Starhawk

Chapter 38

IT WAS THE same type of chair he was sitting in. Maybe slightly different armrests. It was tumbling slowly, and the restraint that would have secured its occupant drifted behind it. The back of the chair looked broken. No. Not broken. Twisted. They stared at it. “How could that have happened?” Priscilla asked.

The chair was slightly ahead of them, a few kilometers off to port, and at a slightly higher elevation. Priscilla adjusted for altitude, matched velocity, and, a few minutes later, they drew alongside. “I assume we want to recover it?” she said.

“Yes. Do it.”

She opened the launch doors. “Myra,” she said, “I’ll need you for this. Take over and get the chair.”

“Okay, Priscilla. I have it.” They felt a slight change as Myra angled the ship. Then they moved to port again. One of the scopes locked on the chair, and they watched it float into the cargo bay. “Chair is secure,” she said. “Closing up.”

* * *

THEY REMAINED ON the bridge for several minutes, scanning the area while the cargo bay repressurized. But there seemed to be nothing else out there. Then they went down below. The chair was afloat near the storage cabinets at the rear of the chamber.

“You don’t think this is another one of those antiterraforming attacks, do you, Jake?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” The base of the chair was torn apart, as if it had been wrenched out of the deck. “Explosion?” Priscilla asked.

“I don’t think so. It’s not scorched. And most of it looks okay.”

“So what happened?”

“I have no idea. Myra, any theories?”

“No, Jake. I do not understand it.”

Whatever it was, Jake had no expectation of finding survivors.

Isha, farewell.

* * *

THEY TOOK THE chair topside to the passenger cabin. Jake wedged it between cabinets and secured it with cable. Then he recorded an account of what they’d found, included some pictures, and sent it to Union. “They’re not going to be happy,” Priscilla said.

Jake grunted his response. There was no way this was going to end well. He hadn’t actually ever been close to Isha. He’d taken her out a few times, and even slept with her once, but there’d been no real chemistry on either side. At least not as far as he could determine. But he’d liked her. She’d been a good woman. She’d loved telling stories about how her family had reacted to her career choice. Absolutely crazy. It was a common narrative for pilots. Her dad had been a policeman, and he didn’t think riding around on a rocket was a good idea. For one thing, it wasn’t safe. For another, he’d argued, there was no future in spaceflight. “It’s all going to go away; and then where will you be?”

“How,” asked Priscilla, “can you explain any of this? How does this thing get torn out of the deck, but there’s no explosion?”

“I don’t know,” Jake said.

There was fear in her eyes. “At the moment,” she said, “I’m feeling a little bit spooked.” She stared at the chair. “What happened to you, anyhow?”

It’s definitely not a good sign, he thought, when you start talking to the furniture.

* * *

“DO WE WANT to continue the search on the ground?” asked Myra. “Or should we concentrate on looking for other objects up here?”

“Keep the sensors pointed down,” Jake said.

They continued shifting from orbit to orbit, looking out at a relentlessly unchanging sky. They ate a listless dinner in the passenger cabin and went back onto the bridge. Priscilla eventually put a book on her display and tried to lose herself in it. Jake played poker with three AI partners. And then, when he was expecting Myra II to lay down a flush against his three queens, she surprised him: “We have lights.”

“Lights?” Priscilla looked up from her book. Jake forgot about the game.

“Where?” he said.

They blinked on the display, glimmers in the cloud cover. Six glowing spots in the night. No, seven. In a line. “Off to starboard.”

“It’s a storm,” Jake said. “Lightning. That’s all it can be.”

“Jake,” said Priscilla, “it does not look like lightning.” For one thing, it was a steady glow.

“Okay. Lock in the position. We’ll take a look next time around.”

* * *

CIRCLING A COMPLETELY dark world was, for Jake, a new experience. There was a different sense of movement than one would get while orbiting Earth, or any planet in a star system. You did not, as normally happened, pursue the sun across the sky, pass beneath it, and eventually leave it behind. There was rarely any horizon. Instead, you traveled across an apparently flat landscape, which revealed only shadows and mist. It was a flat landscape that went on forever, a place made for ghosts. He wouldn’t have admitted it even to himself, but he was glad he wasn’t alone.

“The lights must have been reflections,” Priscilla said.

“Okay. But reflections of what?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a pity,” he said, “we didn’t find their AI instead of just a chair.”

“It would have helped. We should take McGruder on a flight like this. Maybe he’d change his mind about defunding the program.”

Jake grunted. “I don’t think I’d want to spend a week or two locked in here with a politician.”

“That’s a point.”

“What were you reading?”

“How Laura Kingman saved the space program. Back in the NASA days.”

“The woman who took out the asteroid.”

“And killed herself in the process.”

“I thought,” said Jake, “the consensus was that it would have missed anyhow. That it was close, but it wasn’t going to hit anything.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Priscilla. “At the time, she couldn’t be sure. So she took no chances.”

“Try to imagine your buddy McGruder doing what she did.”

“He’s not my buddy, Jake. But actually, we have no way of knowing what he would do.”

Jake tried to laugh, but it didn’t happen. He wondered whether he would have done it himself. He knew how he’d have answered that question a couple of months ago. Not so sure anymore. “Myra,” he said, “have you seen any more lights?”

“Be assured, Jake,” Myra said, “I’d have told you if I did.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Because it had been time to change the subject. He saw that Priscilla understood it as well. “So how’s Roanoke treating you?” she asked.

* * *

WHEN THEY RETURNED to the site, the lights were still there, seven of them emitting a soft, golden glow. “Are they moving?” asked Priscilla.

“I don’t think so,” said Jake.

There was a pause. Then Myra: “Negative movement.”

Jake split the screen. Compared the lights in the two sightings. “They’re brighter now.”

Priscilla took a long look. “I think you’re right,”

“We are at the same range,” said Myra.

It could have been a line of stalled cars in a heavy rainstorm. But the lights in the rear were growing brighter. Then they dimmed, and the enhanced illumination passed like a wave along the group toward the front. And faded.

“Holy cats,” said Priscilla. “Did you see that?”

The process started again. The rear of the line of lights brightened, and the effect once more moved forward.

“It’s a signal,” said Jake.

“You mean for us?”

“I have no idea, Priscilla. Myra, is there any way that could be a signal from the Vincenti?”

“Jake, I cannot conceive how anyone on board could have created those images.”

“It’s probably just a variation of ball lightning or something,” said Priscilla.

“I can’t imagine ball lightning in this kind of climate.”

“Well, I’m open to a better explanation.”

“Check with me later.” They were drawing abreast of the lights now. “We’re going to have to go down and look,” he said.

“Okay. We should be able to catch it on the next round.”

“Myra, transmission for Union.”

“Ready when you are, Jake.”

“Ops from Baumbachner. We are seeing lights below, in one area only. They’re included in the transmission. We have no explanation for them. On next orbit, I’ll take the lander down, and will let you know what they are.”

Priscilla took a deep breath. “They’re just going to be some sort of electricity generated by the atmosphere.”

“You’re probably right.” He was still looking at the images on the display. “I’ll send everything back, and you can relay it to Union.”

Priscilla frowned and shook her head. No. “Jake,” she said, “I’m not going to let you go down there alone.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think there may be some confusion here, Priscilla, about who’s in charge.”

“Come on, Jake. You going to pull rank?”

“Yes, since I apparently have to. Look, Priscilla, it’s just not smart for both of us to go. You know that as well as I do.”

“Jake—”

“I’ll stay in contact with you the whole time. If anything happens, if we lose touch, give me an hour or so. If you still don’t hear from me, clear out. Understand?”

“This feels like what happened last time.”

Jake sucked in air. “I hope not, Priscilla.”

* * *

BAUMBACHNER LOG

This is a futile effort. Whatever dragged the captain’s chair off the bridge and out of the ship could not have done it without wrecking the vehicle. It’s been almost a week since they were last heard from. Even if someone had made it to the lander and managed to launch, there would not have been enough air to keep him alive all this time. But nobody’s going to say we didn’t try.

Priscilla thinks it’s not a good idea for me to go down alone. Let the record show that she demanded to go along. I have had to order her to stay with the Baumbachner.

—Jake Loomis, February 8, 2196