Bernie’s companions marched him away and left the host looking both annoyed and relieved. As they went out the door, two guys arrived and began talking with one of the waiters. Presumably security.
The host joined the conference, but they took it outside.
“You know,” said Leon, “there were warnings. Kosmik knew in advance this would probably happen. There are several people doing research on an alternate method. But the corporates don’t want to wait.”
Priscilla nodded. “Too much money involved, I guess.”
“Yeah. We wouldn’t want Kosmik to lose its investment.”
“So why is it happening? What’s killing everything, do you know?”
“I’m not an expert, Priscilla. But, as I understand it, if you screw around with the atmosphere, change the oxygen-nitrogen balance even a little, you can expect consequences. They hired a lot of experts to explain how there’d be no problem, that the life-forms would be just fine.” He couldn’t restrain the bitterness. “And I helped them.”
“What about the colonists? I wouldn’t think they’ll want to live in a place where everything’s gone.”
“Hell,” he said, “they probably wouldn’t have liked the native life anyhow. They’ll bring their own German shepherds and house cats and oak trees and sycamores and hedges and never know the difference.”
* * *
PRISCILLA’S JOURNAL
I couldn’t help thinking about all those old science-fiction stories from the early years of the space age. There were always aliens showing up who wanted to kill everybody and take over the world. Turns out maybe, we are the aliens.
—June 17, 2195
Chapter 1
Tuesday, November 3, 2195
THE COPPERHEAD WAS floating through the fogs of transdimensional space, somewhere between Fomalhaut and Serenity Station, which is to say it was well off the more traveled routes. Priscilla Hutchins, the acting captain, was half-asleep in the pilot’s seat. The actual senior officer, Jake Loomis, had gone back to the passenger cabin, where he might have drifted off, or was maybe playing chess with Benny, the AI. Soft music drifted through the ship. The Three Kings doing “Heartbreak.”
Priscilla was vaguely aware of the humming and beeping of the electronics and the quiet flow of air through the vents. Then, suddenly, she wasn’t. The lights had gone out. And the ship bounced hard, as if it had been dropped into a storm-tossed sea. The displays were off, and the warning klaxon sounded. Power down.
“System failure,” said Benny, using the slightly modified tone that suggested he’d also suffered a cutback.
Emergency lights blinked on and cast an eerie glow across the bridge. The ship rocked and slowed and accelerated and rocked again. Then, within seconds, all sense of motion stopped. “Did we jump back out, Benny?” she asked.
“Affirmative.”
Jake’s voice came loud and subtly amused from the cabin: “Priscilla, what happened?”
She knew exactly what had happened. This was one more test on her qualification flight. There was no danger to the Copperhead. Nobody was at risk other than herself.
“Engines have shut down,” said Benny.
“Engines off,” she told Jake. “Power outage.”
The navigational display flickered back to life, and the stars blinked on. She couldn’t see anything through the ports, of course. They were all blocked by the heavy shielding that protected the Copperhead against radiation. They’d used it for Priscilla’s certification flight because the mission had included a visit to Palomus, which was located in the Wolf 359 system. Wolf 359 was a flare star. The shielding covered every piece of Plexiglas in the ship. The lander was also shielded.
Jake appeared at the hatch. “You okay, Priscilla?”
“I’m fine.” The misty transdimensional universe that provided shortcuts across the cosmos had vanished, replaced by the vast sweep of the Milky Way. “We’re back outside.” That would have been automatic. During a power failure, the drive unit was designed to return the vehicle to normal space. Otherwise, the ship risked being lost forever, with no chance of rescue. “Benny, is there an imminent threat?”
“Negative, Priscilla. Ship is secure.”
“Very good.” She turned to Jake, who was buckling down beside her. He was middle-aged, low-key, competent. His voice never showed emotion. Forbearance sometimes. Tolerance. But that was all. “You want me to send out a distress call?”
“Where would you send it, Priscilla?”
“Serenity is closest.” It would, of course, be a hyperspace transmission. The station would know within a few hours that they were in trouble.
“Good. No. Don’t send. Let’s assume you’ve done that. What’s next?”
* * *
THERE WASN’T ACTUALLY that much else to do. She asked Benny for details on the damage and was told where the problems lay and what needed to be done before restarting the engines. The electronics had gone out because the main feeding line had ruptured. She went down into the cargo hold, opened the access hatch, and explained to Jake how she would have managed the repairs. He asked a few questions, seemed satisfied with her replies, and they started back topside.
They were just emerging from the connecting shaft when Benny came back on the circuit. “Priscilla, we’re receiving a radio signal. Artificial.”
She looked at Jake. And smiled.
“No,” he said. “It’s not part of the exercise.”
That was hard to believe. But even though the ground rules allowed him to make stuff up, he was not permitted to lie about whether a given occurrence was a drill. “What’s it say, Benny?”
“I have not been able to make a determination. The signal, I suspect, is greatly weakened.”
It made no sense. There wouldn’t be anybody out here. They were light-years from everything.
While she hesitated, Jake took over. “Benny, can you get a fix on it?”
“Within limits, yes.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“The nearest star in that direction, Captain, is Capua. But Capua is more than two hundred light-years away. It certainly did not originate there. Moreover, I believe the transmission is a broadcast signal. Not directional.”
“Okay,” said Jake. “What do you make of it, Priscilla?”
“No way an artificial radio signal’s going to travel two hundred light-years. Especially a broadcast.”
“Therefore—?”
“It’s a distress call. Somebody actually did what we’ve been rehearsing. Broke down and got thrown out into normal space.”
“So what do we do?”
“If the signal’s so deteriorated that we can’t read it—”
“—Yes?—”
“They’ve been out here a while and are probably beyond help.”
“Very good, Priscilla. Shall we make that assumption?”
She straightened her shoulders. “No, sir.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Benny,” said Priscilla, “is the signal still coming in?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Any chance if we sit tight you’d be able to get a clear enough reading to tell us what it says?”
“Negative.”
Jake looked at her. “What do we do?”
“Find the source.”
* * *
TO DO THAT, they had to move. Get another angle. “Benny,” she said, “start engines. Prep for a jump. We want a seventy-degree angle on the transmission. Set for eighty million kilometers.”
“Starting engines, Priscilla.”