Chindi

Chapter 9

LETTER TO HANNAH M. MACAULAY,

JULY 31, 1833

MASS DETECTORS WEREN’T entirely reliable, and while they might warn a ship that it was about to materialize inside, say, a planet, there was no guarantee. The jump back to sublight always included a degree of breathlessness.

Consequently, superluminals were more likely, and indeed were required by law, to materialize in deep space. Earthbound ships made their jumps out beyond Mars’s orbit, and then spent the better part of several days coasting in.

Hutch could afford no such luxury if she were to arrive in the Condor’s vicinity in a timely manner. She drew a circle with a half-million-kilometer radius around the double planet and directed Bill to aim for the arc.

The odds against catastrophe were so heavily in her favor that she didn’t tell her passengers what she was doing. She used the neutron star to gain acceleration more quickly than she would otherwise have been able to do, and the Memphis therefore made the jump into hyperspace less than forty minutes after Preach’s call for help.

Throughout all this the Condor remained silent.

When she had sent off a message to Outpost, and assured herself no one was closer than the Memphis, she retired to her quarters. They were by then into the early-morning hours. She climbed out of her jumpsuit, got into bed, and killed the lights. But she lay awake staring into the dark, seeing Preach’s face.

Accidents were rare among the superluminals. There’d been a couple of instances of runaway engines and malfunctioning AI’s. That was thought to be the cause of the loss of the Venture, which had vanished into the sack, into hyperspace, at the dawn of the interstellar age. The Hanover had been wrecked when its warning systems had inexplicably failed to notice a rock in its path. There’d been a couple of others. But if one calculated the number of flights and distances traveled against mishaps, the possibility became vanishingly small.

Whatever the Condor’s problem, they had the lander available. It would be a bit crowded, but the lander would sustain them all for the couple of days she’d need to get to the scene.

They traveled through the night and into the morning. At 0600, the interior lights brightened, indicating the arrival of the new day. Everyone came down early for breakfast, each inquiring on entry if anything had been heard during the night. Had Hutch ever seen anything like this before?

She hadn’t. It was her experience that ships never vanished, and only lost their communications when the equipment broke down, or when they ran into a storm of radiation.

“The satellite was booby-trapped,” Nick suggested.

Apparently everyone had been thinking the same thing. The possibility had occurred to Hutch, of course, but she could see no sense in it. What would be the point?

“Sheer malevolence,” suggested George. “We tend to assume that anybody we meet out here is going to be reasonable. That might be a misguided notion.”

It had always been Hutch’s view that reason would be required to build a star-drive. No barbarians off-world. Savages need not apply. Maybe she was wrong.

Still, the evidence so far supported that view. The long-gone Monument-Makers had tried to shield at least two primitive cultures from the worst effects of the omega clouds. And a race of hawks had done what they could, a couple of thousand years ago, to assist the undeveloped civilization on Maleiva III from a cloud-induced ice age.

They’d finished eating and were sitting around, worried, frightened, beginning to wish they’d not embarked on the mission, when Bill announced that a message had come in from Outpost.

It was Jerry Hooper, who’d been with operations out there as far back as Hutch could remember. He was exceedingly serious, never smiled, looked as if he’d never had a good time. But he was competent. “Hutch,” he said, “we’ve also lost contact with the Condor. They missed their scheduled movement report. We’re putting together a rescue unit. Meantime we are forwarding their approximate last position to Bill. Academy has been informed. Please stay in contact and use caution until we determine what happened.”

“They didn’t hear anything either?” asked Alyx.

“Apparently nothing more than we did.”

“Wouldn’t the AI send out a distress call?”

“If it could,” said Hutch.

She tried to reassure them. Whatever the problem was, their friends were with the best captain in the business. They couldn’t be in better hands. In fact, they’d all heard of Brawley. Even Alyx, who said she’d been thinking about adapting several of his exploits for a show.

Hutch watched the corners of her eyes crinkle, and saw that she’d thought of something else that disturbed her. “If they were in the lander,” she asked, “wouldn’t they let us know?”

“The lander doesn’t have hypercomm capability. Landers don’t generate that kind of power.”

For the moment, at least, they all looked a bit relieved.

THEY STAYED TOGETHER in mission control, and the silence from the Condor became the elephant in the room that no one wanted to talk about. “Maybe they’re still there,” Herman said finally.

“Who’s still there?”

“Whoever built the moonbase. Whoever put up the satellites. Maybe they got jumped by the locals.”

“Do we have weapons?” asked Alyx. “Just in case.”

“No,” said Hutch.

“Nothing to fight with if we’re attacked?” asked Nick. He looked incredulous.

George cleared his throat. “Never occurred to me that we might need weapons. I don’t think anybody else ever put weapons onto a starship.” He looked at Hutch for vindication.

“There’s never been anybody to fight with out here,” she said.

Herman was sipping from a glass of wine. He finished it, put the glass down, looked at her. “Maybe until now,” he said.

No one was hungry, so they passed on dinner. At George’s request Hutch put the outside view on the main panel. It was a reluctant accession because the sack was filled with floating mist. The ships themselves seemed barely to move, and the murkiness was inevitably ominous, gloomy, sinister. But she complied, and they took to watching the haze part before them as though they were a sailing vessel doing ten knots. Their mood grew more fatalistic through the evening. By eleven, when most of the passengers usually started peeling off and heading for bed, they were convinced all hope had fled.

Only Nick maintained an upbeat mood. “They’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve read about this guy Brawley.”

Just before midnight Bill informed them the ship was approaching jump. Hutch told them to strap down and went up to the bridge. Tor came in behind her, but hesitated in the doorway. “I thought you’d like some company.” She smiled and waved him to the copilot’s seat.

Bill started a six-minute countdown.

“Crunch time,” she said.

Six green lights lined up on the console. Five passengers and the copilot were buckled in.

“What do you think?” he asked, quietly, as if she were finally free to speak her mind.

“If they got to the lander,” she said, “they’ll be okay.”

Pete’s voice came over the commlink, “Please, God…”

All gauges on the jump-status indicator went to a bright amber.

“Three minutes,” said Bill.

Hutch diverted additional power from the fusion plant. Systems lamps turned green. The power levels of the Hazeltines began to rise. The mass indicator showed zero.

“I’m not optimistic,” said Tor.

She got a red light. Something rolling around loose in mission control.

“It’s my notebook,” George said over the commlink.

“Can you secure it?”

“Doing it now.”

“One minute.”

They floated forward.

The red light went out. The console indicated all harnesses in place again.

Lamps dimmed.

The sublight navigational systems, which had been in a power-saving mode, came alive. The fusion plant went to ready status. External sensors came on-line. Shields powered up.

Someone in back said, “Good luck.”

And they slid smoothly out into the dark. Stars blinked on, and a shrunken sun showed up off to port. Beside her, Tor took a deep breath.

“You okay?” she asked.

“A little dizzy.”

“Happens all the time. Close your eyes and wait for things to settle.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t make any sudden moves.” She was already scanning the console for radio signals. If Preach and his people were in the lander, they’d be broadcasting.

“Hear anything?” asked Tor.

“No.” Her spirits sagged. “Not a peep.” The Hazeltines cut off. “Okay, folks,” she said. “You can get up. Things should be quiet for the moment.” She poured coffee for herself and got a cup for Tor. “Bill,” she said, “where are we?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Are you reading anything?”

“Negative. Sensors are clear.”

Not good. She stared at her coffee and put it down untasted.

Navigation inside a new system was always a speculative prospect coming out of a jump. At a sixteen-light-year range, variance between intended destination and actual arrival point could run as much as 2 A.U.s. Added to that was the difficulty of spotting planets, which were usually the only bodies, other than the sun, close enough to help in establishing one’s position. For the moment, they were lost.

“I’ve got one of the gas giants,” Bill said. “Matching it with data from Outpost.”

Hurry, Bill.

“Hutch, the range from the sun is about right. We’re close to Safe Harbor’s orbit.”

“Good!” Tor raised his fists.

“Don’t get too excited,” Hutch said. “It could be on the other side of the sun.”

“You don’t really think that?”

“It’s possible.”

Questions began coming in from her passengers. Had they sighted the Condor yet? Why wasn’t something happening?

“Let’s go back and talk to them,” she said.

They turned frightened eyes toward her when she came into mission control. “Do we really,” asked George gently, “not know where we are?”

“It takes a little while,” she said. “We’re doing our best.”

Herman frowned. “Can’t we tell where we are from the stars?”

“They’re too far away,” Hutch explained. “They look pretty much the same from all over the system.” They looked at her as if she’d lost them on a dark country road. “We don’t have a map of this system,” she said. “The planets are the road signs. But we need a little time to find them.”

Pete nodded. “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” he said. “We don’t even know where the planets are in relation to Safe Harbor. At least, I assume we don’t.” He looked at Hutch.

“That’s correct, Pete,” she said. “We’re trying to get our bearings now. Be patient.” She wanted to say Don’t worry, if they’re still alive, we’ll get to them. But she had a bleak sense it didn’t matter anymore.

It was after 3:00 a.m. when Bill announced that he’d nailed down their position. “Nine hours out,” he said. All sensors pointed at Safe Harbor, the Memphis swung onto a new course and began to accelerate.

THEY SPENT THE night in the common room, enduring periodic acceleration and deceleration as Bill burned fuel to make the quickest possible approach. At noon they arrived in the vicinity of Safe Harbor. They were weary, exhausted, deflated, discouraged. It was remotely possible the Condor team were adrift in the lander with an inoperative radio, but nobody believed it.

Hutch sent off her latest report to Outpost and retreated to the bridge to wait for the bad news.

The Memphis was approaching from the dark side of the planet and its oversized moon, so that the first thing they saw was sunlit crescents, and then shimmering atmospheres on both worlds. “Wide scan, Bill,” she said. She hadn’t lost sight of the possibility there might be a hostile force nearby. A threat of that nature was a completely new idea to her, one nobody had ever confronted in the forty-plus years since FTL had become a reality. It seemed absurd. But if there were something, her only defense would be flight, and she’d need almost an hour to accelerate to jump mode. “Watch for anything non-orbital.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Anything not moving in an orbit.”

“I understand what the words mean. But this is a planetary area. There’s always debris drifting in.”

“Dammit, Bill. If you see somebody coming after us, let me know.”

“I’m sorry, Hutch. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t. Just keep your eyes open. All of them.”

“Yes.”

She sensed, rather than saw, Bill materialize beside her. But he did not speak.

“I’m all right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Dumb. Apologizing to a stack of software.

“There is still a chance they are alive, Hutch.”

“I know.”

She watched the world and its moon grow until they filled the screens. “There are several artificial satellites. Not Stealths. Preliminary scan suggests they’re primitive.”

“That was Matt’s conclusion.” She had to pause between words to control her voice.

The scans were all turning up negative. No Condor. No attackers. No lander filled with survivors.

“I am sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”

“I know, Bill. Thanks.”

“Let it come,” he said.

She shook her head, tried to say she was all right. But the tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You’ll get through it.”

A human might have said, It’ll be okay.

She heard somebody at the door and got herself together as Tor came in. “Nothing yet?” he asked.

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head no.

“I’d’ve thought they’d be easy to find.”

“Only if they’re intact.”

“Oh.” He stammered. “I should have realized.”

“What about the stealth?” she asked Bill. “Do we know where it is? Find that, and we might find the Condor.”

“I have no easy way of looking for it. Please keep in mind that it is quite difficult to pick up.”

“How did Matt find it?” she persisted.

“I do not know.”

Tor fidgeted, unsure whether to stay or go. Hutch signaled him to sit. He complied and took to looking off into that middle distance again.

George came in a minute later. “Any sign of them yet?” he asked.

“Still looking.”

His eyes went to one of the screens. It was filled with images from the ground, hard-scrabble countryside, swollen looking vegetation. As if his presence were a harbinger, the telescopes reached the coastline and ruins appeared on three sides of a harbor.

Then they were gone, and the view went out over open water.

“Hutch—” Bill’s voice dropped an octave. “Debris ahead.”

An odd calm came over her. It was as if she’d moved outside herself and was observing events from a safe distance. “On-screen.”

It was from a starship. An air flow assembly and an attached control box, not much different from the type the Memphis had in her own overhead. About six meters long, broken off on both ends. It was scorched.

George asked what it was. She almost answered the Condor, but she bit it down and explained. Told him there’d apparently been an explosion.

The others were coming in to watch, Alyx and Pete and Nick.

“Here’s more.” Bill showed them a Hazeltine housing, a piece of the frame in which the jump engines were mounted. It, too, showed signs of fire and blast.

“And more.”

She looked at the pieces, and in a trembling voice, sent a message to Outpost, reporting that they were on the scene and finding wreckage. “Details,” she said solemnly, “to follow.”

“It blew up,” said Pete.

They were waiting for Hutch to say something. She was the expert. But she had no hope to give. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what it looks like.”

Somebody sniffled. Blew into a handkerchief.

“How could it have happened?” asked Nick. He looked around at the bridge. “These things are supposed to be safe, aren’t they?”

“They’re safe,” she said.

“Piece of the hull.”

It was from a forward section. The Hazeltines, on the other hand, had been aft. Which pretty much settled it. The entire ship had gone up.

Hutch looked back at Nick. “To my knowledge, this has never happened before.” But it was possible. Either set of engines, the Hazeltines or the fusion drive, could let go if someone was careless. Or unlucky.

“Maybe it was a meteor,” said Alyx. “Or they collided with a satellite.”

“The wreckage suggests internal explosion,” said Bill.

Hutch agreed. “Launch a marker,” she said.

“Complying.”

“What’s that about?” asked Alyx.

“We’ll put out a radio marker so whoever comes to investigate will be able to find the spot.”

“Got something else,” said Bill. “Organic, I believe.”

Hutch heard the collective whimper. She kept her eyes on the console and blocked everything else out. “We’ll be doing some maneuvering so you folks better go back and lock down. Bill, take us in close.” She got out of her chair.

“Do you need help?” asked Nick.

Right man for the job. “Yes. Please.”

THEY WAITED BY the open airlock as Bill maneuvered the ship. The object floated against the star-streaked sky, spectral in the glow from this world’s gauzy moon. The ship’s lights picked it up, and Hutch steeled herself. It was a limb. A leg. Severed midway between hip and knee. Scorched and broken. The knee was slightly bent as if its owner had been caught while running.

Neither of them spoke. Nick took a deep breath, but she sensed he was watching her. “You all right?” he asked.

Not really. She was beginning to tear up, and the e-suit put a hard shell over the face to create room to breathe, but it prevented her from wiping her eyes.

“Range thirty meters,” said Bill.

Sufficient for retrieval. “Hold there.”

They placed a blanket on the deck. She looked at the limb, looked at Nick, and wondered whether she’d hold up. Preach was gone. They were all gone, and she’d need to get her act together. Get the job done. Cry later.

She pulled on a go-pack.

“Where do we put it?” asked Nick.

“Refrigerator locker,” she said. “Back there.” She pointed toward the rear of the cargo bay, which also housed their lander.

He started to say something, and stopped.

“What?” she prodded.

“That’s not where we keep the food, is it?”

“We’ll move everything out. There’s space elsewhere.” She stepped into the airlock. “Be back in a minute.”

“Good luck.” He sounded as if he thought it was dangerous.

Hutch stepped out of the ship and pushed herself toward the limb, using a short burst from the thrusters to correct her course.

“Be careful,” said Nick.

Safe Harbor, wrapped in white clouds and vast blue oceans, gleamed beneath her. Without the aid of telescopes, she could see no sign of the carnage. “It’s another Earth,” she told Nick.

“Hutch, I’ve found the Condor’s lander. It is intact, but there is no heat signature.”

“Okay.” That wrapped it.

“It’s scorched. Burned. I don’t see how anyone could be alive inside it.”

“I understand.” She pushed it away. Refused to think about The leg was rotating slowly, turning end over end. She used another burst from the thrusters, reached out reluctantly and took it in her hands. Then she turned over so that the go-pack pointed in the opposite direction, and fired the unit again to get back to the airlock.

The leg felt like a piece of ice.

The Memphis looked warm and secure, like a house in the woods on a midwinter night. Light poured out of her viewports, and she saw Alyx moving around inside one of them.

“Hutch,” said Bill, “more body parts ahead.”

“Acknowledge.” She looked at Nick, standing in the airlock. Talk to me, Nick. Do what you’ve been doing for a lifetime. Tell me it’s okay.

But Nick only said that she was coming in a bit too fast. That she should come a little bit left. She peered into his eyes and decided he was every bit as shaken as she was. But he held his voice level and reached for the limb as she drifted back on board. She gave it to him.

“Bill, you’re still watching for unusual movement around us?” She knew he was, but it reassured her to ask.

“I am watching closely. There is nothing.”

They went inside and started for the locker. “Do you think they were attacked?” Nick asked.

“Hard to see where attackers could have come from,” she said.

“And Bill said the explosion came from inside.”

“That’s an analysis, not a fact.” They pulled the food out and moved it to an adjacent locker. She stowed the limb and was glad to shut the door.

IT WAS A nightmare. They cruised through the area, retrieving body parts. Only one corpse was recovered reasonably intact, and that belonged to Harry Brubaker. Even in his case, identification had to be made by his patch. He’d been reluctant to come, George explained. Hadn’t wanted to be gone from his family for an extended period.

They were able to identify two others. One was the bishop. The other was Tom Isako.

Hutch found nothing of Preach.

When it was finally over she showered and scrubbed but couldn’t wash off the pall of the day’s work. Unable to stand being alone, she put on fresh clothes, went back to the bridge, and sank into her chair. She became gradually aware of the thousand sounds of the ship in operation, air whispering through ducts, a door closing somewhere, distant voices.

Preach’s image, unbidden, appeared on one of the screens. Bill was trying to help.

He looked as he had in the final communication, puzzled, expectant. You’ll notice it’s stealth rather than lightbender technology.

“You think the satellite contained a bomb?” asked the AI.

“I don’t have any other explanation. Have you?”

“I do not. Yet the notion of someone preparing a death trap for entities with whom they are unfamiliar seems unreasonable.”

“Bill, these folks were at war with one another. Maybe Preach just got unlucky.”

THEY CONDUCTED A memorial service in mission control, presided over by George. Everybody had at least one close friend on the Condor. Tears flowed and voices were strained, and afterward they retired to the common room to lift a final round of glasses to victims, and to decide on their next move.

“Go home,” said Alyx.

Pete nodded. “I agree.” He was on his feet, his gaze clouded with regret, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jumpsuit. “The mission’s a failure. We’ve found a starfaring race, and they’re dead. Alyx is right. We should wrap it up and head back.”

George looked to his left, where Tor was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head propped up on his palms. “Tor?”

He didn’t move. “We’ve lost a lot of our people. I think we have an obligation to find out what killed them.”

“Not when we can’t defend ourselves,” said Alyx.

George looked toward Herman.

He sat quietly, staring into his palms. “We came a long way,” he said after a moment. “I’m with Tor. Let’s at least try to find out what happened. Otherwise, we’re going home with our tail between our legs.”

“Nick?”

“I’ve seen enough people die. I’d just as soon clear out.”

George turned his eyes toward the ceiling with a Lord forgive them for they know not what they do expression. “The Condor blew up,” he said patiently. “Accidents happen.” He looked out one of the viewports at a peaceful sky. The moon and a slice of the sun were visible. It was in fact achingly beautiful. “I vote we stay. Look around a bit.” He folded his arms. “So that makes it a tie.” He looked at Hutch. “Up to you,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not my call. You folks’ll have to decide this one for yourselves.”

“Then stay,” said Pete.

“You’re switching your vote?” asked George.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because if we go home without at least trying, I’ll regret it. I think we all will.”

“Good.” George pushed back in his chair so he could see everyone. “Then that’s settled. Hutch, when will the relief ship be here?”

“In a few days.”

“Okay. While we’re waiting, let’s take advantage of our situation.” His eyes brushed hers. “Can we go down for a look at the surface?”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a ton of radiation. Academy regs prohibit our dropping into that kind of environment. As well as common sense.”

“Why? I thought the e-suit was pretty good on radiation.”

“It is. But we’ve no easy way to scrub down the lander afterward. If you’re serious about going, you’ll have to get authority from the Academy.”

“Hutch, I own the ship.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m paid by them, not you. That makes the regs applicable.”

“Then let’s ask them for authority.”

“Do what you like.”

“It’ll take three or four days to get a reply,” said Pete. “That’s a lot of time to waste.”

George pursed his lips. “You have an alternative to suggest?”

“There’s a base on the moon. Why don’t we go down and take a look at that? See what it looks like. Then we can discuss whether trying to get to the surface is worthwhile.” His expression suggested he thought it wasn’t. But he didn’t push the issue.

George turned back to Hutch. “What do you think?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Until we know what happened on the Condor, we’d be prudent to keep everybody on board.”

George sighed. “I didn’t realize you were so cautious, Hutch.” A tinge of frustration was working into his voice. “But this is simply too good an opportunity. If we wait until we’re sure there’s no local hazard, we may never get down there.”

“Do what you think best,” Hutch said. “But be aware that you’re putting any landing party at risk.”

“Oh, come on, Hutch,” said Herman. “It can’t be that bad. A lot of people died here. We owe it to them to at least take a look.”

SHE RETREATED TO the holotank and spent several hours sitting on a crag overlooking a very terrestrial forest, bathed in moonlight. In the distance, lightning crackled, and the sky grew heavy. But when the clouds rolled in, she dissipated them.

“It’s not your fault,” said Bill.

“I know that.”

“Why don’t you shut this place down and go out with the others?”

“He was there when we needed him, Bill.”

“He had a chance to get to you. You had none to reach him.”

“I know that, too.”

“Then stop feeling sorry for yourself. And go spend time with your passengers. This is a difficult time, and they need you.”