Unto The Tenth Generation – 2550
Planet Kamehameha, Delta Trianguli 2
The silvery disc sailed through the air, scattering the light across its rainbow-colored surface. It bobbed and ducked, seemingly in defiance of gravity and physics. It spun and rose, tilting wildly as it flew over the sands. Suddenly, the disc ran across an incredibly strong thermal. It jerked up and stalled, hanging motionless for a moment before it tumbled into a ring of ash and flames beneath it.
"Get it quick, before it melts!" A voice called out.
As quickly as he could, James dashed over and grabbed the Frisbee out of the bonfire. He blew on it a few times and knocked it against his thigh to dislodge the ash. The memory plastic snapped back into place, already erasing the crease that had begun to form across the face. "It's ok!" He blew on it, clearing the face. The rainbow colors were still vibrant, with only a slight discoloration. "I told you to watch out for the fire, Riz!"
"Sorry," the lanky Filipino man waved. "If this were football I wouldn't have that problem, but you Americans have strange games. First gridiron, now Frisbee. What's next?"
"Curling." Everyone laughed. Delta Trianguli 2 was a newly-discovered system on the interstellar highway network at the end of Route 40, and Kamehameha was soon to be THE resort destination for vacationing humans. A binary system, the two suns were dubbed Taonoui and Roua, after the Polynesian mother and father of the universe. Roua was a main-sequence G-type star slightly larger than Sol, while Taonoui was an orange dwarf and only half as large. They orbited each other tightly, only ten million miles apart, with Taonoui circling Roua every ten days.
Kamehameha was the second in a seven-planet system, orbiting the suns every 403 days, though using the local time the year was only 372 days long, as a planetary day was only three seconds off twenty-six hours. The original SAC surveying mission had been awed when they first mapped the planet. The world was eighty percent water, with the remaining twenty percent being dominated by a vast belt of islands in the middle latitudes reaching over halfway across the planet. The geologists were still debating, but it appeared that massive undersea eruptions of magma had displaced huge volumes of water, raising the seas kilometers. The result was a Polynesia writ large, with plenty of sandy beaches and shady trees.
The first colonization team had been cautious, at first. A tropical paradise with no large predators seemed too good to be true, and it had been. Hurricanes could grow to become hypercanes and could devastate outlying islands. But the ocean shelf interiors were calm lagoons, and the Triple Alliance had determined Kamehameha was a perfect candidate for undersea habitats. They sent a surveying team and an entire submarine to further investigate the seafloor.
It had been considerable work at first, but now the colonization team was in its element, mapping and exploring islands adjacent to the Cuba-sized piece of land that would be the first colony. Today was something of a rest day, as, they had been asked to greet the surveying team which was en route when they landed. The team had been at the orbital habitat for three days doing detailed mapping to plot out areas for further investigation. The inclusion of a temporary orbital habitat when beginning colonization was now standard procedure after the Armstrong incident, and the habitat had a fully stocked medical shuttle ready to fly at a half-hour’s notice.
Team Leader James tossed the Frisbee to another settler and walked over to the barbecue pit. He smelled giant frog cooking, a large saltwater amphibian that was about as intelligent as a sheep and tasted delicious. "Is it ready, darling?"
"Just about, James." His wife Alice smiled as she shoed the sandflies away from the tableware. They were something of a nuisance, and their mating swarm could give headaches, but they were harmless. "Dost thou want light tongue or dark tongue?"
"Well now," he snaked an arm around her waist "I would like-" Suddenly the sky grew brilliantly white. "What?"
Transport Ship Bountiful, Interstellar Highway Exit 431, 28 Tauri
The junction was practically deserted; they were a long way from the more heavily settled urban worlds. To get here they had gone through two dead systems that were only now being developed because of the discovery of Kamehameha. Humans didn’t need to inhabit every system they found, but if there was a good world on a line, every stop along the way would have some infrastructure in case of emergency, even if it was only a fuel and astronomy outpost. People had taken to calling such systems boonies or badlands, which Captain Henderson wasn't sure he approved of. Still, the quiet allowed him a chance to train his people.
"Line it up, people. Prepare a clearing probe, and be ready to grapple it on the return. I don’t want to lose it if we can avoid it." He spurred the crew of his bridge into action. There was virtually zero chance of colliding with another spacecraft out here, but any gambler would tell you that the longest shots eventually paid off. After all, the chances of humans ever finding Nutkins or any other race had been virtually zero four years ago, and now they had even visited earth.
"Probe ready, Captain." The helm officer’s finger was over the launching button. Closer to earth they’d use one of the specialized Traffic Signals to traverse the plughole safely, but out here they were on their own.
"Launch Probe." They watched on the monitor as it streaked towards the event horizon. The glow of its thrusters got smaller and smaller and shut off just before entering. The timing was tricky; shut down too soon, the probe won’t get far enough out to check for clearance. Shut down too late, and your probe won’t come back. Thirty seconds later, the probe came sailing back through. Captain Henderson nodded. "Alright, bring it in, and let's get ready to transit."
"Captain, the probe isn't responding to commands, it’s gone ballistic. I keep sending coordinates, but I’m getting a weird signal back." The comms The officer frowned as she flipped through the frequencies. Henderson frowned, the probe was brand new and should have been good for at least thirty clearings.
"Set the grappler, try and snag it. I want to see if it hit something. In the years since the Lady Heather had been lost, using probes had been an intermediate step. It was all well and good for a SAC bomber to catch a returning probe, but a freight hauler was decidedly less maneuverable. A magnetic grappler, computer-controlled, was now a part of almost every ship’s standard equipment. They were useful for other things, but mainly any time you couldn't bring a probe back was a time you most certainly wanted a closer look at it.
Maintenance Bay, Transport Ship Bountiful
It's unreal, Captain." A technician wearing a radiation suit wiped the sweat from his face as he drank water. When they brought the probe in, it had set off every radiation alarm on the ship. "I don't know what happened to this thing, but it’s putting out enough rads to fry an egg. This thing got hit with a few trillion rems of X-rays, gamma radiation, and a few other things that I haven’t had to think about since my reactor training."
Henderson’s heart began to race. "Some sort of energy beam? A hostile craft?"
"I don't think so, Captain." Another technician was working with a computer readout. The probe recorder has forty-three hundredths of a second of data after it crosses the event horizon. I'm not seeing any ships or debris.
"They could've shot it before it detected them." The Captain looked through the thick window of the containment chamber at the probe.
"It could be, Sir, but I doubt it. Every sensor burned out within half a second of emerging. That means that if they fired the instant it came out, they'd have to be within forty-thousand miles of the plughole to hit it with a c-velocity weapon. Also, sir, there’s no impact point on the probe. If it had been shot, the damage would have been unevenly distributed over its surface, but this thing looks like it was roasted in some kind of fire. I suppose some brilliant, vicious sucker of an alien could pull off a shot like that with some exotic directed energy weapon, but that sort of technology is so far above us I have no clue how it would look."
"Good work, Mike." Captain Henderson nodded to the young man in the radiation suit. "Get two more techs and take rotating shifts. I want a safety officer and a decon crew ready before you go back in, but I intend to have a full report for SAC before we get back to civilization." He reached for the comm. panel. "This is Henderson. Drop a warning beacon and head back for civilization. We're not going through until we know what in God’s name happened over there." Bountiful rumbled as the massive engines fired, spinning it around and streaking towards familiar territory at the best possible speed.
Very Large Array, New Mexico
Who’s been changing my search areas! Doctor Edo Berger was not happy. A slight man with thinning hair, he was a mighty hunter and the terror of the radio telescopes. He had made his career studying obscure astronomical phenomena and probing the nature of the universe and was one of humanity’s foremost experts on deep space phenomena, which was becoming more important now that the interstellar highway network was being established. His colleagues had said he was the last man to know everything about astrophysics, because now so much was being discovered so quickly, nobody could keep up.
He looked around at his research assistants and held up his thumb and forefinger. "We were THIS CLOSE to observing two neutron stars collide in real-time, and now all we have is the aftermath! Who is responsible?"
"You are, Professor." A voice called from the doorway. Berger whirled around and smiled.
"Cyrus!" He laughed and rushed over to the clean-cut man in his late twenties wearing captain’s bars on his SAC uniform. "When did you get here?"
"The 'dyne dropped me off about twenty minutes ago. I wanted to congratulate you on observing two neutron stars colliding. It happened two days ago, not this morning. Remember? You sent out a press release and then got right into studying the aftermath."
The older man shook his head. Sometimes the greatest academics suffered from tunnel vision in their work. "I suppose you're right." He turned to the other men and women. "Sorry about that, good work everyone." He ushered Cyrus into his office. "So, Captain Solomon, what word do you have of the great universe for us lowly earthbound academics."
"Nothing so grand, I’m afraid." Cyrus shook his head. "I just did six months at Tau Ceti whipping their observatory into shape. You wouldn’t BELIEVE the problems they were having with solar flare activity from their primary."
"I could get you a fellowship anywhere in the US in a heartbeat, you know." Professor Berger raised an eyebrow. "You were one of my best students."
Cyrus shook his head. "It's tempting, Edo, but I'm doing what I've wanted to do since I was a kid. I'm exploring the universe, actually out in it."
"Well, I had to try." Professor Berger shrugged. "So, can you stick around for a while? We should have results in about four hours, we could get some dinner and catch up."
"It’s eight a.m. Edo. You've been up all night again." Cyrus laughed. "I am heading home for dinner tonight, to see my family. It’s been a long time."
"Well then, I wish you luck." They stood and shook hands. "It is very good to see you, Cyrus."
"You too, Professor."
Solomon Farm, Western Pennsylvania
"Uncle Cyrus!" As the car from the rotoport pulled up in front of the house, a swirling tornado of arms and legs came flying out the front door. His older brother’s three children had been too young to remember his last visit clearly, and for four years they had heard stories of their brilliant Uncle and his adventures in space. They had been raised well, and while they cast expectant glances at his duffel none of them said anything.
"Well now, who are you three civilians?" He smiled at them as the car pulled away. He crouched down face to face with his youngest nephew. "Now, you must be James!"
"No, I’m Albert!" The four-year-old scrunched up his face.
"Albert! You're so big!" He turned to the older boy. "Well, if he’s Albert, then YOU must be Joseph."
"Yes, Sir." The six-year-old nodded. He was staring wide-eyed at Cyrus uniform and rank insignia.
Cyrus ruffled his hair. "What good manners you have." He looked at the oldest child, his niece. "Hello, Ruby. Do you remember me?"
The child was thoughtful as she pulled on her dress. A year earlier she might have put it over her head, but she was growing out of the habit, much to her mother’s relief. "I think so you sang me the rocket song!"
"Yes, I did, and if your mother says it’s ok, I'll sing it for you again tonight." His eyes misted a little at the girl’s smile.
"So did you bring me a moon rock?" A familiar voice made Cyrus stand and laugh. His brother George and his sister-in-law Josephine were now heading down the steps, followed by Cyrus parents.
"A moon rock, a Mars rock, and about fifteen other planets, George." Cyrus hefted his bag. "They’re all yours if you can get this to the bedroom. Be careful, though, I brought some presents for good nieces and nephews." The children’s faces lit up, and Albert and James started trying to drag the duffel towards the house. After that came a whirlwind of hugs and kisses and stories and a delicious dinner of beef ribs, cooked vegetables, and flatbread with hummus, with tall glasses of lemonade and peach cobbler for dessert.
It was very much the same for Cyrus, but it was also different. His family had owned the farm for over six hundred years, first bought by his direct ancestors when they immigrated to the US at the beginning of the twentieth century from Syria. How it had stayed in the family through the depression, two world wars, two bio wars, and the dark ages was something of a mystery. An old family legend told the story of his great grandfather’s great-great-grandmother standing off a gang of looters with a shotgun. She had shot a hornet's nest from a tree near the road, and the stinging insects had sent them running. Cyrus didn’t know if it was true or not, but whenever his mother scolded him as a child, he could swear he heard a buzzing in his ears.
After the meal had been finished, the children ran off to play with their plastic bombers and space carrier out amongst the fireflies while the adults continued to talk. "So, Cyrus, have you met any nice girls out in the big galaxy?" His mother poured him another glass of lemonade.
"No, Mother." Cyrus laughed. His mother wouldn't be happy until she had a dozen grandchildren, one way or another. "It’s usually against regs, especially if you’re stationed on a cramped habitat for months at a time. You don't want to be sharing the same thousand square feet with an ex-girlfriend."
"I think that's what Grandfather used to say." George quipped, and was summarily cuffed and kicked by the women at the table. "One angry woman at a time!" He had always been the clown in the family, while Cyrus had been the dreamer.
"You know, Sarah Miller is still single. She's from a good family if you remember." His parents had been friends with the Millers for years, and there had been more than a few lingering glances between Cyrus and Sarah in their younger days.
Soon talking led to a game of scrabble, but in the middle of spelling SANITIZE a sleepy-eyed girl came into the living room. "Uncle Cyrus, you said you sing for me."
"That I did, little lady." Cyrus stood and glanced at the board. That’s ninety-two points. He scooped her up in his arms. "Come on, let’s get to bed and then well sing. Do you remember the words?" She nodded sleepily, knuckling her eyes.
He tucked her in and sat on the side of the bed. Softly, the song began to swing and bounce.
Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, darling kiss me
Fill my life with song
And let me sing forevermore
You are all I hope for
All I worship and adore
In other words please be true
In other words, I love you
After the second refrain, Ruby was out like a light. He kissed her on the forehead and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. "Thank you, Cyrus." Josephine had been watching from the doorway. "The boys are out cold, I think all the excitement of seeing their uncle the space adventurer wore them out more than Christmas."
"No problem, Jo." He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Cyrus!" His father called from the living room.
"What, Father?" Cyrus found his father and mother standing in the living room, looking worried.
"We just got a call from a Colonel Skye. He said you need to call this number on your secure comm." He handed him a notepad with a phone number.
"I'm sure it’s nothing, I'll just take this in the study." Cyrus knew it wasn’t anything. He had been in SAC for nine years, and this was the first time he had been ordered to make a secure information request. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and put his thumb on the back. The scan verified his identity and unlocked the phone, and he dialed the number.
"This is Captain Cyrus Solomon, service number 51-269-668."
"Good evening, Captain. Verify Codeword: Rushmore." The operator was crisp and professional.
"Tango Zulu Sierra Pegasus." The sign-call sign was an added measure of security that was a part of his work with sensitive classified observational equipment, but he had never once been asked to use it even though he was issued a new passcode every five weeks.
"Thank you, Captain, verification is complete. Please stand by for Colonel Skye." There was a click as the line was transferred
"Captain Solomon, this is Colonel Skye. Are you in a secure location?"
"Yes, sir. I doubt anyone unfriendly is monitoring transmissions in western Pennsylvania. I was ordered to contact you."
"You were. I regret to inform you, Captain, that your leave has been canceled. It is currently 2100, we are sending a military rotodyne for you at your local heliport, it will be touching down in eighty minutes. You will receive further travel orders when you meet it."
Cyrus heart sank. He had been on earth less than twenty-four hours, but part of his job was sudden changes in circumstance. "If I may, Sir, can you tell me what is going on?"
"I don't know everything, Captain, but I am authorized to tell you we have a Hot Blackout situation. Make no mistake, the feces appears to have hit an oscillating blade. Safe travel, Captain."
"Yes, Sir." He closed the comm. and locked it. He sighed and went back to the living room. One look at his face and they knew he was leaving.
"How long?" His father asked.
"I need to leave here in about twenty minutes." Cyrus was gathering his possessions back into his duffel.
"Then there is still time." George put a hand on his shoulder, and their eyes met. Josephine and Cyrus mother busied themselves in the kitchen talking and washing dishes, while the three men descended into the cellar. It was clean and dry and stacked with produce. Years of raids and looters during the Dark Ages had given most of rural America a survivor mentality. George and Cyrus lifted a heavy roll of cloth from an alcove and laid it on the floor, while their father poured water into an old ceramic bowl. They splashed their hands and faces and removed their shoes. As one they knelt on the mat and began to speak
Officers Canteen, CVS-8 USS John Paul Jones, En Route to Delta Trianguli 2
Cyrus sat in a corner booth with a stack of books next to him. He could have reviewed data logs in his hastily-assigned quarters, but he liked to be around people. The background noise made him focus a little harder and helped him process the information that much faster. Since the initial loss of contact, an entire legion of scientists, theoreticians, and military engineers had studied the information recovered by the probe (now ominously known as Reconnaissance Report 9935A12), and none of them could agree on what it was.
Was it the result of a powerful alien weapon? Cyrus didn't think so, the damage was too brutal and rapid. An intelligent race capable of hitting the probe would have destroyed it. Had some stellar phenomena happened to the plughole, perhaps a solar flare? That was what he was being sent to determine. Due to the urgency of the situation, Cyrus had been sent as the most qualified expendable member of SAC to evaluate it. He sincerely hoped it was some sort of astronomical oddity because the third alternative would undermine everything humanity had done since the discovery of the plugholes. The plughole aperture might have simply MOVED and was now in a hazardous area. Too little was known about the plugholes to rule the possibility out, and now the group of experts who theorized plugholes were ephemeral might have been right all along, and if THAT was the case whole branches of human society could suddenly be cut off from the earth.
He was just about to start his third review of the data when a voice cut through the noise of the canteen. "This seat taken Sir? I’d like to speak with you." Cyrus blinked, and his eyes swam as he tried to focus on the woman who had seemingly sprouted out of nowhere. She was wearing the standard green SAC coveralls (the canteen maintained something of a dress code, though relaxed), with her black hair gathered into a professional-looking bun.
Cyrus clumsily stood, staggering on a left foot which was now coming awake and shooting pain through his leg. "By all means, Lieutenant." He shook her hand. "I am Captain Cyrus Solomon, I'm afraid I was only assigned to the Jones yesterday and I would love to have some company. Please, let me get you a drink."
"Thanks for the offer, Captain Solomon, but I'm on alert status for the duration of this mission. She held up a glass of unsweetened lemon juice and sat down. I’m Yelina Soo, co-pilot of Showgirl." She shook his hand and Cyrus felt the strength in the grip, a strength the Wolfen woman hadn't even tried to soften. "We've been assigned to make the first run into Delta-T, and you'll be riding with us to run any tests."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Cyrus nodded. "I must admit, I was rather curious when I heard about the hot blackout, but the more I read the data, the more eager I am to find out what happened to Kamehameha."
"Eager, Sir?" Yelena’s ears twitched in surprise. "Join the club. In sixty-one hours we could be flying into the sights of a large and angry alien battlecruiser. Then the hunt begins. With all due respect, I'm bored with shooting at sleepy trees on Armstrong."
Cyrus chuckled. "It’s true, Lieutenant, but unlikely. And even if it were, we'd go down in history as the first military casualties of a mighty war between two spacefaring civilizations."
"There are worse ways to go, Captain." Yelina smiled, exposing her enlarged canine teeth. "But please, in here or especially on Showgirl, please call me Yelina."
"Thank you, Yelina. I'm Cyrus. I'm afraid I've been working in joint military-civilian projects for so long my protocol is somewhat rusty."
"Don't worry, Cyrus, you're doing fine. Everyone in the task force is on edge anyway. This is the largest military movement since we discovered the Long Jump, though I didn't mind how that one turned out." She glanced at one of the windows in the canteen, in actuality a large monitor keyed to an external camera. From the view, they could see the Jones task force spread out in a screening formation, with the destroyers setting a broad perimeter. Though its placement meant she couldn’t see it, she knew the HMS Argus and her accompanying ships were holding the starboard side of the formation. "At least we’ll have plenty of people along to see us go out in a blaze of glory. "
After the next transit to Zeta Hydrae, the task force would meet up with the USS Ticonderoga and Russia’s newest carrier, the RFK Archangel'sk, which were running war games in Zeta Hydrae’s extensive asteroid fields to test the new carrier’s combat capabilities. It was pure luck that the two ships were on I-40 and could be brought along. A hot blackout was a previously only hypothetical scenario in which all contact was lost with a star system under possible combat conditions. The planners in the world governments had come up with a simple plan for such an event; send all available force, and if that isn’t enough make more force available in a damn hurry. Already courier vessels were contacting the rest of humanity’s military forces, putting them on alert. By the time Jones reached her destination, no military personnel would be on leave. At least, if it turned out to be a false alarm, this would be a worthwhile practice. A Red Sun writ large.
"So, what do you think we’ll find waiting for us if it’s not hostiles?" Yelina sipped her drink.
"Well," Cyrus picked through his stack of files. "What I've got so far leads me to believe that there might have been a coronal mass ejection- the stellar equivalent of a volcano. If the material ejected hit the plughole when the probe went through, it would cause that kind of damage."
"But wouldn’t that have stopped when they sent the follow-up probes?"
"Not necessarily. Some CMEs last for days. That’s only one possibility, though. It could be a supernova, a gamma-ray burst, or an incredibly massive solar flare."
Yelina only knew enough about astrophysics to handle her job, she had always regarded astrophysics the same way she considered rations; important, but best not to think about their particulars. "So which should we hope for?"
Cyrus laughed. "I'm hoping for a CME or a flare because anything else means that the whole neighborhood is in trouble." He reached for his glass.
"What are you drinking? I like to live vicariously through people that aren’t on alert." Yelina eyed the glass longingly.
"I'm afraid it’s just cranberry juice with a bit of soda water." He shrugged. "I did my heavy drinking in college, and I didn't care for it then. I don't like to be out of control."
"Suit yourself." She grinned at him and suddenly Cyrus had the same sort of feeling a young rodent had when faced with a hungry snake. Like he wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. "Losing control can be very cathartic once in a while Cyrus." Suddenly alarms blared.
"A combat alarm?!" Cyrus rose suddenly, gathering his books.
"Probably just a drill." Yelena’s eyes scanned the former window, now displaying personnel routes and emergency stations. "We'll be running them all the way, but the aliens might be advancing along I-40." She nodded to him slightly. "I'll see you in sixty hours." She was a blur as she raced to the exit and made her way to the hangar deck.
Flight Deck, DSB-36 Showgirl Holding station at IH Exit 431, 28 Tauri. Sixty Hours later
The view coming through the forward screen was the most agonizing nothing that Yelina had ever seen. A plughole didn't look like anything, in particular, it was a veritable hole in space which was why it had taken scientists so long to discover them in the first place. And yet, on the other side of the nothing was an unknown she had been preparing for her entire career. She didn’t need her heightened sense of smell to sense the anxiety in the other crewmembers; Lieutenant Tony Williams and Captain Newman were both silent, and Captain Solomon was right behind them at the sensor station, ready to perform either combat or scientific duties once they were through although privately she doubted his proficiency at the combat bit. He'd made it clear, that he was a scientist, not part of a combat crew.
Flanking Showgirl from the rear were both Dark Angel and Cara Mia, as well as Kylie Smiley, a new addition to the 305th Strategic Reconnaissance Group. Their job was to be ready to shoot anything pursuing Showgirl if she came out of the plughole at high speed followed by a hostile force, and behind them, fifty kilometers back, were four carriers and dozens of support ships, spreading over the plughole exit in a formation that resembled the hood of a cobra. Their strike groups were ready, and the plughole was wide and gentle enough to permit their passage if it became necessary to take the fight to the enemy. There were also the 72 bombers of the 121st Bomber Group on special standby, each with several 27-megaton warheads which, theoretically, could collapse a plughole as a final measure.
The comm crackled. "Showgirl, this is Admiral Mahan, you have a go. They hadn't sent a probe, it was a calculated risk but the strategists felt it was better to not give any warning. The cockpit crew looked at Captain Newman, who nodded. "Take us through."
"I've got a bad feeling about this." A voice crackled through the intercom. It was a little surprising, given they had a stranger riding in the cockpit, but Showgirl made her own decisions about such things. The engines thrummed, and Showgirl accelerated to maximum safe transition speed. A fast-moving target would be harder to hit. They plunged into the gravity well, feeling the gradients rock the hull, and emerged into a firestorm.
"Oh my God, what is that?!"
2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
Last edited by Calder on Fri Mar 24, 2023 10:10 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Re: 2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
Chapter 2
Exit 492, Delta Trianguli 2
Showgirl was surrounded by a veritable blizzard of high-energy particles that assaulted every sensor, computer, and person on board. The entire system was practically alive with energy, and sparks flashed before their eyes as stray cosmic rays struck their retinas. A few hundred thousand miles starboard, a massive, kilometers-long object sat, glowing menacingly against the black of space. Its irregular shape was very alien and unnerved everyone in the cockpit.
"Looks like we've got a problem, folks. My God, what is that?! "
Tony William's startled cry didn't stop his fingers moving over the controls that cycled up ammunition in the forward mass drivers, arming the Hibex missiles in the bomb bay or preventing him from figuring out the attack runs. Across the cockpit, Yelina Soo was working equally fast, checking damage status reports and bringing up the close-in defense and damage control systems. To her relief, the radiation levels were impressive but Showgirl’s heavily-armored hull was keeping out the really bad stuff.
"What do the scanners say, Solomon? "
Captain Newman was tense but glad they hadn’t been vaporized upon transitioning. That had been a real possibility.
"Working, Sir." Cyrus scrolled through a dozen kinds of readouts, absorbing the information as his mind raced. "We've got more radiation on us right now than you'd find inside most reactors, everything that isn't optical is a mess. I'm working to filter it out right now, but it'll take a minute."
"Yelina, how are our readings? "
"Running high, sir, but stable. The ceramic-metallic armor is blocking most of the high gammas, but I wouldn’t want to take the scenic route. All our computers are going crazy and I don’t think we can keep them functional for more than fifty hours in this."
Newman tapped a communications panel. "Engineering, status back there?"
"We're good Sir, for now at any rate." Lieutenant Commander Cody Kodiak Marsh kept Showgirl’s four engines in tip-top shape. "How long we’ll stay that way is another matter, nobody ever designed this plant to work under these conditions. Lord knows what our ramjet scoops are picking up."
"Good work." The comms switched off. "Tony, take us in, see what that bogey is. I want our guns ready. I don’t care if they look threatening, I’d rather threaten a nice alien than just hope he's nice. Yelina, all defense systems up and running, CIWS deployed."
"Already is Sir, though I can’t guarantee it’s working in this. Or what will happen if our railguns fire under these conditions."
Showgirl swooped through the storm of radiation towards the object, its alien features becoming more prominent as they drew closer. It was immense, miles long, and glowing along its whole length. Lumpy protrusions and projections that looked like tendrils stretched along its topside, and shadowy depths seemed to conceal hidden mysteries which glowed red.
"Got anything, Cyrus?" They were eighty thousand miles away and approaching fast.
"It's getting clearer," Sir. He fought to penetrate the soup that gummed up his sensors. "Whatever it is, it is radiating a surface temperature of about five hundred Kelvin, but the EM readings are still a mess. It’s pretty energetic, whatever it is. Wait, I've got the interference eliminated." He looked to Captain Newman. "We can stand down, Sir. It’s an asteroid."
"An asteroid?" Newman stood up and stared at the object that was slowly filling the screen. "In what universe is that an asteroid? It looks like something that would give Elder God nightmares!"
Cyrus shook his head and looked at his data. "It’s been blasted to hell, Sir, but all the readings were getting off of it are residual emanations from whatever hit it. Remember, space is a vacuum, which means it’s a good insulator. I think I know what happened, but I want to get a look at Kamehameha first."
High Orbit over Kamehameha, 21 Hours Later
They had been traveling slightly above the safe recommended limits for the entire trip, but Showgirl was taking it all in her stride. She seemed to understand the urgency of their mission and held together better as a result of shouldering the burden. The world they now orbited was nothing like the images they had seen of a vast tropical paradise, it was a fair approximation of hell.
"Kamehameha is a total loss, Captain." Cyrus soberly checked the readouts. "Atmosphere, hydrosphere, it’s all gone. The surface temperature is a bit higher than the asteroid we saw, and whatever’s passing for air down there is vaporized rock. In another two months, this place will be as dead and lifeless as Mercury."
He knew it was pointless to ask, but it was their duty to find out. Any sign of the settlement, or the colonization teams? Newman and the rest of the cockpit crew stared at the planet in awe. Not even 18 Scorpii had been so completely devastated.
"I'm detecting the concentration of a heavy metal near Paradise settlement. The spectroscopic fingerprint is consistent with a heavy lifting transport. My guess is the Triple Alliance ship was near enough to try and make an emergency landing when they were hit and came down somewhere near the settlement, but they were dead before they hit the ground. I'd say the shock front of the entire hydrosphere boiling away would have created winds over Mach 2, they lost stability during re-entry and the stress just tore the hull clean off."
"Alright, take us back to the plughole." Newman sat down and began looking at the damage reports from Marsh. In sixteen hours, they'd have to break the grim news to the rest of the human race.
Main Conference Room, White House, Washington DC
There were several places around the world where the people who were part of what passed as a world government tried to solve any problems that turned up, as expeditiously as possible, whenever they turned up. The same group might meet in Moscow, Bangkok, Canberra, New Delhi, or Washington, wherever it was most convenient. Hypersonic transportation meant that it was a very small world. All these locations had one thing in common, they were venues wherein the problems that had resulted in the meeting could be handled, where things could get done without political grandstanding getting in the way. Then the decisions would be relayed to the other governments who would carry them out and act on the information they had been given. It was a very simple system, diffuse, amorphous, and highly informal but it worked well. Well, enough to have got humanity through the Dark Ages anyway.
Usually, matters of global impact were dealt with in a clear, matter-of-fact way, but the briefing today would be far from ordinary. Doctor Edo Berger had reviewed all of the data from Delta Trianguli, along with Cyrus personal notations, and had prepared a formal presentation. The President of the US had already received an initial briefing from NSC Director Rice, but Doctor Berger was the one telling the rest of the assembled group.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Edo cleared his throat. "I apologize in advance if my lecture gets a bit academic, but it is the only language I know how to speak." The projector screen flashed an image. "This is, or was, Kamehameha, also known as Delta Trianguli 2 beta. A habitable world, it was rated a high priority for colonization after discovery on Interstellar 40 approximately fifteen months ago. No counter-indications for settlement were found in the primary or secondary expeditions, and colonization was proceeding accordingly."
The slide changed, and the men and women in the room gasped. "This is Kamehameha five days ago, approximately two weeks after the loss of contact. As you can see, the planet has been destroyed. Readings indicate the biosphere has been annihilated, and the hydrosphere of the planet has been blasted into space. All life on the planet, with the possible exception of deep surface bacteria, has been destroyed. This includes the two hundred seventy-one colonists on the planet as well as six hundred eighty-eight colonists and crewmembers from the Triple-Alliance transport Everest Trek." People stared at the image in awe, struck dumb by the scope of the devastation.
Professor Edo paused for a moment and then continued. "The impact and type of damage were nearly uniform throughout the system, including Delta-Tri Epsilon six, a Europa-type moon that was found to have an extensive invertebrate ecology during the third survey of the star system. Slides showed close-up photos of the surface of Kamehameha, as well as other bodies in the system. After Showgirl had returned, more vessels had made recon runs on other priority targets."
"It is the belief of the senior astrophysicist on the reconnaissance team, as well as myself and a number of my colleagues that the devastation of Delta Trianguli 2 was caused by a gamma-ray burst." The slide changed to an animation of a collapsing star. "A gamma-ray burst, or GRB, can occur when a supermassive star with a low metal content collapses into a black hole. As it collapses, material from the outer torus falls into the black hole, and a jet of violent radiation shoots out in opposite directions, like squeezing a grape. These jets shoot out in opposite directions at nearly the speed of light, and travel for thousands of light-years until they dissipate sufficiently in the gas of space."
The slide changed again, to a flashlight shining. "Think of it as a beam of light, which it partly is. At the source, a GRB is as wide as the earth’s orbit. Over a few weeks, the beam slows down and widens, to the size of a solar system, but it continues, slowly losing energy." The screen went black. "Some of us believe the reason that intelligent life isn't more common is because of these GRBs, and the fact that, over a billion years, a significant portion of stars in a given galaxy will be struck by one." Doctor Berger looked around. Are there any questions?
Several people spoke at once, quite an unusual phenomenon in an age where formal courtesy was demanded. Eventually, the meeting was deferred to an Indian member of the Triple Alliance delegation. "Are we sure this wasn’t some sort of alien attack?"
"No Sir, that’s pretty unlikely." Edo shook his head.
"What if it was some advanced civilization?" The delegate persisted before another question could be asked. "Seems to me a GRB is exactly the sort of weapon a type-2 civilization would use." He smiled smugly. Edo could tell he had been reading a great deal of futurist literature.
"With all due respect, sir," Edo rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "If a type-2 civilization wanted us dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."
There was a chuckle that ran around the room at that, one that slightly relieved the tension.
Then, the Russian representative picked up the thread. "Doctor Edo, you said that a Gamma Burst propagates as a beam through space. Have you determined its direction of travel? Delta Trianguli is only thirty-five light-years from earth, is the planet in danger?" This realization elicited an uproar of questions from the assembled people.
"Don't worry, madam." Edo held up his hands to quiet the room. "We have ascertained that the GRB is moving at a very oblique angle through our stellar neighborhood, and will not be hitting any nearby star systems. However, our preliminary data gives a high probability that it will hit Delta Pavonis in approximately sixty years, which will shut down Interstellar 80 for about a month. We have recommended that colonization efforts be halted and that contingency plans for evacuation be drawn up." He paused to let THAT bit of information sink in.
Delta Pavonis 4, named New Siberia was a marginally habitable world that Russia had begun developing in the last decade. The conditions were manageable, barely, and now close to a hundred-thousand people called that particular end of Interstellar 80 home a land rush had just begun with the discovery that exit 815 in that system linked to Interstellar 30 at Beta Orionis.
Doctor Berger fielded several other minor questions about the nature of GRBs and possible emergency procedures, but he stressed that it was an extremely rare event in one galaxy, and there was no reason to believe that any additional bursts would be tearing through the Milky Way any time soon. As they left to brief their respective governments, a red-headed woman who had been watching from one side approached him. "I thought you did very well there, Doctor Berger."
"Thank you, Miss Gwynne. It certainly takes a lot out of you, these sorts of meetings." He sighed. "I must admit, though, it went better than some conferences I've been to."
"Please, call me Nell." She smiled. "Your explanations were wonderful, you have quite a knack for explaining your work."
"Thank you, Nell." Edo put his paperwork into his briefcase and they began to walk out. "I've often said that to get noticed you need to explain something so even a politician can understand it."
Third Jersey Colony, Planet Armstrong
The white light of morning forced its way through the curtains and into Naima’s left eye, burning away the fog of her dreams. Armstrong’s sun wasn’t nearly as big in the sky as on Earth, but it made up for the distance with visual intensity, like a diamond on a jeweler’s cloth. She rose and stretched, chiding herself for sleeping so late. Parmenio was long gone from the bedroom, he rarely slept past sunrise. She threw on a robe and walked out to the living/dining room of the suite, where she smelled coffee brewing with a hint of chicory. "Mmm I don’t know how you got chicory out here during a high alert, but I love you for it."
"I love you too, Darlin', but I don't think Parmenio would appreciate that kind of talk headed my way." A cheerful, gravelly voice made her grin ear to ear.
"Henry!" She rushed over and hugged the bespectacled man who looked only a tenth of his seven hundred years. "When did you get in? The military alert shut down the spaceport to civilian traffic."
"Well, that’s over and done now, I'm glad to say." He handed Namaah a cup of coffee and sat down. "I felt like taking some time off from Tau Ceti, the range is becoming a bit more civilized over there and my regulators are having less to do. Then, a courier shuttle comes in with the reports from Delta-T and I figured I might as well hitch a ride out to the end of nowhere and see you, fine folks."
"Mmm thank you." She relished the coffee. Most of the freeze-dried rations they had didn’t have the right flavor, but chicory made the difference. "So there’s no alien armada blasting its way through the interstellar network?"
"Not so lucky, I’m afraid." Henry sighed. "Some sort of star explosion or some such, not a nova danged if I can remember the name right now, it fell out of my head. At any rate, everyone is safe, except maybe New Siberia shouldn't invest in any long-term bonds. It’s a shame, I would've paid good money to see the old Seer up against evil spacemen."
"I doubt it would be much of a contest." Naamah looked around. "Speaking of which, where is he?"
"Well, he was still up when I got in just after midnight, and when I commed and told him the alert was standing down, he caught an early shuttle up to Home. Seems he’s been lecturing the Nutkins on earth military history as part of the exchange."
"Yes, though I'm afraid he's giving them nightmares." They both laughed at Naamahs joke. "Menewa and Hank have both been doing lectures as a part of the cultural exchange. Nutkins read our histories, but they’ve got a real storytelling culture, almost like mine. Also, the concepts are just so alien they need to be able to learn it in a give and take. It took Parmenio almost three hours to explain to their Fighter-Leaders what guerilla warfare was. He was planning on explaining cavalry next, so that'll be a few days."
"That's fine with me," Henry smiled. "I was planning on heading over to the Nutkin settlement for some sightseeing. What's the story behind its name?"
"Well, they called it Shaih Hahloh, in part out of respect for the USS Shiloh, in part because of the ship, and in part because it means New Beginning. They think it’s a brilliant pun, and I must admit, it’s better than the Third Jersey settlement."
"Yeah, I didn't get that one either." Henry frowned. "They said the island is the same surface area as New Jersey, and I get that it’s a colony in a new world, but they could've come up with a better name, couldn't they?"
"Blame it on the SAC engineers." Namaah laughed at Henry’s raised eyebrow. "After they burned the whole island out, five years ago, the chemical smell of the cryo-napalm lasted for months. They said it smelled a lot like New Jersey."
Solomon Farm, Western Pennsylvania
"I want to thank you all for coming out today," Abraham Solomon, Cyrus father and patriarch of the family, managed to get his voice above the din of the small crowd without shouting. "This was supposed to happen a month ago, but it seems that my son the Captain can’t be away for more than a few days without putting the galaxy in jeopardy." A few cheers and hollers for Cyrus went up. "But he's here now for two months, and we’re all going to show him a good time! God bless this feast we have, and may God keep us safe as we leave here tonight." With a chorus of 'praise Gods,' the party began in earnest.
It was half-barbecue and half-ice cream social, and a wonderful time for the eight families that made up the enclave in rural Pennsylvania. They all worked their land or in shops and met in their rural chapel on Sundays, where the preacher taught mostly from the Old Testament and Moses’s teachings and where certain lines of certain prayers sounded a bit different, but it was a very normal town community. There was plenty of food and good music, and Cyrus had to tell the story again and again and enjoyed describing their measured advance on a melted asteroid.
"So, where you off to now, son?" Old Man Reeza, the senior member of the community leaned heavily on a cane with one hand as he squeezed Cyrus hand with the other. "Off to the far reaches of creation?"
" I am, Sir." Cyrus shook his hand. Fifteen years ago Old Man Reeza would have been chasing Cyrus and his brother out of his orchard for stealing apples, but now that was forgotten and it was dawning on him how much of an adult he was. "After my report got all the way to the top, they told me I could pick my assignment. I chose to go to Armstrong as a part of the Cultural and Scientific Exchange. Heads nodded in approval, even here they had seen the vids of the Nutkins and read the stories of the goings-on at the other end of the Long Jump."
After initial contact and language barriers had been broken, humans and Nutkins had begun learning about each other. Now, scientists of every field were clamoring for a seat on a transport to Armstrong, to learn what they did and to teach what they knew. Already innovations in engineering, physics, and mathematics were beginning to shake the foundations of those fields, while those same scientists were being warmly received and admired by their alien colleagues. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and everyone at the party knew it.
"I'm going to be working on a big telescope for imaging GRBs like the one that hit Kamehameha, as well as just LOOKING at that part of the universe. The Nutkins are pretty good astronomers, but they didn't quite have the optical technology we do. Something about their vision and how they think. It should be pretty great."
"I'll drink to that!" George walked up with a glass of sugar-shine and handed it to Cyrus. The other men took up glasses. He raised his glass. "To my little brother, and saving the universe! "
"To Cyrus!" They all drained their glasses, and Cyrus tried not to cough and splutter. They couldn't drink fermented grain or grape, sure, but he’d always thought sugar-shine was something of a sneaky way around it. Still, it would be more unusual for the county to be dry, and it gave them all an out in social situations where one had to drink.
As Cyrus coughed and tried to clear his throat, he spied Sarah Miller sitting at the picnic table talking with some of the younger girls. She was wearing a sun-hat tied with a shawl, as was the fashion with the women of the community. He hadn't remembered her looking so beautiful, and his heart pounded as he walked up to her. "Pardon me, Sarah." He bowed slightly. "I was wondering if you'd care to walk with me down by the river?" At the back of his neck, he felt his hackles rise. He turned and saw Andrew Miller, the tri-county ax-throwing champion and Sarah’s father. "With a proper chaperone, of course." Cyrus stammered.
"Why of course, Cyrus." Sarah fairly beamed as she coyly took his arm. "I was hoping you'd ask, I wanted to hear all about your adventures" They started down the path, with Andrew Miller and one of Sarah's cousins not far behind. As they passed the fire pit, Andrew picked up an ax and lazily swung it onto his shoulder. The older women clucked their tongues as they watched. They felt it was far past time.
MacDonald Air Base, Planet Armstrong
Lieutenant Yelina Soo felt like her eyes had only been closed for mere moments when the door alarm chimed. She grumbled to herself, but slowly pulled herself out of bed and wrapped a satin robe around her waist, a gift from a would-be suitor. She cast a wary eye at the mess of her quarters, but the clutter hadn't yet reached critical mass and she felt safe ignoring it. The 305th was on rotation out here, and that meant a planet-side barracks with a much larger quarters. That meant she had to spend more time cleaning up to keep everything tidy and that was boring. The important thing was she knew where to find everything, but it was doubtful anyone else could find anything. That had its advantages of course.
She unlocked the door and opened it slightly, peering out. What she saw made her throw the door open. "Cyrus! What brings you to this side of the universe?"
Cyrus stepped inside, smiling, and shifted the package he was holding to one arm so he could return Yelena’s hug. "Oh, I was in the neighborhood, looking for evil asteroid monsters, and thought I'd stop by." Yelina ushered him in and they sat on the couch. " I'm here with CSEP. After Delta-T they were pretty impressed with me, so here I am." He handed her the package. "When I found out you were out here, I decided to bring along a small token of friendship."
Yelena’s eyes lit up as she tore open the plain brown paper, and punctured the vacuum seal. "Oh, Cyrus, you didn't!" She reached in and pulled out a fist-sized green lump. "LIMES! It’s impossible to get fresh produce from Earth out here, even without an agricultural quarantine." She leaned over and hugged him again, knocking over the box and sending limes rolling across the carpet.
"It wasn't that hard." Cyrus shrugged. "I went through OCS with the quartermaster on the transport that brought me out, and I got him to clear me some space in vac storage. It was the least I could do after you were so kind to me on the Jones."
"You were very kind to me as well, Cyrus." Yelena’s pupils dilated slightly as she sized up the Captain. "I don't have to be on duty for another six hours, and I'm sure we could find ways to be kind to each other. Or I could decide to be very unkind, the chance you have to take."
"Ah hrmm" His mind raced as Cyrus suddenly realized he had just brought an extravagant, thoughtful gift to a beautiful Wolfen female, to whom extravagant gifts often had strings attached. "While I thank you for your incredibly tempting invitation, Yelina, perhaps you should know that the limes came from my fiancé’s family orchard." He braced himself; Hell dreamt and hoped of one day developing a fury one-fiftieth as powerful as a scorned female Wolfen.
Yelina sat back, her mind turning that thought over like a cat playing with a mouse. She slowly leaned in, bringing her face centimeters from Cyrus'. Suddenly, she grabbed his neck and kissed him energetically, as only one of her species could. Then it was over.
"She's one lucky woman. Thank you for the gift, Cyrus." She started gathering up limes from the floor, as Cyrus stood and numbly walked out. A smile flickered across her face and her canines seemed to sparkle in the dim light. He might be engaged to someone else, but for at least tonight he'd be thinking about her. And that was almost as good.
Shaih Haloh, Planet Armstrong
When a person got to be as old as Henry McCarty, life sometimes got a bit boring. There was nothing new or exciting to be done, and everything was always 'old news'. With the discovery of the Interstellar Highway, though, Henry didn't think he could ever run out of ways to be surprised, astonished, and entertained. After a century of fighting and six centuries in the Circle, he had come to the greatest, most decidedly NOT boring moment of his life; walking down the roads of an alien city.
Of course, 'alien city was a bit of an exaggeration. In truth, it was a small town of perhaps ten thousand Nutkins and a few hundred humans, and it was hardly alien in that more than half of the material the city was built from had come from human worlds, but for a Manhattan-born son of an Irish widow, it was outstanding. Built on a rocky island that had been originally designated simply as 'Base Two', Shaih Haloh was the living hope of the Nutkin race. Rather than fight the rocky topography of the island, the Nutkins had instead carved terraces out of the basaltic slopes and erected homes and buildings from reprocessed rubble. With their advanced hydroponics and centuries of experience cultivating plant life, they had re-seeded the island with a blend of the ecologies of their homeworld and that of Armstrong. Purplish, leafy trees (which were a type of fungus) lined roadways while the fibrous mats shalia spread out everywhere, carpeting the landscape in a riot of red color.
Overhead a flock of Armstrong's seabirds circled, seemingly keeping watch over the city. Nobody was quite sure how smart the creatures were, but they seemed to be more aware than they let on. Some biologists were even speculating that the birds here were on their way to becoming the dominant native intelligent life form. Of course, the planet’s whole evolution had been left hopelessly askew by the sleepytrees and then the human/Nutkin invasion. Still, the birds were impressive, they subsisted primarily on fish, but would occasionally swoop down and avail themselves of an unattended lunch if the opportunity presented itself. That had taken the Nutkins by surprise, at first. After generations in a controlled environment, they weren't used to the unpredictability of a living, breathing world. And yet they thrived here, building a new home for themselves. Henry and Naamah could practically smell the happiness as they walked down the street, stopping to look at the shops.
The Nutkins had very different ideas about commerce, both due to their evolutionary origins and their existence on the ship. Wealth wasn't really important when you lived on a city-ship with population controls and fixed resources. But now, with a new world and new opportunities to explore, they were beginning to learn that capitalism was one of humanity's greatest tools.
"I'm still not getting it, Nammy." Henry stroked his beard as he looked around. "The way I heard it, five years they didn't even have money as we use the term. How can they have a market street all of a sudden?"
"They had money, of course, they had to have a medium of exchange, but it was different from the way our currency works. Getting the two to interface was the tricky part, it’s true." Naamah nodded, peering into a shop window at some crude Nutkin woodcrafts. They were rediscovering craftsmanship with the help of humans, but some things still took time. "It was a big hang-up at first. We were fine to keep bartering in good faith at first, exchanging goods and help on a case-by-case basis, but anyone could see that it wasn't going to last.
It was Robin's idea. He and Kai, who just celebrated their five-hundredth, by the way, took the problem head-on." Henry raised an eyebrow. He had forgotten that those two had been married for so long, it was completely unheard of for a relationship to last that long among demons, but once upon a time the thought of Locksley getting married had been unheard of as well. "He always knew that a good chunk of economics comes out of the say-so of whoever is guaranteeing the assets. So, they convinced the government to manufacture a sort-of 'Reward Prize' for saving the people of Armstrong, a very generous compensation of about four hundred million dollars. I know it sounds like a lot, but the company couched it in official language to spell out exactly what sort of stress they put on their ship to come around and save our people. At any rate, that prize formed the basis of a monetary reserve for them, even though it’s maintained at a bank somewhere on Tau Ceti, which is the closest large colony to handle it. After that, strict prices were set for the engineering services and technical expertise the Nutkins would be making available to us while we're here, and at the same time they purchase equipment and resources from us at a fair price."
"Sounds like a damn sight better deal than most new races got when they met up with Europeans or Americans." Henry chuckled ruefully as he inspected an interesting tapestry made of woven shalia, considering it as a gift for Kai and Robin.
"I think Kai made sure of it that way, Henry. It would be easy for us to dictate terms to the Nutkins, but that just isn't how we do things with a friend. Plus, we're getting Nutkins coming independently to consult on other worlds, and they're getting paid directly by whichever business contracts them, which means even more money into their economy."
"I believe it." Henry authorized the transaction with a thumbprint as the Nutkin shopkeeper wrapped up the tapestry. "The first few Nutkins to visit earth got mobbed. They were downright spooked and thought us vicious primates were attacking them. They didn't realize people just wanted a picture or an autograph. Heck, there's even a going rate for strands of real Nutkin HAIR if you can believe that."
"Oh, I believe it." Naamah spied a shop down the street. "Come on, you're going to love this shop." She dragged Henry down the street and through a pair of swinging doors into what looked like a general store. He looked around a moment, wide-eyed, as boyhood memories tugged at him. The store was an odd mix of modern and old west, completely out of place here on Armstrong but still, somehow it felt right that a shop like this should be here. There was even a lunch counter, with humans and Nutkins sitting on two different kinds of stools. The sign behind the counter read 'Vaisie's Goods. If we don't have it, you don't need it.'
They sat down at the counter, and a friendly human attendant in an old-fashioned soda-jerk uniform smiled at them. "Well, we don't often have such famous customers, but I believe you'll like our service. Now, what can I get you, folks?"
"We'd like two Squirrel Specials, please," Naamah ordered without hesitation, and the man nodded and went to work.
"What in God's name is a 'Squirrel Special', Nammy? You served me roadkill?" Henry eyed her skeptically.
"Nothing like that, Henry, it's the Nutkins." She nodded toward the nonhuman patrons who were busily devouring the food in front of them. "They're MAD for dairy products. They don't have anything like it in their ecology, and milk has the same sort of effect on them that chocolate does for humans. The only problem is that almost all of them can't properly digest lactose. Gives them terrible indigestion. But, one of the First Settlers, Trish Vaisie, is the daughter of an orangeberry magnate on Tau Ceti. She was sharing a shipment with some of the Nutkins at a party, and they discovered that there's an enzyme in the berries that breaks down lactose pretty well. What's more, it’s even stronger in the kind that makes humans sick. For the last three years, the Vaisie family has been making money hand over fist importing the things, they've even set up a dairy farm somewhere in Jersey."
"Here you are," the attendant set down two dishes of vanilla ice cream piled high with orangeberries. "Two Squirrel Specials, human style. Enjoy." Henry raised his eyes at the bowl, but it didn't appear to mean him any harm. He slowly tasted it and smiled. He could see that the Vaisie family would be very wealthy shortly.
As they stood and turned to leave, a young Nutkin scampered up to Namaah and chattered excitedly, then handed her an odd, greenish-brown flower before running back to her mother. "What did she say?" Henry was concerned, as Namaah's eyes glistened with tears. "Did she call you out?"
"No," Naamah said, smiling. "She said she wished she had eyes the color of a Sun-Smile blossom, like mine." She showed Henry the flower. "It's the plant they associate with hope." Henry pulled her in and hugged her, as they walked out of the shop, marveling at how it had taken an alien city at the other end of the universe to make a good woman feel beautiful.
Exit 492, Delta Trianguli 2
Showgirl was surrounded by a veritable blizzard of high-energy particles that assaulted every sensor, computer, and person on board. The entire system was practically alive with energy, and sparks flashed before their eyes as stray cosmic rays struck their retinas. A few hundred thousand miles starboard, a massive, kilometers-long object sat, glowing menacingly against the black of space. Its irregular shape was very alien and unnerved everyone in the cockpit.
"Looks like we've got a problem, folks. My God, what is that?! "
Tony William's startled cry didn't stop his fingers moving over the controls that cycled up ammunition in the forward mass drivers, arming the Hibex missiles in the bomb bay or preventing him from figuring out the attack runs. Across the cockpit, Yelina Soo was working equally fast, checking damage status reports and bringing up the close-in defense and damage control systems. To her relief, the radiation levels were impressive but Showgirl’s heavily-armored hull was keeping out the really bad stuff.
"What do the scanners say, Solomon? "
Captain Newman was tense but glad they hadn’t been vaporized upon transitioning. That had been a real possibility.
"Working, Sir." Cyrus scrolled through a dozen kinds of readouts, absorbing the information as his mind raced. "We've got more radiation on us right now than you'd find inside most reactors, everything that isn't optical is a mess. I'm working to filter it out right now, but it'll take a minute."
"Yelina, how are our readings? "
"Running high, sir, but stable. The ceramic-metallic armor is blocking most of the high gammas, but I wouldn’t want to take the scenic route. All our computers are going crazy and I don’t think we can keep them functional for more than fifty hours in this."
Newman tapped a communications panel. "Engineering, status back there?"
"We're good Sir, for now at any rate." Lieutenant Commander Cody Kodiak Marsh kept Showgirl’s four engines in tip-top shape. "How long we’ll stay that way is another matter, nobody ever designed this plant to work under these conditions. Lord knows what our ramjet scoops are picking up."
"Good work." The comms switched off. "Tony, take us in, see what that bogey is. I want our guns ready. I don’t care if they look threatening, I’d rather threaten a nice alien than just hope he's nice. Yelina, all defense systems up and running, CIWS deployed."
"Already is Sir, though I can’t guarantee it’s working in this. Or what will happen if our railguns fire under these conditions."
Showgirl swooped through the storm of radiation towards the object, its alien features becoming more prominent as they drew closer. It was immense, miles long, and glowing along its whole length. Lumpy protrusions and projections that looked like tendrils stretched along its topside, and shadowy depths seemed to conceal hidden mysteries which glowed red.
"Got anything, Cyrus?" They were eighty thousand miles away and approaching fast.
"It's getting clearer," Sir. He fought to penetrate the soup that gummed up his sensors. "Whatever it is, it is radiating a surface temperature of about five hundred Kelvin, but the EM readings are still a mess. It’s pretty energetic, whatever it is. Wait, I've got the interference eliminated." He looked to Captain Newman. "We can stand down, Sir. It’s an asteroid."
"An asteroid?" Newman stood up and stared at the object that was slowly filling the screen. "In what universe is that an asteroid? It looks like something that would give Elder God nightmares!"
Cyrus shook his head and looked at his data. "It’s been blasted to hell, Sir, but all the readings were getting off of it are residual emanations from whatever hit it. Remember, space is a vacuum, which means it’s a good insulator. I think I know what happened, but I want to get a look at Kamehameha first."
High Orbit over Kamehameha, 21 Hours Later
They had been traveling slightly above the safe recommended limits for the entire trip, but Showgirl was taking it all in her stride. She seemed to understand the urgency of their mission and held together better as a result of shouldering the burden. The world they now orbited was nothing like the images they had seen of a vast tropical paradise, it was a fair approximation of hell.
"Kamehameha is a total loss, Captain." Cyrus soberly checked the readouts. "Atmosphere, hydrosphere, it’s all gone. The surface temperature is a bit higher than the asteroid we saw, and whatever’s passing for air down there is vaporized rock. In another two months, this place will be as dead and lifeless as Mercury."
He knew it was pointless to ask, but it was their duty to find out. Any sign of the settlement, or the colonization teams? Newman and the rest of the cockpit crew stared at the planet in awe. Not even 18 Scorpii had been so completely devastated.
"I'm detecting the concentration of a heavy metal near Paradise settlement. The spectroscopic fingerprint is consistent with a heavy lifting transport. My guess is the Triple Alliance ship was near enough to try and make an emergency landing when they were hit and came down somewhere near the settlement, but they were dead before they hit the ground. I'd say the shock front of the entire hydrosphere boiling away would have created winds over Mach 2, they lost stability during re-entry and the stress just tore the hull clean off."
"Alright, take us back to the plughole." Newman sat down and began looking at the damage reports from Marsh. In sixteen hours, they'd have to break the grim news to the rest of the human race.
Main Conference Room, White House, Washington DC
There were several places around the world where the people who were part of what passed as a world government tried to solve any problems that turned up, as expeditiously as possible, whenever they turned up. The same group might meet in Moscow, Bangkok, Canberra, New Delhi, or Washington, wherever it was most convenient. Hypersonic transportation meant that it was a very small world. All these locations had one thing in common, they were venues wherein the problems that had resulted in the meeting could be handled, where things could get done without political grandstanding getting in the way. Then the decisions would be relayed to the other governments who would carry them out and act on the information they had been given. It was a very simple system, diffuse, amorphous, and highly informal but it worked well. Well, enough to have got humanity through the Dark Ages anyway.
Usually, matters of global impact were dealt with in a clear, matter-of-fact way, but the briefing today would be far from ordinary. Doctor Edo Berger had reviewed all of the data from Delta Trianguli, along with Cyrus personal notations, and had prepared a formal presentation. The President of the US had already received an initial briefing from NSC Director Rice, but Doctor Berger was the one telling the rest of the assembled group.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Edo cleared his throat. "I apologize in advance if my lecture gets a bit academic, but it is the only language I know how to speak." The projector screen flashed an image. "This is, or was, Kamehameha, also known as Delta Trianguli 2 beta. A habitable world, it was rated a high priority for colonization after discovery on Interstellar 40 approximately fifteen months ago. No counter-indications for settlement were found in the primary or secondary expeditions, and colonization was proceeding accordingly."
The slide changed, and the men and women in the room gasped. "This is Kamehameha five days ago, approximately two weeks after the loss of contact. As you can see, the planet has been destroyed. Readings indicate the biosphere has been annihilated, and the hydrosphere of the planet has been blasted into space. All life on the planet, with the possible exception of deep surface bacteria, has been destroyed. This includes the two hundred seventy-one colonists on the planet as well as six hundred eighty-eight colonists and crewmembers from the Triple-Alliance transport Everest Trek." People stared at the image in awe, struck dumb by the scope of the devastation.
Professor Edo paused for a moment and then continued. "The impact and type of damage were nearly uniform throughout the system, including Delta-Tri Epsilon six, a Europa-type moon that was found to have an extensive invertebrate ecology during the third survey of the star system. Slides showed close-up photos of the surface of Kamehameha, as well as other bodies in the system. After Showgirl had returned, more vessels had made recon runs on other priority targets."
"It is the belief of the senior astrophysicist on the reconnaissance team, as well as myself and a number of my colleagues that the devastation of Delta Trianguli 2 was caused by a gamma-ray burst." The slide changed to an animation of a collapsing star. "A gamma-ray burst, or GRB, can occur when a supermassive star with a low metal content collapses into a black hole. As it collapses, material from the outer torus falls into the black hole, and a jet of violent radiation shoots out in opposite directions, like squeezing a grape. These jets shoot out in opposite directions at nearly the speed of light, and travel for thousands of light-years until they dissipate sufficiently in the gas of space."
The slide changed again, to a flashlight shining. "Think of it as a beam of light, which it partly is. At the source, a GRB is as wide as the earth’s orbit. Over a few weeks, the beam slows down and widens, to the size of a solar system, but it continues, slowly losing energy." The screen went black. "Some of us believe the reason that intelligent life isn't more common is because of these GRBs, and the fact that, over a billion years, a significant portion of stars in a given galaxy will be struck by one." Doctor Berger looked around. Are there any questions?
Several people spoke at once, quite an unusual phenomenon in an age where formal courtesy was demanded. Eventually, the meeting was deferred to an Indian member of the Triple Alliance delegation. "Are we sure this wasn’t some sort of alien attack?"
"No Sir, that’s pretty unlikely." Edo shook his head.
"What if it was some advanced civilization?" The delegate persisted before another question could be asked. "Seems to me a GRB is exactly the sort of weapon a type-2 civilization would use." He smiled smugly. Edo could tell he had been reading a great deal of futurist literature.
"With all due respect, sir," Edo rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "If a type-2 civilization wanted us dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."
There was a chuckle that ran around the room at that, one that slightly relieved the tension.
Then, the Russian representative picked up the thread. "Doctor Edo, you said that a Gamma Burst propagates as a beam through space. Have you determined its direction of travel? Delta Trianguli is only thirty-five light-years from earth, is the planet in danger?" This realization elicited an uproar of questions from the assembled people.
"Don't worry, madam." Edo held up his hands to quiet the room. "We have ascertained that the GRB is moving at a very oblique angle through our stellar neighborhood, and will not be hitting any nearby star systems. However, our preliminary data gives a high probability that it will hit Delta Pavonis in approximately sixty years, which will shut down Interstellar 80 for about a month. We have recommended that colonization efforts be halted and that contingency plans for evacuation be drawn up." He paused to let THAT bit of information sink in.
Delta Pavonis 4, named New Siberia was a marginally habitable world that Russia had begun developing in the last decade. The conditions were manageable, barely, and now close to a hundred-thousand people called that particular end of Interstellar 80 home a land rush had just begun with the discovery that exit 815 in that system linked to Interstellar 30 at Beta Orionis.
Doctor Berger fielded several other minor questions about the nature of GRBs and possible emergency procedures, but he stressed that it was an extremely rare event in one galaxy, and there was no reason to believe that any additional bursts would be tearing through the Milky Way any time soon. As they left to brief their respective governments, a red-headed woman who had been watching from one side approached him. "I thought you did very well there, Doctor Berger."
"Thank you, Miss Gwynne. It certainly takes a lot out of you, these sorts of meetings." He sighed. "I must admit, though, it went better than some conferences I've been to."
"Please, call me Nell." She smiled. "Your explanations were wonderful, you have quite a knack for explaining your work."
"Thank you, Nell." Edo put his paperwork into his briefcase and they began to walk out. "I've often said that to get noticed you need to explain something so even a politician can understand it."
Third Jersey Colony, Planet Armstrong
The white light of morning forced its way through the curtains and into Naima’s left eye, burning away the fog of her dreams. Armstrong’s sun wasn’t nearly as big in the sky as on Earth, but it made up for the distance with visual intensity, like a diamond on a jeweler’s cloth. She rose and stretched, chiding herself for sleeping so late. Parmenio was long gone from the bedroom, he rarely slept past sunrise. She threw on a robe and walked out to the living/dining room of the suite, where she smelled coffee brewing with a hint of chicory. "Mmm I don’t know how you got chicory out here during a high alert, but I love you for it."
"I love you too, Darlin', but I don't think Parmenio would appreciate that kind of talk headed my way." A cheerful, gravelly voice made her grin ear to ear.
"Henry!" She rushed over and hugged the bespectacled man who looked only a tenth of his seven hundred years. "When did you get in? The military alert shut down the spaceport to civilian traffic."
"Well, that’s over and done now, I'm glad to say." He handed Namaah a cup of coffee and sat down. "I felt like taking some time off from Tau Ceti, the range is becoming a bit more civilized over there and my regulators are having less to do. Then, a courier shuttle comes in with the reports from Delta-T and I figured I might as well hitch a ride out to the end of nowhere and see you, fine folks."
"Mmm thank you." She relished the coffee. Most of the freeze-dried rations they had didn’t have the right flavor, but chicory made the difference. "So there’s no alien armada blasting its way through the interstellar network?"
"Not so lucky, I’m afraid." Henry sighed. "Some sort of star explosion or some such, not a nova danged if I can remember the name right now, it fell out of my head. At any rate, everyone is safe, except maybe New Siberia shouldn't invest in any long-term bonds. It’s a shame, I would've paid good money to see the old Seer up against evil spacemen."
"I doubt it would be much of a contest." Naamah looked around. "Speaking of which, where is he?"
"Well, he was still up when I got in just after midnight, and when I commed and told him the alert was standing down, he caught an early shuttle up to Home. Seems he’s been lecturing the Nutkins on earth military history as part of the exchange."
"Yes, though I'm afraid he's giving them nightmares." They both laughed at Naamahs joke. "Menewa and Hank have both been doing lectures as a part of the cultural exchange. Nutkins read our histories, but they’ve got a real storytelling culture, almost like mine. Also, the concepts are just so alien they need to be able to learn it in a give and take. It took Parmenio almost three hours to explain to their Fighter-Leaders what guerilla warfare was. He was planning on explaining cavalry next, so that'll be a few days."
"That's fine with me," Henry smiled. "I was planning on heading over to the Nutkin settlement for some sightseeing. What's the story behind its name?"
"Well, they called it Shaih Hahloh, in part out of respect for the USS Shiloh, in part because of the ship, and in part because it means New Beginning. They think it’s a brilliant pun, and I must admit, it’s better than the Third Jersey settlement."
"Yeah, I didn't get that one either." Henry frowned. "They said the island is the same surface area as New Jersey, and I get that it’s a colony in a new world, but they could've come up with a better name, couldn't they?"
"Blame it on the SAC engineers." Namaah laughed at Henry’s raised eyebrow. "After they burned the whole island out, five years ago, the chemical smell of the cryo-napalm lasted for months. They said it smelled a lot like New Jersey."
Solomon Farm, Western Pennsylvania
"I want to thank you all for coming out today," Abraham Solomon, Cyrus father and patriarch of the family, managed to get his voice above the din of the small crowd without shouting. "This was supposed to happen a month ago, but it seems that my son the Captain can’t be away for more than a few days without putting the galaxy in jeopardy." A few cheers and hollers for Cyrus went up. "But he's here now for two months, and we’re all going to show him a good time! God bless this feast we have, and may God keep us safe as we leave here tonight." With a chorus of 'praise Gods,' the party began in earnest.
It was half-barbecue and half-ice cream social, and a wonderful time for the eight families that made up the enclave in rural Pennsylvania. They all worked their land or in shops and met in their rural chapel on Sundays, where the preacher taught mostly from the Old Testament and Moses’s teachings and where certain lines of certain prayers sounded a bit different, but it was a very normal town community. There was plenty of food and good music, and Cyrus had to tell the story again and again and enjoyed describing their measured advance on a melted asteroid.
"So, where you off to now, son?" Old Man Reeza, the senior member of the community leaned heavily on a cane with one hand as he squeezed Cyrus hand with the other. "Off to the far reaches of creation?"
" I am, Sir." Cyrus shook his hand. Fifteen years ago Old Man Reeza would have been chasing Cyrus and his brother out of his orchard for stealing apples, but now that was forgotten and it was dawning on him how much of an adult he was. "After my report got all the way to the top, they told me I could pick my assignment. I chose to go to Armstrong as a part of the Cultural and Scientific Exchange. Heads nodded in approval, even here they had seen the vids of the Nutkins and read the stories of the goings-on at the other end of the Long Jump."
After initial contact and language barriers had been broken, humans and Nutkins had begun learning about each other. Now, scientists of every field were clamoring for a seat on a transport to Armstrong, to learn what they did and to teach what they knew. Already innovations in engineering, physics, and mathematics were beginning to shake the foundations of those fields, while those same scientists were being warmly received and admired by their alien colleagues. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and everyone at the party knew it.
"I'm going to be working on a big telescope for imaging GRBs like the one that hit Kamehameha, as well as just LOOKING at that part of the universe. The Nutkins are pretty good astronomers, but they didn't quite have the optical technology we do. Something about their vision and how they think. It should be pretty great."
"I'll drink to that!" George walked up with a glass of sugar-shine and handed it to Cyrus. The other men took up glasses. He raised his glass. "To my little brother, and saving the universe! "
"To Cyrus!" They all drained their glasses, and Cyrus tried not to cough and splutter. They couldn't drink fermented grain or grape, sure, but he’d always thought sugar-shine was something of a sneaky way around it. Still, it would be more unusual for the county to be dry, and it gave them all an out in social situations where one had to drink.
As Cyrus coughed and tried to clear his throat, he spied Sarah Miller sitting at the picnic table talking with some of the younger girls. She was wearing a sun-hat tied with a shawl, as was the fashion with the women of the community. He hadn't remembered her looking so beautiful, and his heart pounded as he walked up to her. "Pardon me, Sarah." He bowed slightly. "I was wondering if you'd care to walk with me down by the river?" At the back of his neck, he felt his hackles rise. He turned and saw Andrew Miller, the tri-county ax-throwing champion and Sarah’s father. "With a proper chaperone, of course." Cyrus stammered.
"Why of course, Cyrus." Sarah fairly beamed as she coyly took his arm. "I was hoping you'd ask, I wanted to hear all about your adventures" They started down the path, with Andrew Miller and one of Sarah's cousins not far behind. As they passed the fire pit, Andrew picked up an ax and lazily swung it onto his shoulder. The older women clucked their tongues as they watched. They felt it was far past time.
MacDonald Air Base, Planet Armstrong
Lieutenant Yelina Soo felt like her eyes had only been closed for mere moments when the door alarm chimed. She grumbled to herself, but slowly pulled herself out of bed and wrapped a satin robe around her waist, a gift from a would-be suitor. She cast a wary eye at the mess of her quarters, but the clutter hadn't yet reached critical mass and she felt safe ignoring it. The 305th was on rotation out here, and that meant a planet-side barracks with a much larger quarters. That meant she had to spend more time cleaning up to keep everything tidy and that was boring. The important thing was she knew where to find everything, but it was doubtful anyone else could find anything. That had its advantages of course.
She unlocked the door and opened it slightly, peering out. What she saw made her throw the door open. "Cyrus! What brings you to this side of the universe?"
Cyrus stepped inside, smiling, and shifted the package he was holding to one arm so he could return Yelena’s hug. "Oh, I was in the neighborhood, looking for evil asteroid monsters, and thought I'd stop by." Yelina ushered him in and they sat on the couch. " I'm here with CSEP. After Delta-T they were pretty impressed with me, so here I am." He handed her the package. "When I found out you were out here, I decided to bring along a small token of friendship."
Yelena’s eyes lit up as she tore open the plain brown paper, and punctured the vacuum seal. "Oh, Cyrus, you didn't!" She reached in and pulled out a fist-sized green lump. "LIMES! It’s impossible to get fresh produce from Earth out here, even without an agricultural quarantine." She leaned over and hugged him again, knocking over the box and sending limes rolling across the carpet.
"It wasn't that hard." Cyrus shrugged. "I went through OCS with the quartermaster on the transport that brought me out, and I got him to clear me some space in vac storage. It was the least I could do after you were so kind to me on the Jones."
"You were very kind to me as well, Cyrus." Yelena’s pupils dilated slightly as she sized up the Captain. "I don't have to be on duty for another six hours, and I'm sure we could find ways to be kind to each other. Or I could decide to be very unkind, the chance you have to take."
"Ah hrmm" His mind raced as Cyrus suddenly realized he had just brought an extravagant, thoughtful gift to a beautiful Wolfen female, to whom extravagant gifts often had strings attached. "While I thank you for your incredibly tempting invitation, Yelina, perhaps you should know that the limes came from my fiancé’s family orchard." He braced himself; Hell dreamt and hoped of one day developing a fury one-fiftieth as powerful as a scorned female Wolfen.
Yelina sat back, her mind turning that thought over like a cat playing with a mouse. She slowly leaned in, bringing her face centimeters from Cyrus'. Suddenly, she grabbed his neck and kissed him energetically, as only one of her species could. Then it was over.
"She's one lucky woman. Thank you for the gift, Cyrus." She started gathering up limes from the floor, as Cyrus stood and numbly walked out. A smile flickered across her face and her canines seemed to sparkle in the dim light. He might be engaged to someone else, but for at least tonight he'd be thinking about her. And that was almost as good.
Shaih Haloh, Planet Armstrong
When a person got to be as old as Henry McCarty, life sometimes got a bit boring. There was nothing new or exciting to be done, and everything was always 'old news'. With the discovery of the Interstellar Highway, though, Henry didn't think he could ever run out of ways to be surprised, astonished, and entertained. After a century of fighting and six centuries in the Circle, he had come to the greatest, most decidedly NOT boring moment of his life; walking down the roads of an alien city.
Of course, 'alien city was a bit of an exaggeration. In truth, it was a small town of perhaps ten thousand Nutkins and a few hundred humans, and it was hardly alien in that more than half of the material the city was built from had come from human worlds, but for a Manhattan-born son of an Irish widow, it was outstanding. Built on a rocky island that had been originally designated simply as 'Base Two', Shaih Haloh was the living hope of the Nutkin race. Rather than fight the rocky topography of the island, the Nutkins had instead carved terraces out of the basaltic slopes and erected homes and buildings from reprocessed rubble. With their advanced hydroponics and centuries of experience cultivating plant life, they had re-seeded the island with a blend of the ecologies of their homeworld and that of Armstrong. Purplish, leafy trees (which were a type of fungus) lined roadways while the fibrous mats shalia spread out everywhere, carpeting the landscape in a riot of red color.
Overhead a flock of Armstrong's seabirds circled, seemingly keeping watch over the city. Nobody was quite sure how smart the creatures were, but they seemed to be more aware than they let on. Some biologists were even speculating that the birds here were on their way to becoming the dominant native intelligent life form. Of course, the planet’s whole evolution had been left hopelessly askew by the sleepytrees and then the human/Nutkin invasion. Still, the birds were impressive, they subsisted primarily on fish, but would occasionally swoop down and avail themselves of an unattended lunch if the opportunity presented itself. That had taken the Nutkins by surprise, at first. After generations in a controlled environment, they weren't used to the unpredictability of a living, breathing world. And yet they thrived here, building a new home for themselves. Henry and Naamah could practically smell the happiness as they walked down the street, stopping to look at the shops.
The Nutkins had very different ideas about commerce, both due to their evolutionary origins and their existence on the ship. Wealth wasn't really important when you lived on a city-ship with population controls and fixed resources. But now, with a new world and new opportunities to explore, they were beginning to learn that capitalism was one of humanity's greatest tools.
"I'm still not getting it, Nammy." Henry stroked his beard as he looked around. "The way I heard it, five years they didn't even have money as we use the term. How can they have a market street all of a sudden?"
"They had money, of course, they had to have a medium of exchange, but it was different from the way our currency works. Getting the two to interface was the tricky part, it’s true." Naamah nodded, peering into a shop window at some crude Nutkin woodcrafts. They were rediscovering craftsmanship with the help of humans, but some things still took time. "It was a big hang-up at first. We were fine to keep bartering in good faith at first, exchanging goods and help on a case-by-case basis, but anyone could see that it wasn't going to last.
It was Robin's idea. He and Kai, who just celebrated their five-hundredth, by the way, took the problem head-on." Henry raised an eyebrow. He had forgotten that those two had been married for so long, it was completely unheard of for a relationship to last that long among demons, but once upon a time the thought of Locksley getting married had been unheard of as well. "He always knew that a good chunk of economics comes out of the say-so of whoever is guaranteeing the assets. So, they convinced the government to manufacture a sort-of 'Reward Prize' for saving the people of Armstrong, a very generous compensation of about four hundred million dollars. I know it sounds like a lot, but the company couched it in official language to spell out exactly what sort of stress they put on their ship to come around and save our people. At any rate, that prize formed the basis of a monetary reserve for them, even though it’s maintained at a bank somewhere on Tau Ceti, which is the closest large colony to handle it. After that, strict prices were set for the engineering services and technical expertise the Nutkins would be making available to us while we're here, and at the same time they purchase equipment and resources from us at a fair price."
"Sounds like a damn sight better deal than most new races got when they met up with Europeans or Americans." Henry chuckled ruefully as he inspected an interesting tapestry made of woven shalia, considering it as a gift for Kai and Robin.
"I think Kai made sure of it that way, Henry. It would be easy for us to dictate terms to the Nutkins, but that just isn't how we do things with a friend. Plus, we're getting Nutkins coming independently to consult on other worlds, and they're getting paid directly by whichever business contracts them, which means even more money into their economy."
"I believe it." Henry authorized the transaction with a thumbprint as the Nutkin shopkeeper wrapped up the tapestry. "The first few Nutkins to visit earth got mobbed. They were downright spooked and thought us vicious primates were attacking them. They didn't realize people just wanted a picture or an autograph. Heck, there's even a going rate for strands of real Nutkin HAIR if you can believe that."
"Oh, I believe it." Naamah spied a shop down the street. "Come on, you're going to love this shop." She dragged Henry down the street and through a pair of swinging doors into what looked like a general store. He looked around a moment, wide-eyed, as boyhood memories tugged at him. The store was an odd mix of modern and old west, completely out of place here on Armstrong but still, somehow it felt right that a shop like this should be here. There was even a lunch counter, with humans and Nutkins sitting on two different kinds of stools. The sign behind the counter read 'Vaisie's Goods. If we don't have it, you don't need it.'
They sat down at the counter, and a friendly human attendant in an old-fashioned soda-jerk uniform smiled at them. "Well, we don't often have such famous customers, but I believe you'll like our service. Now, what can I get you, folks?"
"We'd like two Squirrel Specials, please," Naamah ordered without hesitation, and the man nodded and went to work.
"What in God's name is a 'Squirrel Special', Nammy? You served me roadkill?" Henry eyed her skeptically.
"Nothing like that, Henry, it's the Nutkins." She nodded toward the nonhuman patrons who were busily devouring the food in front of them. "They're MAD for dairy products. They don't have anything like it in their ecology, and milk has the same sort of effect on them that chocolate does for humans. The only problem is that almost all of them can't properly digest lactose. Gives them terrible indigestion. But, one of the First Settlers, Trish Vaisie, is the daughter of an orangeberry magnate on Tau Ceti. She was sharing a shipment with some of the Nutkins at a party, and they discovered that there's an enzyme in the berries that breaks down lactose pretty well. What's more, it’s even stronger in the kind that makes humans sick. For the last three years, the Vaisie family has been making money hand over fist importing the things, they've even set up a dairy farm somewhere in Jersey."
"Here you are," the attendant set down two dishes of vanilla ice cream piled high with orangeberries. "Two Squirrel Specials, human style. Enjoy." Henry raised his eyes at the bowl, but it didn't appear to mean him any harm. He slowly tasted it and smiled. He could see that the Vaisie family would be very wealthy shortly.
As they stood and turned to leave, a young Nutkin scampered up to Namaah and chattered excitedly, then handed her an odd, greenish-brown flower before running back to her mother. "What did she say?" Henry was concerned, as Namaah's eyes glistened with tears. "Did she call you out?"
"No," Naamah said, smiling. "She said she wished she had eyes the color of a Sun-Smile blossom, like mine." She showed Henry the flower. "It's the plant they associate with hope." Henry pulled her in and hugged her, as they walked out of the shop, marveling at how it had taken an alien city at the other end of the universe to make a good woman feel beautiful.
Last edited by Calder on Fri Mar 24, 2023 10:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: 2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
Chapter 3
HyPerSat-20, Armstrong-Moon L2 Point
Cyrus kept grinning as he thought about the name. 'HyPerSat' conjured up images of some sort of leviathanesque battle moon prepared to rain death on an unsuspecting world, but it was the functional designation for Hybrid Personnel Satellite Two, the second orbital habitat built cooperatively by humans and Nutkins, and the first which would be put to productive use. HyPerSat-20 was cutting edge, but on the flight up from the surface, Cyrus had seen the faint influences of the old MOWS series of the early days of space colonization. Humans had been living (and thriving) in everything from zero- to 1.2-gee for centuries, but the Nutkins had less of a tolerance for weightlessness. Ordinarily something as small as the HyPerSats would simply have magnetics for walking, but the Nutkins had shown humans a thing or two about energy-conservative rotational mechanics, and with the modules, they were able to fabricate, the 100-yard-wide HyPerSats enjoyed a comfortable quarter-gee.
Thirty modules, both human and Nutkin-made, spun around a large central core which contained a modest docking facility and escape pod on its 'lower' half, and a startling array of sophisticated scientific equipment on its 'top', including the new particle telescope that would be his charge. He could just barely make out the antenna tower when the transport ducked below HyPerSat 2's ring and coasted into the docking bay. They slowly came to a stop as magnetic clamps extended to meet the outer hull with a dull clang and a low rumble as the elevator brought the ship into the bay proper.
The doors opened, and the other passengers stood and began to file towards the exit. Cyrus gathered his gear; he was the only 'new arrival' on the HyPerSat and stepped down into one of his childhood dreams. He had been too busy at MacDonald to go sightseeing, but now he watched two different races milling around, working side-by-side. HyPerSat-2 had a population of almost two hundred, an even mix of Nutkins and humans, and they were both working to unload cargo, attach fuel lines, and a thousand other tasks that spaceflight made necessary. As he arrived at the end of the ramp, yet another dream was standing before him.
A thin, dark-skinned man in a tan jumpsuit stood flanked by a tall Nutkin with brown fur tinged with red and silver. The Nutkin wore a similarly colored bodysuit, which covered the torso and waist, leaving the legs and arms exposed. Nutkins wore as little clothing as possible because their bodies were insulated with a substantial layer of fur and fat and adding clothing above that caused them to overheat in short order. They only wore protective clothing over their extremities when conducting messy or hazardous work.
"Mister Bazran, it is an honor to meet you." Cyrus shook the man's hand. "I've read your work, Sir, and I was thrilled to find out you were heading up this part of the project."
"Thank you, Captain, you honor me. But please, here we are all colleagues in science. Call me Bard." He gestured to the Nutkin "This is Senior Specialist Shavlahvoam, your counterpart from the Mothership." Shavlahvoam extended his right hand, in the practiced human greeting.
Cyrus took his hand and cleared his throat. "Asshavath hoh ushhah lishal olushioh ovah lehaath" He winced slightly, hoping he had gotten the translation right. The Nutkin's eyes widened as he spoke through his translator.
"It is I who am most privileged to meet a respected new friend." He made the Nutkin approximation of a smile. "I am very impressed with your command of our language, Captain Solomon. Most humans take some time getting used to the soft vowels."
"Thank you, Senior Specialist. I had time on the trip to study the language discs, this has been a dream of mine my whole life."
"And mine as well." Bard patted Cyrus on the shoulder. "Shavlahvoam will escort you to your quarters, and answer any questions you have. We run alternating eight-hour shifts, but your first reporting isn't for another fifteen hours, so try to get your bearings and have a look around after you get settled." With a slight bow, he walked quickly out of the docking bay, the magnetic soles on his shoes clicking into the din of traffic.
"Please follow me, Captain Solomon." The Nutkin handily picked up Cyrus' bulging duffel and started towards one of the paternosters that were a hallmark of Nutkin buildings. As a semi-arboreal prey species, they had innate anxiety about enclosed spaces, the few times that Nutkin ambassadors and functionaries had had to enter human elevators had ended badly. So, for them, it was either broad steps or paternosters. It was, Cyrus mused, a sign of respect that Shavlahvoam was even leading him because Nutkins did not turn their back on a companion without absolute trust.
"How long has the HyPerSat been online?" He asked as they stepped from the lift and into a broad corridor that bisected the module they were in. He sidestepped an automated maintenance trolly topped with flashing orange and lavender lights, no doubt bringing critical equipment where it was needed.
"Approximately two hundred local days," Shavlahvoam spoke through his translator. "Individual modules had been online before completing an additional eighty days, but the initialization of the core and reactors completed the project. You baldies can be rapidly industrious when you want to." The translator beeped, but he tapped it to signify the correct word, since 'rapidly industrious' was close enough.
"If you prefer, Senior Specialist, you can turn off your translator. I have been practicing rather studiously to understand your language."
"You honor me with my title, Captain Solomon, but it is not necessary to address me as such out of the workplace. Many of my human friends have taken to calling me 'Shav', as a wound name. I do not understand the term myself."
"I think you mean nick-name, Shav." Cyrus tried not to laugh. "It's a corruption of an old language on earth, and it means 'additional name' or 'more specific name'. Back then we didn't have so many names, so you might have your name and be called your father’s son, or by your trade."
"Your species was trusting even back that far, eh?" The Nutkin's eyes twinkled as he made his joke. Female nutkins were generally polyamorous within a clan, and it was the practice that she would 'give' her offspring to the most fit of her mates to train and mentor, thus ensuring the preservation of the best skills. "Regardless, it is against procedure to speak without translators unless one has been officially rated as fluent. It was found that often our two races would get overconfident and suddenly find themselves in a crucial situation without a handy translator. Especially when dealing with the languages of science, those errors must be avoided." Cyrus nodded, it made good sense.
They navigated through the bewildering grid of corridors to a habitat section designed for humans. Here, off the main thoroughfares, the lights and temperature were set for human preferences. "Well, Captain, here you are; Staff Quarters AA23." Shavlahvoam pressed a keypad and entered a code. "I'm setting it to master reset, so whatever access number you enter will be the code from now on. Nobody will have access without clearance from either you or the command level." He set down Cyrus' bag and extended a furry hand. "I'll let you get settled now, but after the next duty cycle, many of us from the imaging project is getting together for a bit of gaming. It’s nothing serious, we play for commissary scrip and shift minutes. It would be a good way to get to know your co-workers."
"Sounds great." Cyrus shook the Nutkins' hand. "Just tell me where and what game."
"We'll be meeting in Recreation Lounge 16, five modules up-spin from here."
"Up-spin?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, my people used the term to clarify directions on the mothership. Up-spin is walking against the spin of the ship, and down-spin is the opposite. I believe if you were to look down on the HyPerSat from above, you'd call it 'clockwise', which is an equally odd term for my people to understand." Shavlavoam winked. "Regardless, it should be fun. We will be playing a variation of poker, called ' Texas hold them. I enjoy it very much."
"Alright, Shav. I'll be there." Cyrus keyed in a new passcode, and the lock beeped and clicked. He pushed open the door and dragged his duffel inside. The quarters were top-notch compared to some of the postings he'd had. There was a small living room, a kitchenette with a table that folded down, a snug bedroom, and the standard shower/sink/toilet that had been a hallmark of spaceborne civilization for centuries.
"Home sweet home." He sighed and started to unpack. His uniforms went into the closet, his other clothes into the bureau, and two pairs of boots set neatly in the closet. Carefully, Cyrus pulled a smallish box out of the bag and opened it. Inside was an academic disc set and a reader, the kind you would find at any library. Nobody from his community had ever gone out to live in the larger world as he had, especially not in the military. Early on in his academic career, Cyrus had realized that he would have to structure his life carefully, to make things that might seem unusual about him more plausible. To that end, he had developed a 'hobby' of studying world religions and spirituality, allegedly because he was fascinated with stories of ghosts, monsters, and demons. In reality, that hobby and a minor in religious studies meant that he was able to carry around a complete set of discs on world religions, including thirty different holy texts, without raising any suspicion. He took the stack of discs out of the box and set them on the upper shelf of his closet, the highest in his quarters.
Next, he took out an ornately woven blanket, given to him by the women of the community. It was an elaborate design of flowers and stars around a central sun, and anyone who saw it would think it was a beautiful comforter for his bed. He laid it carefully on the floor, smoothing the fabric evenly. A quick shower to clean himself off after the ordeal of unpacking, and he knelt, reverently. As near as Cyrus could figure, the axis of the Elpis star system pointed in the general direction of the Virgo supercluster. So, that meant at least the direction in which he needed to pray would be constant.
He faced the wall and began to silently pray, not daring to make a sound that could be overheard. Here, so far away from home and from people who he could trust with the truth, Cyrus continued to trust and put his faith in Allah.
Recreation Lounge 16, HyPerSat-20
It wasn't hard to find, once Cyrus got near enough he was able to follow the laughter. Inside the multi-purpose room were three tables filled with card players, and several people standing around the perimeter, eating, talking, and generally having a good time. Shavlavoam spotted him and waved him over. "Cyrus, it is good to see you. How was settling in?"
"Refreshing, Shav." He picked up a glass of fruit punch and walked over to the table. "The whole habitat is truly amazing. I'm going to have to walk the ring sometime soon to appreciate it."
"I've taken that walk a few times myself." The nutkin patted him on the back. "You'll meet everyone else soon enough, but I would like to introduce you around the table. This is Junior Technician Avalashah, Lieutenant Alice Marquez, Lieutenant Bryan Hayes, Senior Technician Ohvoshathalah, and Doctor Howard Ellis." Cyrus nodded and shook hands as Shav went around the table.
"I'm pleased to meet you all." He sat down and set a small bag on the table with a thud. "Now, I'm afraid I haven't gotten my commissary account set up yet, but I did bring something that I'm sure one of you fine learned people would love to stake me for." With a slight flourish, he pulled out a small, fuzzy-looking rock.
The table was quiet as the eyes of the three Nutkins gleamed. "Is that" Junior Technician Avalashah was in shock.
"Yes indeed. One coconut, fresh from Florida. I thought it might come in handy, but I could only bring one. Any takers?" Cyrus smiled as Nutkins from other tables began to drift over and see what the fuss was about. Their native diet was more nutrient-based, with fewer sugars, and so anything as hard and delicious as a coconut was a true delicacy for them. Soon a bidding war had erupted, and in less than five minutes the coconut had gone to Senior Tech Ohvoshathalah for almost ninety points, which would almost have bought a full mess dress uniform at MacDonald's quartermaster outfit.
With a stack of chips in front of him, the game began in earnest. Cyrus hadn't played much since college, but he'd been good then. His father hadn't approved, but the good book only prohibited gambling for gains, and this was just for fun. After folding the first few hands and getting a read on the table, he flopped back-to-back straights and turned his ninety points into almost three hundred. "You have Vashavliah's favor this evening, Captain." Shav shook his head in amazement as Cyrus stacked his chips.
"I have who's favor?" Cyrus looked up from his winnings.
"Vashavliah, the Matriarch of good fortune." The other Nutkins at the table nodded. "When chance is against you for success in a difficult circumstance, Vashavliah can offer some assistance to those she deems merit it."
"So she's a goddess?" He hadn't heard much about Nutkin’s beliefs and was very interested.
"We do not agree with your term, Captain." Junior Technician Avalashah chimed in. "Your word 'God' implies, to us, a more passive, less personal involvement, whereas the Matriarchs are an active part of our lives, and offer assistance where it is most needed, to the clans which serve them."
"How many Matriarchs are there?"
"There are almost eight fists of High Matriarchs, like Vashavliah, who govern the greater parts of the universe, but each family and clan has their own, and there are many lesser Matriarchs as well." The Junior Tech smiled at Cyrus. "I would be happy to discuss them in greater detail with you another time, Captain."
Cyrus quickly took a drink from his cup. "Thank you, perhaps another time." He looked around the table. "Whose deal is it?" The playing continued for another hour, with players going out by ones and twos. Finally, it was down to Cyrus and another Nutkin, a gregarious Junior Technician named Maslavhushoh. Bard had made an appearance and was now officiating as a dealer over the final table while the crowd watched. Another shuffle and deal and Cyrus was holding a pair of sailboats, the best hand in the game. He checked, slow-playing the Nutkin, who raised.
"Call."
The flop came, Ace-Five-King. He couldn't believe it. Again, Cyrus slow-played, and again Maslavhushoh raised the pot. Another call. The turn came another five. Cyrus' hand was practically unbeatable. He checked to the Nutkin, who studied his hand carefully, calculating the odds. "I think you are playing dead, Captain." He cocked his head and tried to stare Cyrus down.
"I could be, Junior Technician." A practiced poker face gave away nothing. The Nutkin's ear twitched, a sign of anxiety. He pushed his stack of chips toward the center. "I'm all in."
Cyrus didn't hesitate. "Call." He flipped his cards over and the crowd began to cheer. Maslavhushoh slumped in his seat and turned over his hand, a pair of kings. Bard spread the cards out. "Captain Solomon has two aces, making a full house Aces over Fives. Junior Technician Maslavhushoh has two kings, making Kings over fives." He slowly turned over the last card and laid it on the table, and it was Cyrus' turn to slump. A king! Again the crowd cheered. "The pot goes to the Junior Technician, with four kings." There was a good deal of applause as people congratulated Maslavhushoh, and Cyrus as well.
He walked over to the Nutkin and shook his hand. "Good hand, I almost had you there. If Vashavliah had to smile on one of us, it figures it would be you."
The Nutkin looked at him quizzically. "You don't begrudge me the win? Some would be upset to have victory taken from them by fate."
"No, it’s like the Good Book says; Don't wish for your neighbor what you don't want for yourself." He patted the Nutkin on the arm and headed for the door. He would be starting his new rotation soon and had a lot of documents to review before then. As he left, Bard watched him go. He appeared to be trying to remember something half-heard somewhere, long ago. But, memories like that could be hard to hold onto. It would come when it came.
HyPerSat-20, Armstrong-Moon L2 Point
The room was filled with an expectant silence as fourteen pairs of eyes stared at the screen. They didn't dare talk, they scarcely breathed. All was still except for a trio of astronomers working furiously at the readouts; human, demon, and Nutkin. "How's the telemetry look, Shav?"
"All inputs are synchronized, Cyrus. The pulses are coming regularly, as predicted, but I'm getting a strange echo off of the resonance imager. Can you take a look at it, Director?"
"Certainly." Bard began opening different streaming data channels on his readout, his brows furrowing. "It’s not an echo, the pulses are off. And look at the field strength, that's almost eighteen and a half gigateslas."
"Jesus Christ!" Came a muttered cry from one of the observing technicians. "That'd suck the core right out of the earth!"
"If the gravity didn't get it first." A nearby Nutkin quipped.
"Okay, I think I've got it!" Cyrus beamed and stood while still typing at the keyboard. "That cleanup you did made the difference, Bard. Alright." Cyrus looked around at the men and women in the room. "Our data says we have a system that consists of binary magnetars with an orbital period of less than a day, and they're blinking like they're gonna cry. Now, if that's the case," he paused, savoring the moment "We just might get to split a Nobel prize. Before anyone packs for Stockholm, though, I want everyone here to try everything they can to disprove the data." He knuckled his eyes, it had been almost nineteen hours since a tech on his shift had noted the gamma flashes which seemed to be coming from a source only eleven thousand light-years away. It was the most excitement they'd had since getting the array online three months ago, and the first discovery of many, he was sure.
"In the meanwhile, I'm going to eat something, shower, and then pass out." He stretched, and his back popped. Necks still developed cricks, even in low-g environments. "I'll be back next shift." He and his techs slowly walked to the door, accepting congratulations and handshakes, even as new people scrambled to take over the data terminals and begin poring over the information.
"Mind if I head to the commissary with you?" Bard fell into step beside him.
"Sure thing." They made their way through the largely empty corridors, it was after the second shift now, which was the closest to 'night' that the installation got. "Some night, eh?"
"Indeed, I don't believe I've had this much fun since Shoemaker-Levy-Nine. I showed the photos of the smoke clouds to Parmenio, and told him it was the Big One's bigger brother." They laughed as they entered the still-active commissary.
Like all the other public facilities on the HyPerSat, it was designed for both species, with adjustable chairs and tables. Along one wall was a sweeping gods'-eye view of Armstrong, not windows, of course, but a vidscreen. Windows on space habitats tended to give Nutkins anxiety attacks, and a true view would have the image spinning a few times a minute, which was hardly conducive to proper digestion of meals.
Food in hand, they took a table with a good view of the screen and sat to eat in silence like two battle-weary soldiers. After a few minutes, Cyrus looked up from his steak and eggs and saw Bard staring at Armstrong. "It kinda looks like home, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry?" Bard snapped out of his reverie.
"Armstrong. I've seen a lot of planets, but there's something about it that just looks a bit like home."
"Perhaps." The older man took another bite of steak and onion. "I haven't considered Earth to be my 'home' since the Last War." He looked at Cyrus. "After you see the place of your birth burned a second time, knowing some of your best friends and companions die" The words trailed off.
"I thought the Washington Circle was mostly saved at the start of the second Dark Age." Cyrus leaned in, inquiringly. "That was what the transports and L-Stations and the moon settlements were all about, right? I wrote a paper about Operation Lifeboat for my prespace history class."
"Yes, they were. But other, smaller groups of us couldn’t be saved. The Pact of the Rose died when a British bomber took out hit Timbuktu and got the last of them."
"The who?"
"The Pact of the Rose." Bard showed Cyrus the ring on his right hand, twisting it to show a small flower engraved on the inner band. "Originally there were ten of us, we spent almost a thousand years trying to protect the knowledge of three continents. We were trying to save our cultures, and in the end, it was our culture that destroyed us." He shook his head and inhaled deeply. "But that is a story for another time, young man. I must rest, and so must you." He stood and started to carry his tray away. "Before I forget, Doctor Meshravalah has requested that any person who is due for a physical in less than three months consider moving theirs up so his people can familiarize themselves with our physiology."
"Why not? I'll stop by tomorrow. Just tell them they aren't nuts." Cyrus quipped, and had the pleasure of seeing Bard tiredly roll his eyes and try not to smile.
Infirmary 1A, HyPerSat-20
"Please look behind me and not into the light." A Nutkin doctor flashed a light across his eyes, gauging pupil response. He shook his head in amazement "Binocular vision, simply amazing." Cyrus was almost a half-hour into the most intensive physical he'd had since he joined SAC, and he wasn't even sure they were half-done. It wasn't that surprising. He and the eight other men there were, for all intents and purposes, alien specimens that were being studied. No amount of education could have prepared the Nutkins for the intricacies of the human form, and the more they observed the more they discovered just HOW different they were. At the same time, in three other infirmaries similar, examinations were being made of other groups of Nutkins and humans, both male and female.
So far, the most memorable part of the experience had been when a Nutkin dentist/orthodontist had accidentally removed a maintenance engineer's tooth. The cursing had been quite prolific. Cyrus winced at the thought, and then his heart sank as another Nutkin doctor with his claws covered in padding stepped up to him. "Please bend over and relax." He said through his translator.
Cyrus exchanged expressions of dread with the other airmen, but in a few seconds, all the Nutkin doctors began to laugh. "Please, Captain Solomon, relax. Doctor Harrison told us to do that, as a sort of joke. We all planned something for each group, just ask the human females what was 'almost' done to them when you see them. No, I am just going to check you for a hernia. Now, please sneeze."
The men were all laughing as well. "I think you meant 'cough', Doc." The rest of the checkup went without incident or injury.
When Cyrus got to the last doctor, he was again surprised. "Allergy testing isn't usually a part of a SAC physical."
The Nutkin doctor nodded her head. "You are correct, but my species doesn't have allergies or allergic reactions as you do, and this is also something we wish to study. We have some testing kits from your medical service, and if you are willing I will test you for allergies to airborne pollens and plant life."
"Fine by me." Cyrus took his shirt off and lay on the table, trying to not think of the needles peppering his back.
Doctor Meshravalah was walking around the room, supervising the procedures. He was thinking of all the medical texts which would have to be written, comparative anatomy of sentient beings was a new field. He walked up behind the doctor performing the testing on Captain Solomon and picked up his chart. Flipping through, a notation caught his eye. He looked at the testing kit on the table, and his eyes went wide. "STOP!"
The other doctor whirled around, and Cyrus pushed up off the table. Doctor Meshravalah rushed in and studied his face. "Get me epinephrine, now!" He barked to an assistant. "Captain Solomon, please lay on your back."
"What is going on?" Cyrus and the other doctor asked at almost the same time.
Meshravalah picked up the kit and waved it at the doctor. "THIS," he shook it. "Is marked for FOOD allergies. Captain Solomon has a severe allergy to mollusks and crustaceans." He looked at Cyrus. "I fear you are about to go into anaphylaxis." The assistant came running back with a syringe.
"Doctor, I'm fine!" Cyrus mentally cursed, he couldn't fake an allergic reaction, and he might not survive an epinephrine overdose. "Look!" He gestured to his neck. "I can breathe and everything."
The Doctor cocked his head, his ears twitching in confusion. "You are correct, Captain. When was your last allergic reaction?"
"Not since I was a kid, more than twenty years ago."
"Interesting." He made a notation on the chart. "Either your allergy was misdiagnosed, or you matured out of it. As I understand it, that can sometimes happen, but you should consult Doctor Harrison."
"Thanks, Doc, I will." Cyrus put his shirt on. "In the meantime, I should get back to the array." He gathered his things and left. Doctor Meshravalah watched him leave, puzzled. Most beings would be glad to discover they did not have a possibly fatal condition, but the Captain seemed upset by it. Ah well, it was probably just the excitement of the ordeal, humans were very hard to read.
HyPerSat-20, Armstrong-Moon L2 Point
Cyrus kept grinning as he thought about the name. 'HyPerSat' conjured up images of some sort of leviathanesque battle moon prepared to rain death on an unsuspecting world, but it was the functional designation for Hybrid Personnel Satellite Two, the second orbital habitat built cooperatively by humans and Nutkins, and the first which would be put to productive use. HyPerSat-20 was cutting edge, but on the flight up from the surface, Cyrus had seen the faint influences of the old MOWS series of the early days of space colonization. Humans had been living (and thriving) in everything from zero- to 1.2-gee for centuries, but the Nutkins had less of a tolerance for weightlessness. Ordinarily something as small as the HyPerSats would simply have magnetics for walking, but the Nutkins had shown humans a thing or two about energy-conservative rotational mechanics, and with the modules, they were able to fabricate, the 100-yard-wide HyPerSats enjoyed a comfortable quarter-gee.
Thirty modules, both human and Nutkin-made, spun around a large central core which contained a modest docking facility and escape pod on its 'lower' half, and a startling array of sophisticated scientific equipment on its 'top', including the new particle telescope that would be his charge. He could just barely make out the antenna tower when the transport ducked below HyPerSat 2's ring and coasted into the docking bay. They slowly came to a stop as magnetic clamps extended to meet the outer hull with a dull clang and a low rumble as the elevator brought the ship into the bay proper.
The doors opened, and the other passengers stood and began to file towards the exit. Cyrus gathered his gear; he was the only 'new arrival' on the HyPerSat and stepped down into one of his childhood dreams. He had been too busy at MacDonald to go sightseeing, but now he watched two different races milling around, working side-by-side. HyPerSat-2 had a population of almost two hundred, an even mix of Nutkins and humans, and they were both working to unload cargo, attach fuel lines, and a thousand other tasks that spaceflight made necessary. As he arrived at the end of the ramp, yet another dream was standing before him.
A thin, dark-skinned man in a tan jumpsuit stood flanked by a tall Nutkin with brown fur tinged with red and silver. The Nutkin wore a similarly colored bodysuit, which covered the torso and waist, leaving the legs and arms exposed. Nutkins wore as little clothing as possible because their bodies were insulated with a substantial layer of fur and fat and adding clothing above that caused them to overheat in short order. They only wore protective clothing over their extremities when conducting messy or hazardous work.
"Mister Bazran, it is an honor to meet you." Cyrus shook the man's hand. "I've read your work, Sir, and I was thrilled to find out you were heading up this part of the project."
"Thank you, Captain, you honor me. But please, here we are all colleagues in science. Call me Bard." He gestured to the Nutkin "This is Senior Specialist Shavlahvoam, your counterpart from the Mothership." Shavlahvoam extended his right hand, in the practiced human greeting.
Cyrus took his hand and cleared his throat. "Asshavath hoh ushhah lishal olushioh ovah lehaath" He winced slightly, hoping he had gotten the translation right. The Nutkin's eyes widened as he spoke through his translator.
"It is I who am most privileged to meet a respected new friend." He made the Nutkin approximation of a smile. "I am very impressed with your command of our language, Captain Solomon. Most humans take some time getting used to the soft vowels."
"Thank you, Senior Specialist. I had time on the trip to study the language discs, this has been a dream of mine my whole life."
"And mine as well." Bard patted Cyrus on the shoulder. "Shavlahvoam will escort you to your quarters, and answer any questions you have. We run alternating eight-hour shifts, but your first reporting isn't for another fifteen hours, so try to get your bearings and have a look around after you get settled." With a slight bow, he walked quickly out of the docking bay, the magnetic soles on his shoes clicking into the din of traffic.
"Please follow me, Captain Solomon." The Nutkin handily picked up Cyrus' bulging duffel and started towards one of the paternosters that were a hallmark of Nutkin buildings. As a semi-arboreal prey species, they had innate anxiety about enclosed spaces, the few times that Nutkin ambassadors and functionaries had had to enter human elevators had ended badly. So, for them, it was either broad steps or paternosters. It was, Cyrus mused, a sign of respect that Shavlahvoam was even leading him because Nutkins did not turn their back on a companion without absolute trust.
"How long has the HyPerSat been online?" He asked as they stepped from the lift and into a broad corridor that bisected the module they were in. He sidestepped an automated maintenance trolly topped with flashing orange and lavender lights, no doubt bringing critical equipment where it was needed.
"Approximately two hundred local days," Shavlahvoam spoke through his translator. "Individual modules had been online before completing an additional eighty days, but the initialization of the core and reactors completed the project. You baldies can be rapidly industrious when you want to." The translator beeped, but he tapped it to signify the correct word, since 'rapidly industrious' was close enough.
"If you prefer, Senior Specialist, you can turn off your translator. I have been practicing rather studiously to understand your language."
"You honor me with my title, Captain Solomon, but it is not necessary to address me as such out of the workplace. Many of my human friends have taken to calling me 'Shav', as a wound name. I do not understand the term myself."
"I think you mean nick-name, Shav." Cyrus tried not to laugh. "It's a corruption of an old language on earth, and it means 'additional name' or 'more specific name'. Back then we didn't have so many names, so you might have your name and be called your father’s son, or by your trade."
"Your species was trusting even back that far, eh?" The Nutkin's eyes twinkled as he made his joke. Female nutkins were generally polyamorous within a clan, and it was the practice that she would 'give' her offspring to the most fit of her mates to train and mentor, thus ensuring the preservation of the best skills. "Regardless, it is against procedure to speak without translators unless one has been officially rated as fluent. It was found that often our two races would get overconfident and suddenly find themselves in a crucial situation without a handy translator. Especially when dealing with the languages of science, those errors must be avoided." Cyrus nodded, it made good sense.
They navigated through the bewildering grid of corridors to a habitat section designed for humans. Here, off the main thoroughfares, the lights and temperature were set for human preferences. "Well, Captain, here you are; Staff Quarters AA23." Shavlahvoam pressed a keypad and entered a code. "I'm setting it to master reset, so whatever access number you enter will be the code from now on. Nobody will have access without clearance from either you or the command level." He set down Cyrus' bag and extended a furry hand. "I'll let you get settled now, but after the next duty cycle, many of us from the imaging project is getting together for a bit of gaming. It’s nothing serious, we play for commissary scrip and shift minutes. It would be a good way to get to know your co-workers."
"Sounds great." Cyrus shook the Nutkins' hand. "Just tell me where and what game."
"We'll be meeting in Recreation Lounge 16, five modules up-spin from here."
"Up-spin?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, my people used the term to clarify directions on the mothership. Up-spin is walking against the spin of the ship, and down-spin is the opposite. I believe if you were to look down on the HyPerSat from above, you'd call it 'clockwise', which is an equally odd term for my people to understand." Shavlavoam winked. "Regardless, it should be fun. We will be playing a variation of poker, called ' Texas hold them. I enjoy it very much."
"Alright, Shav. I'll be there." Cyrus keyed in a new passcode, and the lock beeped and clicked. He pushed open the door and dragged his duffel inside. The quarters were top-notch compared to some of the postings he'd had. There was a small living room, a kitchenette with a table that folded down, a snug bedroom, and the standard shower/sink/toilet that had been a hallmark of spaceborne civilization for centuries.
"Home sweet home." He sighed and started to unpack. His uniforms went into the closet, his other clothes into the bureau, and two pairs of boots set neatly in the closet. Carefully, Cyrus pulled a smallish box out of the bag and opened it. Inside was an academic disc set and a reader, the kind you would find at any library. Nobody from his community had ever gone out to live in the larger world as he had, especially not in the military. Early on in his academic career, Cyrus had realized that he would have to structure his life carefully, to make things that might seem unusual about him more plausible. To that end, he had developed a 'hobby' of studying world religions and spirituality, allegedly because he was fascinated with stories of ghosts, monsters, and demons. In reality, that hobby and a minor in religious studies meant that he was able to carry around a complete set of discs on world religions, including thirty different holy texts, without raising any suspicion. He took the stack of discs out of the box and set them on the upper shelf of his closet, the highest in his quarters.
Next, he took out an ornately woven blanket, given to him by the women of the community. It was an elaborate design of flowers and stars around a central sun, and anyone who saw it would think it was a beautiful comforter for his bed. He laid it carefully on the floor, smoothing the fabric evenly. A quick shower to clean himself off after the ordeal of unpacking, and he knelt, reverently. As near as Cyrus could figure, the axis of the Elpis star system pointed in the general direction of the Virgo supercluster. So, that meant at least the direction in which he needed to pray would be constant.
He faced the wall and began to silently pray, not daring to make a sound that could be overheard. Here, so far away from home and from people who he could trust with the truth, Cyrus continued to trust and put his faith in Allah.
Recreation Lounge 16, HyPerSat-20
It wasn't hard to find, once Cyrus got near enough he was able to follow the laughter. Inside the multi-purpose room were three tables filled with card players, and several people standing around the perimeter, eating, talking, and generally having a good time. Shavlavoam spotted him and waved him over. "Cyrus, it is good to see you. How was settling in?"
"Refreshing, Shav." He picked up a glass of fruit punch and walked over to the table. "The whole habitat is truly amazing. I'm going to have to walk the ring sometime soon to appreciate it."
"I've taken that walk a few times myself." The nutkin patted him on the back. "You'll meet everyone else soon enough, but I would like to introduce you around the table. This is Junior Technician Avalashah, Lieutenant Alice Marquez, Lieutenant Bryan Hayes, Senior Technician Ohvoshathalah, and Doctor Howard Ellis." Cyrus nodded and shook hands as Shav went around the table.
"I'm pleased to meet you all." He sat down and set a small bag on the table with a thud. "Now, I'm afraid I haven't gotten my commissary account set up yet, but I did bring something that I'm sure one of you fine learned people would love to stake me for." With a slight flourish, he pulled out a small, fuzzy-looking rock.
The table was quiet as the eyes of the three Nutkins gleamed. "Is that" Junior Technician Avalashah was in shock.
"Yes indeed. One coconut, fresh from Florida. I thought it might come in handy, but I could only bring one. Any takers?" Cyrus smiled as Nutkins from other tables began to drift over and see what the fuss was about. Their native diet was more nutrient-based, with fewer sugars, and so anything as hard and delicious as a coconut was a true delicacy for them. Soon a bidding war had erupted, and in less than five minutes the coconut had gone to Senior Tech Ohvoshathalah for almost ninety points, which would almost have bought a full mess dress uniform at MacDonald's quartermaster outfit.
With a stack of chips in front of him, the game began in earnest. Cyrus hadn't played much since college, but he'd been good then. His father hadn't approved, but the good book only prohibited gambling for gains, and this was just for fun. After folding the first few hands and getting a read on the table, he flopped back-to-back straights and turned his ninety points into almost three hundred. "You have Vashavliah's favor this evening, Captain." Shav shook his head in amazement as Cyrus stacked his chips.
"I have who's favor?" Cyrus looked up from his winnings.
"Vashavliah, the Matriarch of good fortune." The other Nutkins at the table nodded. "When chance is against you for success in a difficult circumstance, Vashavliah can offer some assistance to those she deems merit it."
"So she's a goddess?" He hadn't heard much about Nutkin’s beliefs and was very interested.
"We do not agree with your term, Captain." Junior Technician Avalashah chimed in. "Your word 'God' implies, to us, a more passive, less personal involvement, whereas the Matriarchs are an active part of our lives, and offer assistance where it is most needed, to the clans which serve them."
"How many Matriarchs are there?"
"There are almost eight fists of High Matriarchs, like Vashavliah, who govern the greater parts of the universe, but each family and clan has their own, and there are many lesser Matriarchs as well." The Junior Tech smiled at Cyrus. "I would be happy to discuss them in greater detail with you another time, Captain."
Cyrus quickly took a drink from his cup. "Thank you, perhaps another time." He looked around the table. "Whose deal is it?" The playing continued for another hour, with players going out by ones and twos. Finally, it was down to Cyrus and another Nutkin, a gregarious Junior Technician named Maslavhushoh. Bard had made an appearance and was now officiating as a dealer over the final table while the crowd watched. Another shuffle and deal and Cyrus was holding a pair of sailboats, the best hand in the game. He checked, slow-playing the Nutkin, who raised.
"Call."
The flop came, Ace-Five-King. He couldn't believe it. Again, Cyrus slow-played, and again Maslavhushoh raised the pot. Another call. The turn came another five. Cyrus' hand was practically unbeatable. He checked to the Nutkin, who studied his hand carefully, calculating the odds. "I think you are playing dead, Captain." He cocked his head and tried to stare Cyrus down.
"I could be, Junior Technician." A practiced poker face gave away nothing. The Nutkin's ear twitched, a sign of anxiety. He pushed his stack of chips toward the center. "I'm all in."
Cyrus didn't hesitate. "Call." He flipped his cards over and the crowd began to cheer. Maslavhushoh slumped in his seat and turned over his hand, a pair of kings. Bard spread the cards out. "Captain Solomon has two aces, making a full house Aces over Fives. Junior Technician Maslavhushoh has two kings, making Kings over fives." He slowly turned over the last card and laid it on the table, and it was Cyrus' turn to slump. A king! Again the crowd cheered. "The pot goes to the Junior Technician, with four kings." There was a good deal of applause as people congratulated Maslavhushoh, and Cyrus as well.
He walked over to the Nutkin and shook his hand. "Good hand, I almost had you there. If Vashavliah had to smile on one of us, it figures it would be you."
The Nutkin looked at him quizzically. "You don't begrudge me the win? Some would be upset to have victory taken from them by fate."
"No, it’s like the Good Book says; Don't wish for your neighbor what you don't want for yourself." He patted the Nutkin on the arm and headed for the door. He would be starting his new rotation soon and had a lot of documents to review before then. As he left, Bard watched him go. He appeared to be trying to remember something half-heard somewhere, long ago. But, memories like that could be hard to hold onto. It would come when it came.
HyPerSat-20, Armstrong-Moon L2 Point
The room was filled with an expectant silence as fourteen pairs of eyes stared at the screen. They didn't dare talk, they scarcely breathed. All was still except for a trio of astronomers working furiously at the readouts; human, demon, and Nutkin. "How's the telemetry look, Shav?"
"All inputs are synchronized, Cyrus. The pulses are coming regularly, as predicted, but I'm getting a strange echo off of the resonance imager. Can you take a look at it, Director?"
"Certainly." Bard began opening different streaming data channels on his readout, his brows furrowing. "It’s not an echo, the pulses are off. And look at the field strength, that's almost eighteen and a half gigateslas."
"Jesus Christ!" Came a muttered cry from one of the observing technicians. "That'd suck the core right out of the earth!"
"If the gravity didn't get it first." A nearby Nutkin quipped.
"Okay, I think I've got it!" Cyrus beamed and stood while still typing at the keyboard. "That cleanup you did made the difference, Bard. Alright." Cyrus looked around at the men and women in the room. "Our data says we have a system that consists of binary magnetars with an orbital period of less than a day, and they're blinking like they're gonna cry. Now, if that's the case," he paused, savoring the moment "We just might get to split a Nobel prize. Before anyone packs for Stockholm, though, I want everyone here to try everything they can to disprove the data." He knuckled his eyes, it had been almost nineteen hours since a tech on his shift had noted the gamma flashes which seemed to be coming from a source only eleven thousand light-years away. It was the most excitement they'd had since getting the array online three months ago, and the first discovery of many, he was sure.
"In the meanwhile, I'm going to eat something, shower, and then pass out." He stretched, and his back popped. Necks still developed cricks, even in low-g environments. "I'll be back next shift." He and his techs slowly walked to the door, accepting congratulations and handshakes, even as new people scrambled to take over the data terminals and begin poring over the information.
"Mind if I head to the commissary with you?" Bard fell into step beside him.
"Sure thing." They made their way through the largely empty corridors, it was after the second shift now, which was the closest to 'night' that the installation got. "Some night, eh?"
"Indeed, I don't believe I've had this much fun since Shoemaker-Levy-Nine. I showed the photos of the smoke clouds to Parmenio, and told him it was the Big One's bigger brother." They laughed as they entered the still-active commissary.
Like all the other public facilities on the HyPerSat, it was designed for both species, with adjustable chairs and tables. Along one wall was a sweeping gods'-eye view of Armstrong, not windows, of course, but a vidscreen. Windows on space habitats tended to give Nutkins anxiety attacks, and a true view would have the image spinning a few times a minute, which was hardly conducive to proper digestion of meals.
Food in hand, they took a table with a good view of the screen and sat to eat in silence like two battle-weary soldiers. After a few minutes, Cyrus looked up from his steak and eggs and saw Bard staring at Armstrong. "It kinda looks like home, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry?" Bard snapped out of his reverie.
"Armstrong. I've seen a lot of planets, but there's something about it that just looks a bit like home."
"Perhaps." The older man took another bite of steak and onion. "I haven't considered Earth to be my 'home' since the Last War." He looked at Cyrus. "After you see the place of your birth burned a second time, knowing some of your best friends and companions die" The words trailed off.
"I thought the Washington Circle was mostly saved at the start of the second Dark Age." Cyrus leaned in, inquiringly. "That was what the transports and L-Stations and the moon settlements were all about, right? I wrote a paper about Operation Lifeboat for my prespace history class."
"Yes, they were. But other, smaller groups of us couldn’t be saved. The Pact of the Rose died when a British bomber took out hit Timbuktu and got the last of them."
"The who?"
"The Pact of the Rose." Bard showed Cyrus the ring on his right hand, twisting it to show a small flower engraved on the inner band. "Originally there were ten of us, we spent almost a thousand years trying to protect the knowledge of three continents. We were trying to save our cultures, and in the end, it was our culture that destroyed us." He shook his head and inhaled deeply. "But that is a story for another time, young man. I must rest, and so must you." He stood and started to carry his tray away. "Before I forget, Doctor Meshravalah has requested that any person who is due for a physical in less than three months consider moving theirs up so his people can familiarize themselves with our physiology."
"Why not? I'll stop by tomorrow. Just tell them they aren't nuts." Cyrus quipped, and had the pleasure of seeing Bard tiredly roll his eyes and try not to smile.
Infirmary 1A, HyPerSat-20
"Please look behind me and not into the light." A Nutkin doctor flashed a light across his eyes, gauging pupil response. He shook his head in amazement "Binocular vision, simply amazing." Cyrus was almost a half-hour into the most intensive physical he'd had since he joined SAC, and he wasn't even sure they were half-done. It wasn't that surprising. He and the eight other men there were, for all intents and purposes, alien specimens that were being studied. No amount of education could have prepared the Nutkins for the intricacies of the human form, and the more they observed the more they discovered just HOW different they were. At the same time, in three other infirmaries similar, examinations were being made of other groups of Nutkins and humans, both male and female.
So far, the most memorable part of the experience had been when a Nutkin dentist/orthodontist had accidentally removed a maintenance engineer's tooth. The cursing had been quite prolific. Cyrus winced at the thought, and then his heart sank as another Nutkin doctor with his claws covered in padding stepped up to him. "Please bend over and relax." He said through his translator.
Cyrus exchanged expressions of dread with the other airmen, but in a few seconds, all the Nutkin doctors began to laugh. "Please, Captain Solomon, relax. Doctor Harrison told us to do that, as a sort of joke. We all planned something for each group, just ask the human females what was 'almost' done to them when you see them. No, I am just going to check you for a hernia. Now, please sneeze."
The men were all laughing as well. "I think you meant 'cough', Doc." The rest of the checkup went without incident or injury.
When Cyrus got to the last doctor, he was again surprised. "Allergy testing isn't usually a part of a SAC physical."
The Nutkin doctor nodded her head. "You are correct, but my species doesn't have allergies or allergic reactions as you do, and this is also something we wish to study. We have some testing kits from your medical service, and if you are willing I will test you for allergies to airborne pollens and plant life."
"Fine by me." Cyrus took his shirt off and lay on the table, trying to not think of the needles peppering his back.
Doctor Meshravalah was walking around the room, supervising the procedures. He was thinking of all the medical texts which would have to be written, comparative anatomy of sentient beings was a new field. He walked up behind the doctor performing the testing on Captain Solomon and picked up his chart. Flipping through, a notation caught his eye. He looked at the testing kit on the table, and his eyes went wide. "STOP!"
The other doctor whirled around, and Cyrus pushed up off the table. Doctor Meshravalah rushed in and studied his face. "Get me epinephrine, now!" He barked to an assistant. "Captain Solomon, please lay on your back."
"What is going on?" Cyrus and the other doctor asked at almost the same time.
Meshravalah picked up the kit and waved it at the doctor. "THIS," he shook it. "Is marked for FOOD allergies. Captain Solomon has a severe allergy to mollusks and crustaceans." He looked at Cyrus. "I fear you are about to go into anaphylaxis." The assistant came running back with a syringe.
"Doctor, I'm fine!" Cyrus mentally cursed, he couldn't fake an allergic reaction, and he might not survive an epinephrine overdose. "Look!" He gestured to his neck. "I can breathe and everything."
The Doctor cocked his head, his ears twitching in confusion. "You are correct, Captain. When was your last allergic reaction?"
"Not since I was a kid, more than twenty years ago."
"Interesting." He made a notation on the chart. "Either your allergy was misdiagnosed, or you matured out of it. As I understand it, that can sometimes happen, but you should consult Doctor Harrison."
"Thanks, Doc, I will." Cyrus put his shirt on. "In the meantime, I should get back to the array." He gathered his things and left. Doctor Meshravalah watched him leave, puzzled. Most beings would be glad to discover they did not have a possibly fatal condition, but the Captain seemed upset by it. Ah well, it was probably just the excitement of the ordeal, humans were very hard to read.
Last edited by Calder on Fri Mar 24, 2023 10:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Belushi TD
- Posts: 852
- Joined: Thu Nov 17, 2022 11:20 am
Re: 2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
I really liked the first part of this one. Its too bad it stopped here. It makes me sad to know that the two side characters from Interstellar Highway ended up dead just a few years later as a result of the GRB.
I seem to recall this was Chewbacca's work, correct? And from back in the heyday of TBO-verse. I think this one dates from 2008 or so.
I spoke with him several years ago via PM on another site, and he informed me that his muse had deserted him, and if I wanted to continue it, I was welcome to. I think he wanted to be acknowledged as the author of the first three chapters, but other than that, it was open for someone to pick up the baton and continue.
Belushi TD
I seem to recall this was Chewbacca's work, correct? And from back in the heyday of TBO-verse. I think this one dates from 2008 or so.
I spoke with him several years ago via PM on another site, and he informed me that his muse had deserted him, and if I wanted to continue it, I was welcome to. I think he wanted to be acknowledged as the author of the first three chapters, but other than that, it was open for someone to pick up the baton and continue.
Belushi TD
Re: 2550 - Unto The Tenth Generation
In many ways, this is one of my favorite stories. Particularly as I read it right after reading Crusade and Ride of the Valkyries. It was fun to read an interesting story with a Muslim as the protagonist. I really like the Nutkins as well so having a story as the two sides try to work together was interesting.
If you got permission to finish the story I saw go for it. I would love to see where this is going.
If you got permission to finish the story I saw go for it. I would love to see where this is going.