TOR CLAIMED LATER that he never really lost consciousness. If not, he was on the edge during the last few minutes. But it seemed to him that he had in fact been awake the whole time, that he knew enough about what was going on to visualize everything as it occurred, that he wasn’t responding because he was, sensibly enough, conserving his air. He maintained that he understood when his box floated through the cargo door, and was gratified when it hit George’s net. Gratified. That was the way he described it.
In any case, at the end, he was aware of George’s anxious face looking down at him, of George rubbing his wrists trying to restore circulation, of George literally hugging him and telling him he was going to be fine, he’d made it, and he’d appreciate it if Tor wouldn’t scare him like that again.
“WE’VE GOT HIM,” George told her. “He’s okay.”
Hutch and Nick were coming in through the main airlock. “Tor,” she said, “it’s good to have you back.”
“I don’t think he’s quite able to talk yet, Hutch. But he heard you. He’s nodding. Saying thanks.”
“Good show, George,” she said.
After George had gotten Tor clear of the launch bay, Bill decompressed and opened up again. They got rid of the washroom, and Hutch used the go-pack to pick up Alyx.
They left the lander parked about a kilometer away from the ship. They would watch it a while before bringing it back on board. Just in case.
Reluctantly, Hutch did not go after Kurt’s body. He had been awash in whatever had disassembled the Wendy, and the risk involved in bringing him back on board simply did not justify recovery.
Another one lost.
Chapter 17
There is something inescapably sublime about twins. Whether we are speaking of a pair of children, or aces, or galaxies. It may be the symmetry, or it may be a sense of sheer good fortune. I would argue it results from a demonstration of order, of organization, of law. So long as twins exist in the world, we rest easy.
THE DISINTEGRATION AND transformation of the Wendy took something more than two days. They watched from more than twenty thousand kilometers, surely a safe range.
The ship melted away, floated off in iron globules and large wispy clouds. What remained when it was over was a new stealth satellite, the diamond core hard and polished in the starlight, dish antennas rotating slowly as if testing their capabilities. A few hours after it appeared, the stealth satellite was not to be seen, which is to say, its stealth capability had cut in. Shortly thereafter it moved into the orbit occupied by the unit Hutch and Tor had disassembled. Its antennas were aimed back toward Paradise. What remained of the ship finally exploded as the fusion engines let go.
And the thing that had jumped the Wendy dropped out of sight.
“What it looks like,” Hutch told George, “is that each set of six satellites comes with a monitor. The monitor maintains the system. If one of the satellites goes down, the monitor is capable of manufacturing a replacement.”
George thought about it and shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. What if there’s no ship around to make a replacement from?”
“No. It just happened that there were ships in the area this time. We got unlucky. The monitor would be programmed to find an iron asteroid. Probably anything that is metal-rich.”
Tor was okay after a couple of days’ rest. They fed him hot soup and kept him quiet.
Hutch communicated with Outpost and the Academy, reporting the loss of the Wendy Jay and its captain. She described her theory about a monitor.
The lander seemed to be uninfected and, shortly after the Wendy exploded, they inspected it and brought it back on board. Even then Hutch directed Bill to keep an eye on it, and was ready at first sight of anything untoward to heave it out the door.
Meantime they debated the big question: Why were stealths orbiting Icepack?
Nobody had any ideas.
“Are you sure,” rumbled George, “that the outbound signal is aimed at that galaxy, what’s-its-name?”
“GCY-7514,” said Bill. “Yes, there really is no question about it.”
George threw up his hands. “It’s crazy. They can’t be sending a signal way out there.”
Hutch wondered if whoever was behind the network might have advanced FTL technology. An intergalactic drive. She asked Bill whether the signal was strong enough to make it out to 7514.
“It would be exceedingly weak,” he said.
And exceedingly old. Surely, if they had that kind of technology, they’d be sending a hypercomm signal of some sort. Something that would get there on this side of a million years.
“Bill,” said Hutch, “would you recheck the target, please?”
George sat shaking his head. It couldn’t be. They were missing something.
Bill’s virtual image materialized in the chair beside George. Looking at George. Looking embarrassed. “Something’s happened,” he said.
“What’s that?” grumped George.
“The signal is no longer directed where it was.”
“You mean it’s not aimed at the galaxy any longer?”
“That’s correct.”
George turned to Hutch, as if she would have an explanation. “Where is it aimed, Bill?” she asked.
“It appears to be tracking the two gas giants. In this system. Apparently it was directed at them the whole time.”
George frowned. He was still hurting from the fight with the angels, and Kurt’s death, on top of everything else, had hit him hard. He’d confided to Hutch that he was tired, that he felt responsible for so many people dying, and that getting all the way out here and then finding nothing was just too much to bear. The enthusiasm that had carried him through the early weeks had finally vanished.
“I assumed—” said Bill.
“—It was aimed out of the system,” finished Hutch.
“We should go take a look,” said Nick.
Tor was sitting at a table with Alyx, drinking coffee, apparently completely recovered from his experience. “It wouldn’t do any harm,” he said.
“How far are they?” asked Hutch. “The gas giants?”
“Roughly 100 million klicks.” Bill put them on-screen, and there was a collective gasp.
Two cloudy disks, a pair of Saturns. Each with rings. And a third set of rings, wispy and ill defined, circled the entire system. “They are approximately 3 million kilometers from each other. Quite close. Especially for objects of this size.”
The room had become very quiet.
A cloud floated midway between the worlds, at the center of mass. It was enormous, big enough to envelop either of the giants. Lightning bolts rippled through it. It looked like a third planet. Broad bands of clouds lined both worlds, autumn-hued on one, blue and silver on the other.
“I’ve never seen anything remotely like it,” said Hutch, breaking the long silence.
Ice tinkled in someone’s drink.
THE TWINS WERE 1.1 billion kilometers out from the central luminary. And they were a long run for the Memphis, which would have needed two weeks to reach them with her fusion engines. Hutch opted instead to make a short jump, which could be done, at this range, with pretty good accuracy. Within an hour, they completed the transit and soared out into a sky filled with spectacle. Chains of glowing worldlets and gas swirled through a night dominated by the twin globes. Both worlds were flattened and misshapen by the gravity dance. “I’m surprised it all holds together,” said Pete.
They were in the common room. Bill activated the main screen, killed the lights, and lit everything up for them, so they had the impression of standing outside on a veranda where they could gawk at the spectacle.