Firebird

THIRTY-EIGHT

“Chase, we just picked it up. Everything checks out. It's the Antares.”

“Okay, Dot. Belle, you have the coordinates?”

“They're coming in now.”

“Are we sure this time? Dot, could it be another Wasp?”

There was a delay of about four minutes while the signal crossed to the McCandless, and the response came back. “Whatever else this might be, it is definitely not another Wasp.”

“Okay. Good.” I got on the intercom. “Shara, Alex, we have a hit. We'll be on the move as soon as you get buckled down.” Then back to Dot: “Did you by any chance see it surface?”

“Negative.”

“Could it have been there for hours?”

“Affirmative.”

Alex came out of his cabin, pulling his robe around his shoulders.

The display activated. I got a sky full of stars and a marker.

Shara opened her door. “Give me a minute,” she said.

“Where is it?” asked Alex, sweeping onto the bridge.

“Dot has it.”

He lowered himself into the right-hand chair. “What's the status?”

“We've no idea when it showed up. It could submerge at any time.”

“We don't get a break, do we? Okay, how close is she?”

Usually, the delay in signal transiting is simply accepted as part of the operation. But in an emergency, it can be maddening. Finally, her reply came in: “We can be there in about two hours. I think it's outside the target area. Or maybe just on the edge. Relaying pictures to you.”

“Alex is here,” I told her.

“Have you tried to contact them?” he asked.

“Yes. Been transmitting. No response.”

Shara showed up in a nightgown. She was breathless. “We got it?”

“Right there.” I pointed at the marker.

“Beautiful,” she said. “How long-?”

“Two hours.”

“We can be there in two hours?”

“Dot can,” said Alex. “Chase, how far away are we?”

I hated to tell him. The Antares was on the far side of the formation. “Five hours.”

His jaw tightened. Other than that, there was no reaction. “Okay,” he said. “I don't guess we could do a jump?”

“We can try it.”

“Shara,” he said, “is there any hope of getting more precision in the future?” He sounded as if he thought the current state of the art was her fault.

“We're working on it.” She sounded-and looked-frustrated. “I have a team of people going through the notebook, doing research, doing everything they can. And yes, I think we'll get better-”

“Shara,” I said, “tell me again how long it's been since the last appearance of the Antares.”

“If it's the same one, it's been sixty-seven years.” Her eyes closed, and she stood there, one hand gripping my seat until I suggested she go back into the cabin so we could get moving.

I needed a few minutes just to get turned around. Then I kicked up the velocity. “TDI in fourteen minutes,” I said.

“Is anybody else close?” asked Alex. “Other than Dot?”

“Cal is. He has an outside chance of getting over there, but I wouldn't be too hopeful.”

“Nobody else?”

“Nobody within three hours.”

We were still accelerating, getting ready to jump, when Dot was back: “They're transmitting.” She relayed the signal, and Belle ran it for us. It was a single male voice, sounding panicked. Desperate.

The language was not Standard. “Belle,” I said, “can you translate?”

“It's classical French,” she said. “It's the language they would probably have been using at the original Brandizi outpost. But no, I'm sorry to say I can't. I can read the language, but nobody's too sure what it sounded like.”

Not that it mattered. It was a cry for help. Just like the one from Alpha.

Then we were at TDI velocity. “Ready to jump,” I said. “Thirty seconds. Belt down.”

We came out of it even farther away, and, once again, because we'd gone well past the target, we were headed in the wrong direction.

“Dot,” I said. “We are not going to be able to get there.”

The delay on transmissions was now close to seven minutes. “I can see that,” she said. “But Cal's not too far.”

We sat, talking mostly to ourselves as if we were talking to Dot, exchanging the same warnings over and over-be careful, don't try to board, don't get too close, concentrate on the pictures. “Next time,” Shara promised, “we'll find a better way.”

Except that there wouldn't be a next time. “When do we expect to sight somebody else?”

“Well,” said Shara. “That's changed, thanks to Robin's notebook. There's one that's been seen a couple of times, most recently out near Karasco. Originally, we thought it would be close to two centuries before anything showed up again, but now it looks more like only forty years.”

Alex smiled. “Only forty?”

Belle's voice broke in: “One hour until McCandless makes rendezvous.”

We tried another jump and got within two and a half hours of the Antares. Alex sat staring at the deck, and I was thinking how he shouldn't expect pinpoint accuracy from a star drive. It's designed for serious long-range travel, not hopping around in a relatively tiny area. He wanted to try again, and he got his way. We gained a bit more ground, but not enough to matter. A couple more of those, I told him, and we'd have to arrange for someone to bring us out some fuel.

Eventually, the marker stopped blinking, and we were looking at what appeared to be a star. After a few moments, the star separated, became a string of lights, then became a ship.

It resembled nothing I'd seen previously. Big engines, small hull. Graceless. It might have been a tour ship that would take you to a neighboring moon. It could not have looked more out of place in that vast emptiness.

But, as with the Alpha, it was the lights that caught our attention. Not the navigation lights. They were on, but nobody cared. A row of ports were shining brightly. And there were more lights up front on the bridge. “Alex,” said Dot, “look at that thing.”

“Congratulations, Dot.”

We were much closer than we had been, and the time spent waiting for a response was down to just under two minutes. But when Dot came back, it was with a screech. “There's movement inside, Chase. They're alive. My God, it's really happening. I thought maybe we were talking to an AI, but there's really somebody there.”

The scope was giving us better images now. I could see a hatch. Some antennas. And as the ports got bigger, there were faces. People looking our. Dot was starting to sound frantic. “I know you said there's no way to stop it from submerging again, nothing you were sure of. But is there maybe something we can try? Something that might work? That might keep this thing from going under again?”

“No,” said Alex. “Leave it alone. At this point, we don't have any control over it.”

Alex covered the mike and pointed toward a port near the after section of the vehicle.

A child. A girl about eight or nine looked out until an arm encircled her and drew her away.

“We'll be alongside in about fifteen minutes.”

“You sure you want to do this, Dot?” said Alex.

“Yes, Alex. I've got it. It's dead ahead. Slowing down.”

I heard Melissa's voice in the background, telling her that she hoped something wasn't crazy. Wasn't bonzo. I couldn't quite make it out.

The transmission shut down for a few moments. When it came back, Melissa was saying okay, it would probably work if they had enough time.

Alex was still on the circuit. “What's going on, Dot?”

“I can bring about twenty over. If there are that many. That'll overwhelm life support, so I'll have to transfer some of them to Cal.”

We were figuring the process. She'd brought two extra suits on her own, for a total of five. Plus suits for herself and Melissa. She'd have to go over with them. Get through the Antares's airlock. Which meant waiting a couple of minutes for it to pressurize. Get people into the suits. Hustle them back into the airlock. Depressurize and leave the Antares. Cross to the McCandless. Into the airlock. Pressurize again and take them into the cabin. Wait for them to climb out of the suits. Back into the airlock with the suits. Depressurize. Repeat entire process.

Et damned cetera. She'd never be able to pull it off.

“You won't have time to transfer twenty,” said Alex.

“Alex, would you please just leave me alone?”

“All right, Dot. How's your French?”

“My what?”

“Your French. That's going to be the language they speak.”

“I don't think we'll have a problem communicating.”

Cal called the McCandless and wished them luck. So did Michael. So did the others, one by one. Just be careful, they were saying. If the lights start to go out, get clear.

The images were numbing. There were faces at all the ports, and they were all terrified. I saw a line of black symbols on the gray hull. One was clearly intended to represent a comet. The others were apparently French characters from an ancient time, utterly unlike the alphabet we use today. “What does it say, Belle?”

Belle took a moment. Then: “Auric Federation. And below that, the Intrepide. The Auric Federation was an alliance of worlds that existed briefly during the fourth millennium. It came into existence during a politically unstable time. And it dissolved after less than a century.”

“Incredible,” I said. We were looking at the strangest find we could ever have come across, living artifacts.

Nobody said much, not anyone on the Belle-Marie, not the voices from the other ships. The Intrepide's image grew clearer. And, finally, we were looking at it close-up.

Michael called to assure us that the mission couldn't be in better hands. “If it can be done,” he said, “Dot will see to it.”

Suddenly we were looking at the inside of the McCandless airlock. The inside hatch was open, but Dot and Melissa were both in pressure suits. Dot was wearing an imager and a jetpack. “Thought you might want to watch,” she said. “Okay, Melissa, let's do it.”

Melissa walked out of view and returned a moment later with the extra pressure suits. They were tied together with a cable. Two of them, we knew, were small size flex, which meant they could be adapted for kids. She helped load them into the airlock. A light came on. We could no longer see anything except the suits and the outside hatch, but we understood that Melissa had shut the hatch and stayed on the bridge. Dot's hand appeared and pressed the START pad. “Depressurizing,” she said.

It was crowded in there with the suits, which began to drift off the deck. Melissa had shut down the AG. I had my doubts whether Dot and five other people could fit into the airlock.

The process was interminable. While it went on, we also watched the feed from the McCandless scopes, a riveting view of the ancient vehicle. It was difficult to be sure, but it looked no more than about thirty meters away.

I kept staring at the Antares, remembering how the Alpha had grown transparent. Had been gone so quickly.

Then Dot opened the airlock hatch, leaned outside, hooked the cable to a clip, and tied the other end around her waist. She pushed off, stringing out the pressure suits behind her.

The Intrepide opened its airlock. Dot crossed between the ships and landed smoothly beside the open hatch. She climbed in, and, one by one, removed the suits from the cable and pulled them inside with her. When she had them all, she untied the cable from her waist and attached it to the hull. It was apparently magnetized.

Then she squeezed into the airlock and closed the hatch behind her. Again, there was the long wait while the lock pressurized. Two minutes later she stepped into the interior and looked into the faces of the passengers. People who'd been born thousands of years ago. Some were in tears, others cheered, a woman tried to hug Dot but couldn't get her arms around the suit. Then a guy in uniform appeared. The captain. Average height, blond hair cut close, looking vastly relieved.

She removed her helmet and he said something, which was, I'm sure, along the lines of “Thank God.”

Dot looked at the captain and pointed at the suits. “Quick,” she said.

She didn't need a translator. The captain took over. You, he was saying. And you. Put on the suits.

The people he indicated, two women, three, came forward. Everybody else backed away. Made room.

“I count about forty people,” Dot said.

“Dot.” Melissa's voice. “Ready when you are.” I learned later that Melissa was a medical assistant. That this was her first off-world flight.

“This isn't going to end well,” said Alex.

“Damned StarCorps,” I said.

Dot showed them the flex suits, and they quickly decided on two small girls to wear them. One looked like the child we'd seen in the portal.

Another uniformed man appeared. Probably a flight attendant. He produced a sixth pressure suit. There were some efforts at communication, which included smiles, clasping of shoulders, Dot waiting while they decided who would go. Another woman. The choice brought some tears, and a lot of hesitation. She was young and frightened. And she resisted. No, I'll stay where I am. Stay here. Or maybe, Stay with you. In any case, she didn't want to go. More tears flowed.

Dot tried to show them that time was a factor. Make your call, and let's get started. They settled finally on a fourth woman, tall, dark hair, looking vastly relieved.

While they struggled into the suits, somebody did introductions: Lisa, young, maybe nineteen, trying hard not to look scared; Julie, middle-aged, brown eyes, reluctant to leave a male consort; Rowena, with black hair and lips pressed tightly together, not entirely sure she wanted to do this; and Michelle, the replacement.

The captain's lips formed questions, and we knew what they were. What the hell is going on? Where are we? But he didn't waste much time with it.

Back in the McCandless, Melissa, who'd been quiet, just trying to stay out of the way, whispered, “Please, God.”

Dot turned back to the passengers. The two girls had gotten into the flex suits. People around them were lowering their helmets into place. They both looked pale, scared. A tall, outwardly calm guy with a hairbrush mustache, probably their father, was talking with them, trying to reassure them. The girls were maybe twelve and nine. Sisters, I thought.

“We've got two younger children,” said Dot, indicating two who weren't much more than toddlers, a boy and a girl. But they weren't going to fit into the suits. “I'm. not sure how to handle them. Anybody have any suggestions?”

Michael's voice: “Think you can get the lander into the cargo bay?”

“We'll figure something out,” Shara said, speaking to the entire squadron. “Next time, we'll be ready for them.”

They clamped down the helmets, and Dot ran a quick check. She tried to reassure the captain with a smile and by squeezing his arm that, whatever happened, someone would be back. “We'll get you clear,” she said. Then she spoke to Melissa. “Okay, love, on our way.”

Dot indicated that the kids should go into the airlock, and put her own helmet back on. The father kissed each of them as they passed. Then he squeezed Dot's arm and said something to her. He knew she couldn't hear him through the helmet, and wouldn't have understood the language if she could, but the message was clear enough. The captain shook her hand, and she joined the two girls. They looked terrified and relieved and anxious to be out of there. Both had brown eyes. The younger one was trying to talk, and she suddenly started back toward her father. But he shook his head and smiled and said something to her. Go with the nice lady. There was room for only three more adults in the airlock. Julie stepped aside. The others looked briefly at one another, and crowded in.

“I'd, like to have them put Julie into the lock as soon as we leave,” she said, “so she could cross as soon as we're out of the way, but I can't talk to anybody.”

“You're doing fine,” I told her. “Just keep moving.”

The inner hatch closed. It was clearly not designed for six people. No one could move. The girls looked up at their rescuer. The older one smiled. Probably responding to an encouraging grin from Dot, which of course we couldn't see. “You okay?” I asked Dot.

“Yes. I wish Cal would get here.”

Alex never took his eyes from the display. And we heard Melissa again: “Hurry up.” She was talking to the outer hatch, which remained maddeningly, solidly, in place.

“I'm not sure,” said Shara, “that taking the kids from their father was a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“They should not have come off until he was ready to accompany them.”

“But if it goes back under,” I said, “it would be almost seventy years-”

“Not to them, Chase. They'd be together.”

“We need,” said Alex, “to change the way we think.”

Finally, the hatch slid up.

We looked through Dot's imager at the McCandless, floating serenely against a backdrop of stars. Melissa was standing in the open airlock.

It would have been easier had Dot been able to talk to the people she was trying to save. But it was all hand signals. She pointed to the cable and indicated they should take hold of it, and use it to guide themselves to the rescue vessel. She didn't want them trying to jump across; that was a formula for disaster. They signified that they got the message, and Rowena stepped out of the airlock and started over.

Dot picked up the two girls and jumped clear. The McCandless seemed to bob up and down, and once got blocked by somebody's elbow. Then we caught a good view of it, waiting, Melissa waving, and moments later we were inside its airlock. Dot handed the girls to her daughter, and turned to go back.

Rowena, leading the way, was about halfway across. Dot pushed off the hull and, at the moment she did so, Belle became active: “Chase, we are getting a spectrum shift.”

“Dot,” I said. “Get out of there. It's starting.”

She was wearing a jetpack and could have used it to brake herself and get out of harm's way. But she reached out instead for the cable and for Rowena. She grabbed hold of both as the cable itself turned transparent. And became solid again. She pulled at Rowena's hands. Let go. But we were already looking through Rowena. “For God's sake-” The sound died, and the image scrambled.

We saw Rowena and Dot one more time, flickering like a corrupted vid. There was a final blip on the circuit, Dot's voice, “Damn-” Then it was gone, and they were gone. Dot and Rowena and the other two women. And the Antares.

The Intrepide.

Several meters of cable floated out from the McCandless.

“Reception has ceased,” said Belle.