war—”

“A thousand years ago!”

“But ‘they’ is not a homogenous group, any more than humans are.  What if they have an equivalent of the Velkaryans?”

Carson didn’t have an answer to that.

“And there’s something else,” Ducayne said.  “The Kesh have had space travel for what, five thousand years, is that right?”

Carson wondered where Ducayne was going with this.  He nodded.  “That’s an upper bound.  It’s most likely less, but at least two to three thousand.”

“And they’re from Zeta Reticuli?”

“They carefully avoided answering questions about their home planet, but they admitted to having lived there.  It fits the evidence, the buildings would have worked for them.”  As he said that he got the sudden feeling he was missing something important, something he should have realized himself.

Ducayne put his fists on the table and leaned forward.  “Then why does a 15,000-year old talisman have a star chart on it drawn from the point of view of Zeta Reticuli?” he said, the words coming out almost as a growl.

Carson felt gut-punched.  How had he missed that discrepancy?  And what did it mean?

“We have no idea what became of the original pyramid builders,” Ducayne added.  “Did the Kesh take over their home planet?  They’re not telling us their whole story, and now I would really like to know more about who built those first pyramids, your Spacefarers.”

“So would I.  I’d like to continue to pursue that.”  It was what Carson had been investigating in the first place.

“Good,”  Ducayne said, and smiled.  There was something unsettling about his smile.

“Why do I suddenly have the feeling that I’ve just been manipulated?” Carson said.

Ducayne shook his head.  “No.  That investigation is more up your alley anyway; we have other people who can work—carefully—with the Kesh.  Maybe they’re just naturally cautious, and from your description of their planet I wouldn’t blame them, but they’re hiding something.  In the meantime I think we need to thoroughly bury any hint that space-going aliens ever visited Earth in the past.”

“Oh, there are plenty of hints,” Carson said.  “Take the Von Däniken stuff as an example.  But almost all of that is bogus.”

“Exactly.  The real story is concealed by the noise.  And it needs to stay that way for a while.”

“So much for my academic career.”

“Come work for me full time.  I could use another archeologist, especially one with your field skills.”

“But my academic background, which by the way makes a great cover, what happens to that?”

Ducayne didn’t answer immediately, but instead looked over Carson appraisingly.  He appeared to come to a decision.  “You know, I think Drake University deserves an endowment for outstanding field archeologists.  How does the Queen Diana Chair for Xenoarcheology sound?”

“Queen Di—?  Oh.  Change the initials and you have a deal.”

Postlude

North of Cay Caulker, Belize, 2123 CE

The dive boat Esmerelda cruised the turquoise waters above the reef a hundred meters inside the breakers.  “Sorry, folks, the water’s running too high to get out to the drop-off today.  We’re still getting some wave action from the hurricane.”

Hurricane Flora had swept across the islands and the tip of the Yucatan three days earlier and was now twisting its way across the Gulf of Mexico.  It had battered Cays Caulker and Ambergris, and the dive tourists who hadn’t managed to reschedule their trips were all anxious to get into the water.

“What about inside the reef?  Is there anything worth seeing?”

“For the most part it’s shallow and plain, the hurricane will have stirred everything up and broken the surface coral.”  He pointed off the port bow, to a section of choppy water.  “See how the elk-horn is up at funny angles?  Normally you wouldn’t even see it except at low tide.  That stuff is loose coral that the waves have piled up.  Tell you what, though,” the captain said as he turned the boat westward, “let’s go toward the mainland some.  It gets deeper inside the barrier reef.  Nothing like the drop off outside, but we should see something.”

The Esmerelda motored along for about a mile, the captain keeping one eye on the bottom profiler, before reaching an area where it sloped away to a depth of thirty feet or so.  He slowed it down, then hit a switch on the panel.  “Okay, I’ve turned on the underwater camera.  I’m afraid the visibility isn’t the best after the storm, only forty or so feet.”

“Not the best?” Dave, one of the tourists, exclaimed.  “Heck, some of the lakes I’ve dived in you’re lucky to get four or five.”

“Son, that’s not diving, that’s mudding.  On a good day here it’s a hundred.”

Dave didn’t respond, he was looking at the screen.  “What’s that?”  He pointed to where something with a straight edge protruded from the white sand near a coral head.

“Beats me.  I’m not aware of any wrecks around here, they tend to be out on the edge of the reef.  Doesn’t seem to have anything growing on it, so it must have been uncovered by the hurricane.”  Since it was partially buried, it didn’t look like it had sunk recently.  He slowed the boat and circled around the coral outcrop.  A school of striped sergeant-majors darted across the camera’s field of view, and past them he could make out a parrotfish nibbling on the coral.  “Shall we anchor here and you can check it out?  Looks like a nice little bit of coral, there’s plenty of fish.”

“Sure.  Let’s get geared up.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Forty minutes later the captain lazed on the deck, sipping a cola fortified with a splash of One Barrel, the local rum, and keeping an eye on the dive activity with the underwater camera.  They’d checked out the debris, whatever it was, then stayed around the coral head looking at the fish and generally behaving like the dive tourists they were.  He’d seen it all before, and Nelson, his dive master and their guide, could take care of them.

He checked the chronometer.  They’d be coming back soon.  A look at the screen verified that, they were starting to ascend.  Wait, was Dave carrying something?  He’d told them not to bring up any coral.  This wasn’t a park, but he’d seen too many reefs damaged by tourists to be happy about it.  Why hadn’t Nelson stopped him?

He set his drink in the holder, stood up and walked over to the ladder to help the divers aboard.  Marissa, the other tourist, was already there, and tossed her fins up to him as he leaned over.  He set them on the deck and reached down to her.

“We found something!” she said, hauling herself up, ignoring the mass of her tank and weight belt.

His planned admonishment about taking coral died on his lips.  “Huh?  What?” Before she could answer, a voice called up from the ladder.

“Here, take this!”

Dave was at the ladder now, holding up not his fins or a piece of coral, but a piece of wreckage, something that looked like it might have been part of the instrument panel from a boat, or perhaps an aircraft.  He reached down and took it, then passed it to Marissa as Dave pulled off his fins and passed them up.  Nelson bobbed in the water just behind him.

“What’s going on?” the captain called to him.

“Some wreckage.  Other side of the coral head.” Nelson’s voice came in short gasps as he swam to the side of the boat.  Dave was already halfway up the ladder. “Scattered.  Could be parts of an aircraft, hard to tell.  Brought back instruments.”

If it was an aircraft, someone could likely identify it from the serial numbers, he realized.

The captain helped Nelson aboard and they got the gear stowed.  They rinsed the panel off in fresh water and began to examine it.  It was worn, areas of glass—he assumed it was glass—covering the displays were heavily frosted from being scoured by sand, and the few areas of what had probably been exposed metal—screw heads, torn wiring, whatever—were heavily corroded.

“It’s been underwater a long time,” Nelson said.  “Could have been there for a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty years.  Maybe much longer if had been under the sand until the storm.”

“Not that long,” said the captain.  “These look like digital instrument panels.  A century, tops.  Before that it was all analog.”

“Any manufacturer names or serial numbers?” Dave asked.

“Well,” he flipped it over and scraped away some of the algae and corrosion. “Nothing on the back where I’d expect.”  He flipped it back and rubbed the front.  “Looks like there’s some writing under here.  Hand me that rag, would you?”

He scrubbed the front diligently for a few minutes, hoping to get the algae and other growth off of the panel without erasing any lettering.  Finally he had a couple of lines cleared. “I don’t recognize the language.”  The lettering, if that’s what it was, didn’t look like the Roman alphabet of English or western European languages.  “That’s not Russian, either.  Anyone?”

Dave bent forward to get a better look at it.  “It’s not Arabic.  It looks vaguely Chinese, but it’s not.  Just decoration, perhaps?”

“It reminds me of something I’ve seen on a clay tablets in a museum,” said Marissa.  “Cuneiform.  But it isn’t quite the same.  It couldn’t be, of course.”

A sudden chill went up the captain’s spine, despite the heat of the day.  They were hundreds of kilometers southwest of the so-called Bermuda Triangle, but the thought came anyway.  “Nelson, how much more wreckage was down there?”

“Quite a bit, and scattered.  Stuff that could have been airframe, bits of machinery, plumbing.  Hard to say what else might be under the sand or coral.”

“Anything you could specifically identify?  As in, you knew exactly what it was because you’d seen something like it before?”

Nelson paused, giving the captain a quizzical look.  “Not when you put it that way.  I’ve dived a lot of wrecks—ships, aircraft, even some old rocket debris off of Florida—and I could usually recognize something.  Why?”

“Just a hunch.  I think we want to recover more of whatever this is.  It could be important, and valuable.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure I want to say what.”  There was no way he was going to say flying saucer.  “Not yet.  We need to get an expert opinion, but from the corrosion and growth, despite being under the sand, that thing has been down there a lot longer than a century.  The hurricane must have stirred it up.  It’s got no manufacturer markings that I recognize.  What looks like writing in no alphabet I’ve ever seen.”

The more he spoke, the more sure he was.  “Let’s just say I don’t think it’s  from around here.”

The remains of Kukul’s spacecraft had been found.

∞

Glossary

Alcubierre:  Miguel Alcubierre derived a series of equations consistent with Relativity which describe warping of space in a way which permits Faster-Than-Light travel.

Chara:  G type star 27.5 light-years from Earth, also called Beta Canorum Venaticum.

Kakuloa:  Alpha Centauri B II - terraformed planet orbiting the second largest star (B) in the Alpha Centauri system.

maglev: generic term for a train which flies above its track by magnetic levitation.  There are several different designs and prototypes in use today.

omni:  Short for omniphone - compares to today’s smartphones as smartphones compare to walky-talkies.  (Look for “Nokia Morph” on YouTube for a nearly-there concept video.)

omniphone:  See omni.

parsec:  A distance of approximately 3.26 light-years.  (Technically, the distance at which a displacement of one AU creates a parallax of one second of arc.)

Sapphire:  A class of small interstellar scout ship, capable of sleeping about six if they’re close friends, with a range of about 20 light-years on full tanks.

Sawyers World:  Alpha Centauri A II - second planet orbiting the largest star (A) in the Alpha Centauri system, first extrasolar planet settled by humans.

Taprobane:  Epsilon Indi III - Third planet orbiting Epsilon Indi, ironically named for the island known as Sri Lanka or Ceylon, ironic because of that planet’s cooler climate.

technetium:  Element 43 on the periodic table, it has no stable isotopes; all naturally occuring technetium has long since decayed.  In current time all technetium samples are produced artificially, in reactors.  In “Stone Age” and The Chara Talisman, Carson discovers a talisman fragment which contains a technetium battery.

thruster:  High-efficiency reaction drive,  a kind of fusion-powered arc-jet.

timoan:  (Analogous to “human”) The sentient natives of Taprobane.  Descended from the ancestral species of terrestrial mongoose and meerkats the way humans are descend from the ancestral species of apes, monkeys and lemurs.

T-space:  Terraformed (or Terraform) space - Usual term for “known space,” a spheroid of stars centered on Earth and about 20 parsecs in diameter.  So called because many of the sun-like stars within it were found to have planets that were not merely Earth-like, but deliberately terraformed.

Unholy War:  A nuclear war which took place in the early part of the 21st century, involving primarily the smaller nuclear powers, purportedly for religious reasons.

Velkaryans:  Church of Divine Stellar Providence. The bad guys.

Verdigris:  Delta Pavonis III - third planet orbiting the star Delta Pavonis, so named for its greenish hue and the heavy jungle covering the habitable areas.

warp bubble:  The thin shell of highly-curved space surrounding a ship in FTL flight.  Based on Van Den Broek’s lower-energy configuration of an Alcubierre warp metric.

Zeta Reticuli:  A pair of G type stars separated by about 0.1 light-year at a distance of about 39.2 light-years from Earth.

Acknowledgments

There are always far too many people involved in the production of a book to thank each individually, or this would be as lengthy as an Oscar acceptance speech.  But the following are certainly worthy of acknowledgment:

First, thanks to the readers of the first book, The Chara Talisman, for their enthusiastic responses.  That did make this one easier, and I’m sorry this one took so long.  I’d blame my beta readers for raising unresolved points which I had to fix, but they were right, and they were my fault in the first place.

Thanks also to the members of the Highlands Ranch Writers Workshop for helping me brainstorm this on the sketchiest of outlines.

My fellow writers Lou Berger and Aaron Hughes gave me many comments on earlier versions of some of the scenes in this book, for which I am grateful.

Thanks to my ex, Jill, for her early comments, and again to my kids, Arthur, Robert and Selena, for their belief in my writing, and for feedback on the drafts.  And a particular thanks to Robert for his constant enthusiasm for the project, which you can read as, he kept nagging me to finish it.

I would also like to thank the creators of the (free!) computer program Celestia, which has proved an invaluable aid in getting the astronomy right in both this book and The Chara Talisman.

I try to get the details correct in my writing (hard SF authors do the math), but sometimes mistakes slip through.  Like any experienced software engineer, I blame the computers.

-- Alastair Mayer, Colorado, Fall 2012 and Winter 2013

Preview:  Alpha Centauri: First Landing

The following excerpt is from the upcoming prequel, Alpha Centauri: First Landing, set roughly fifty years earlier than this book, detailing Earth’s first steps into what would become known as T-Space.  It is still a work in progress, some details may change.

1: Substitute

Earth’s Moon

“You’ve gained weight since Mars.”

George Darwin looked up from his office desk, irritated at the interruption.  Then he recognized the unexpected visitor and smiled.  “Captain  Drake!  I didn’t know you were on Luna.  Come in.  What brings you here?”

Drake entered the office and seated himself in the chair across the desk from him.  “It’s Commander Drake now, actually.”  He paused a moment, glancing around the high-ceilinged office, taking in the spider plant hanging in the corner, the pictures on the wall.  Most were scenes from Earth, of Darwin in unusual environments.  Hot springs, a glacier.  He looked at the wall behind Darwin and smiled wryly at one.  “You have that picture on your wall?  I get tired of seeing it.”

Darwin glanced over his shoulder at it. It showed a bleak rocky landscape in dusty shades of red with a pinkish sky.  Two space-suited figures posed for the picture.  Drake and himself.  “That’s why it’s behind me.  It’s to impress visitors; my glory days.”

“Don’t say that.  It makes you sound like an old man, and where does that leave me?”

“In my office trying to avoid telling me why you’re here when I thought you had a starship to make ready.”

“You’re right, neither of us was ever much for small talk.  How would you like to go to Alpha Centauri?”

Whatever Darwin had been expecting, it wasn’t this.  Yes, he knew Drake was assigned overall command of the fleet preparing for the first manned voyage to another star, but Darwin had assumed that he’d come to inspect the quarantine facility here, or perhaps in the worst case, that the project was being canceled.

“What?  In what capacity?  You’ve got an exobiologist.”

Drake shook his head.  “Actually we don’t.  Grainger managed to fall off the descent ladder in a rehearsal exercise.  He broke some bones and punctured his spleen.  He’s not going.”

“Is he all right?  No, stupid question.”

“He’s fixable, but waiting for him would push back the schedule, and our international partners don’t want to wait.  China and the European Union have already offered replacement exobiologists.”

“Hah, no way that’s going to happen.”  While an American ship, the Robert A. Heinlein, would be the flagship of the multinational fleet, it wouldn’t land.  The first ship to touch down on an extrasolar planet would be the Indian vessel Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, and the privilege of first footstep would go to the mission’s lead exobiologist.  Since the US still had a monopoly on practical Alcubierre warp technology, they had demanded that pride of place.  “But what about Grainger’s backup?”

“Wallace?  Last month the Enceladus exploration team found signs of life under the ice.  Since it looked like he wouldn’t be needed on the Centauri mission, he lit out for Saturn as soon as he could get authorization.  I decided to offer the slot to you first.  I know it’s a bit of a demotion, but―”

“No, no.  I mean, sure, I’d have to give up the glamor and excitement of running the Lunar Quarantine Lab, but I’m willing to sacrifice to help out an old friend.”

Drake snorted.  “Right.  The opportunity to investigate two planet’s worth of alien lifeforms first hand has nothing to do with it.”

Darwin smiled.  “Well, maybe a little.”  He sat forward on his seat, sobering.  “Okay, how long do I have to transfer operation of this lab, and what’s my training schedule going to be?”

Drake pulled a data chip from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Darwin.  “The details are all in there.  You already have plenty of space experience, and you’re one of the best exobiologists in the business, so your focus will be the detailed mission plan―”

“Okay, I know some of that from how it ties into the LQL requirements for when you, or we, get back.  And I developed the mission biology protocols.”

“So you did.  Good.  The only other thing is general starship systems, although aside from the warp drive it’s not much different from what we went to Mars in.”  Drake started to rise from the chair.

“Oh, and about that,” said Darwin.

“Yes?”

“The gravity is lower here on the Moon.  I’ve lost weight since Mars.”

Drake laughed and shook his head.  “All right.  Read through the briefing on the chip and contact me later today.”  He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.  “Oh, one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Pamela is on the mission team.  Will that be a problem?”

Darwin’s gut knotted.  In the time they’d lived together, he and Pamela had never quite come to blows, but the screaming matches had more than once disturbed the neighbors.  They’d be living in close quarters for the duration of the mission, several months.  But they could behave under mission discipline, surely?  Drake was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“No, no problem at all.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The story continues in Alpha Centauri: First Landing, coming soon.

About the Author

Alastair Mayer was born in London, England, and moved to Canada with his family as a young boy.   He describes his interest in space flight and science fiction as genetic: his father, Douglas W.F. Mayer, had been an early member of the British Interplanetary Society as well as a science fiction fan (who in fact published some of Arthur C. Clarke’s first tales in Amateur Science Stories).

Alastair became involved in both the L5 Society (now the National Space Society) and computers, publishing articles in Byte, Final Frontier, and other magazines, as well as becoming an accomplished scuba diver and a private pilot.   In 1989 he moved to Colorado, where he still lives, and where he works for a satellite network company.

His short stories have been published in several anthologies and his work has appeared often enough in Analog Science Fiction magazine to gain him entry to the “Analog MAFIA” (Members Appear Frequently In Analog).   Many of his short works can be found in e-book format on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and other e-book vendor sites.

The Reticuli Deception is the sequel to Mayer’s first novel, The Chara Talisman.  He is currently working on two-volume work relating the first steps into T-space, tentatively titled: Alpha Centauri: First Landing and Alpha Centauri: Sawyers World.  He also has more adventures in mind for Jackie Roberts and Hannibal Carson.

Alastair's web site: http://www.alastairmayer.org/

Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Alastair-Mayer/e/B00429C102/