The cosmonik touched his heels to a stikpad on the decking beside the lower hatch. You really don't like being wrong, do you?
No, but I'm not sulking about it, either. Marcus moulded a jaded grin. I still think I'm right about the dish, but I don't know how the hell to prove it.
The wormhole portal is rather conclusive evidence.
Very tactful. It doesn't solve anything, actually. If they could open a wormhole straight back home, why did they build the dish? Like Katherine said, if you have an accident of that magnitude then you devote yourself completely to survival. Either they called for help, or they went home through the wormhole. They wouldn't do both.
Possibly it wasn't their dish, they were just here to investigate it.
Two ancient unknown xenoc races with FTL starship technology is pushing credibility. It also takes us back to the original problem: if the dish isn't a distress beacon, then what the hell was it built for?
I'm sure there will be an answer at some time.
I know, we're only a commercial trader's crew, with a very limited research capability. But we can still ask fundamental questions, like why have they kept the wormhole open for thirteen thousand years?
Because that's the way their technology works. They probably wouldn't consider it odd.
I'm not saying it shouldn't work for that long, I'm asking why their homeworld would bother maintaining a link to a chunk of derelict wreckage?
That is harder for logic to explain. The answer must lie in their psychology.
That's too much like a cop-out; you can't cry alien at everything you don't understand. But it does bring us to my final query. If you can open a wormhole with such accuracy across God knows how many light-years, why would you need a starship in the first place? What sort of psychology accounts for that?
All right, Marcus, you got me. Why?
I haven't got a clue. I've been reviewing all the file texts we have on wormholes, trying to find a solution which pulls all this together. And I can't do it. It's a complete paradox.
There's only one thing left, then, isn't there?
Marcus turned to look at the hulking figure of the cosmonik. What?
Go down the wormhole and ask them.
Yeah, maybe I will. Somebody has to go eventually. What does our dear Katherine have to say on that subject? Can we go inside it in our SII suits?
She's rigging up some sensors that she can shove through the interface. That grey sheet isn't a physical barrier. She's already pushed a length of conduit tubing through. It's some kind of pressure membrane, apparently, stops the ship's atmosphere from flooding into the wormhole.
Another billion-fuseodollar gadget. Jesus, this is getting too big for us, we're going to have to prioritize. He datavised the flight computer, and issued a general order for everyone to assemble in capsule A's main lounge.
•••
Karl was the last to arrive. The young systems engineer looked exhausted. He frowned when he caught sight of Marcus.
I thought you were over in the xenoc ship.
No.
But you ... He rubbed his fingers against his temples. Skip it.
Any progress? Marcus asked.
A little. From what I can make out, the molecular synthesizer and its governing circuitry are combined within the same crystal lattice. To give you a biological analogy, it's as though a muscle is also a brain.
Don't follow that one through too far, Roman called.
Karl didn't even smile. He took a chocolate sac from the dispenser, and sucked on the nipple.
Katherine? Marcus said.
I've managed to place a visual-spectrum sensor in the wormhole. There's not much light in there, only what soaks through the pressure membrane. From what we can see it's a straight tunnel. I assume the xenocs cut off the artificial gravity under the portal so they could egress it easily. What I'd like to do next is dismount a laser radar from the MSV and use that.
If the wormhole's threaded with exotic matter, will you get a return from it?
Probably not. But we should get a return from whatever is at the other end.
What's the point?
Three of them began to talk at once, Katherine loudest of all. Marcus held his hand up for silence. Listen, everybody, according to Confederation law if the appointed commander or designated controlling mechanism of a spaceship or free-flying space structure discontinues that control for one year and a day then any ownership title becomes null and void. Legally, this xenoc ship is an abandoned structure which we are entitled to file a salvage claim on.
There is a controlling network, Karl said.
It's a sub-system, Marcus said. The law is very clear on that point. If a starship's flight computer fails, but, say, the fusion generators keep working, their governing processors do not constitute the designated controlling mechanism. Nobody will be able to challenge our claim.
The xenocs might, Wai said.
Let's not make extra problems for ourselves. As the situation stands right now, we have title. We can't not claim the ship because the xenocs may or may not return at some time.
Katherine rocked her head in understanding. If we start examining the wormhole they might come back, sooner rather than later. Is that what you're worried about?
It's a consideration, yes. Personally, I'd rather like to meet them. But, Katherine, are you really going to learn how to build exotic matter and open a wormhole with the kind of sensor blocks we've got?
You know I'm not, Marcus.
Right. Nor are we going to find the principle behind the artificial-gravity generator, or any of the other miracles on board. What we have to do is catalogue as much as we can, and identify the areas that need researching. Once we've done that we can bring back the appropriate specialists, pay them a huge salary, and let them get on with it. Don't any of you understand yet? When we found this ship, we stopped being starship crew, and turned into the highest-flying corporate executives in the galaxy. We don't pioneer any more, we designate. So, we map out the last remaining decks. We track the power cables and note what they power. Then we leave.
I know I can crack their program language, Marcus, Karl said. I can get us into the command network.
Marcus smiled at the weary pride in his voice. Nobody is going to be more pleased about that than me, Karl. One thing I do intend to take with us is a cybermouse, preferably more than one. That molecular synthesizer is the hard evidence we need to convince the banks of what we've got.
Karl blushed. Uh, Marcus, I don't know what'll happen if we try and cut one out of the composite. So far we've been left alone; but if the network thinks we're endangering the ship, well ...
I'd like to think we're capable of something more sophisticated than ripping a cybermouse out of the composite. Hopefully, you'll be able to access the network, and we can simply ask it to replicate a molecular synthesizer unit for us. They have to be manufactured somewhere on board.
Yeah, I suppose they do. Unless the cybermice duplicate themselves.
Now that'd be a sight, Roman said happily. One of them humping away on top of the other.
•••
His neural nanonics time function told Karl he'd slept for nine hours. After he wriggled out of his sleep pouch he air-swam into the crew lounge and helped himself to a pile of food sachets from the galley. There wasn't much activity in the ship, so he didn't even bother to access the flight computer until he'd almost finished eating.
Katherine was on watch when he dived into the bridge through the floor hatch.
Who's here? he asked breathlessly. Who else is on board right now?