"Did you make the shortcuts?"
"The what?" "The shortcuts. The interstellar gateways, the stargates — whatever you want to call them."
"'Shortcuts,'" said the glass man, nodding. "A good name for them.
Yes, we created them."
Keith 's pulse was racing. "What do you want from me ?"
The wind chimes once more. "You seem defensive, Keith.
Isn't there some standard speech you're supposed to make in a first-contact situation? Or is it too early for that?".
Too early? "Well, yes." Keith swallowed. "I, G. K. Lansing, Director of Starplex, bring you friendly greetings from the Commonwealth of Planets, a peaceful association of four sentient races from three different homeworlds."
"Ah, now that's better. Thank you."
Keith was struggling to take it all in: the transparent humanoid, the forest re-creation, the beautiful starship, the diverting of his pod.
"I'd still like to know what you want from me," he said at last.
The glass man tipped his featureless head at Keith. "Well, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, the fate of the universe is in question."
Keith blinked.
"But, more than that," said the glass man, "I need to ask you some questions. For you see, Keith Lansing, you hold not only the key to the future, but also to the past."
Chapter II
A new sector of space — and one that had opened unexpectedly.
Keith and Rissa hurried to the bridge, entering through the port-side door . . which meant that Keith had to pass right by Lianne Karendaughter. Brilliant (a master's in electrical engineering from MIT), beautiful (luscious Asian features, mounds of platinum hair pinned up by gold clips), and young, Lianne had joined Starplex just six weeks ago, after a distinguished term as chief engineer on a large commercial hyperliner. She smiled at Keith as he passed — a radiant smile, a supernova smile. Keith felt his stomach flutter.
Starplex's bridge appeared to have no walls, floor, or ceiling.
Instead, it was enveloped by a spherical hologram of the ship's surroundings, its workstations seemingly floating amongst the stars.
The actual room was rectangular, with a doorway built into each wall, but the doors were invisible, lost within the spacescape. When they split down the middle and slid aside, it was as though space were opening up, revealing the corridors beyond. Apparently suspended in midair — but really attached to the invisible walls just above the doors — were trios of glowing clocks in each homeworld's time keeping system.
Keith and Rissa hurried to their workstations, looking as though they were running in space.
The bridge workstations were laid out in two rows of three, with the director's position in the middle of the back row. The front row was constantly occupied. The rear stations were only used when necessary; Jag, Keith, and Rissa all had separate offices where they did most of their work. By default, one of Keith's monitors showed a chart.of who was currently authorized to use each bridge station. It was the standard alpha-shift team in the front row:
Internal Operations Lianne Karendaughter
Helm Thoraid Magnor
External Operations Rhombus
Physical Sciences Jag Kandaro em-Pelsh
Director Keith Lansing
Life Sciences Clarissa Cervantes
The InOps manager was responsible for all onboard activities, including engineering. On the opposite side of the room was her opposite number, the ExOps manager, who supervised the docking bays and missions conducted by the fifty-four assorted ships stored there. To Keith's left was the station for Jag, head of physical sciences. To his right, again an opposite number: Rissa, head of life sciences.
Since most physics research was conducted aboard ship, it made sense that InOps was in front of the physics station.
Lianne could swivel her chair around, or rotate the workstation on its turntable base, for face-to-face consultations with Jag. Likewise, most life-sciences work was done away from the mothership; Rhombus at ExOps could easily consult with Rissa (although being an Ib, Rhombus had 360-degree vision; he didn't have to turn around to see her).
To make communication. even easier, ten-centimeter-high real-time holograms of Lianne and Thor's heads, plus a full body shot of Rhombus, normally floated above the rim of Jag, Keith, and Rissa's consoles; those in the front row had holos of the back-row heads floating above their stations.
On each side of the room was a large pool covered by an antisplash forcefield; any of the workstations could have its functions transferred to a dolphin in either pool. Behind the workstations was a row of nine polychairs for observers.
Keith watched as Jag entered through the starboard door.
The Waldahud moved across the starfield, squat bow legs carrying him in short steps, four arms stiff at his sides. Jag wore a couple of functional pieces of clothing, including a belt with storage pouches depending from it, and a band with a pocket on it around his upper left arm. The damned thing was practically naked except for his thick fur while Keith was freezing to death. The ship's common areas were kept at fifteen degrees Celsius, equivalent to a hot summer's noon on Rehbollo.
Keith half expected to see his breath whenever he left his apartment.
As Jag sat down, the Waldahud's monitor screens configured themselves to be twice as tall as they were wide. Jag could watch two of them simultaneously, one with his vertically stacked left pair of eyes, the other with his vertically stacked right pair. Like humans, Waldahudin had two-sided brains, but each of their hemispheres could process a separate stereoscopic image.
There was no flicker of expression on Jag's face — not that Keith was good at decoding such things, anyway. Their altercation in the corridor an hour ago merited no comment, apparently. Of course not, thought Keith. Just business as usual for one of them.
He shook his head, and turned away. Thoraid Magnor, at the helm station, was a giant human of about fifty, with a fiery red beard. At ExOps, the polychair had been retracted beneath the floor, and the console lowered on its slim legs to accommodate its current user.
Rhombus, like all Ibs, resembled a stone wheelchair with a watermelon in the seat.
One of Keith's monitors was already showing the report from CHAT — the Commonwealth Hyperspace Astrophysics Telescope — about the newly activated shortcut. The exit was in the Perseus Arm, some ninety thousand light-years from their current location. And that was all that was known about it, except that something had recently gone through this shortcut, activating it. What that something was, and where it had gone through the network, was anyone's guess.
"All right, everyone," said Keith. "We'll start with a standard alpha-class probe. Thor, move us to within twenty klicks of the shortcut."
"Give me two seconds, boss," said Thor. Keith could simultaneously see Thor's face in the miniature hologram, and the back of his real head at the station in front of his. His face was large and rough, his beard and hair long and wild.
Keith had seen a Viking helmet on a shelf in Thor's shipboard apartment once; it would have suited him. We ve got a probeship in the process of docking."
A moment later, lights flashed on Rhombus's sensor web.
"I announce with pleasure that the Marc Garneau is secured in docking bay eight," said a voice with a British accent in Keith's ear. By convention, Waldahud voices were translated into English with old-fashioned New York accents, while the Ibs were assigned British ones — it made it easier to sort out who was speaking, since the translated voices all came from the same source, the listener's cochlear implant.
"Okay, boss," said Thor. "Here we go." In front of him, Keith could see Thor's large hands manipulating controls. About five minutes later, the stars stopped moving again. "As requested, boss," said Thor. "Twenty thousand meters from the shortcut, on the button."
"Thank you," said Keith. "Rhombus, please launch the probe."
Rhombus's ropelike tentacles snapped across his console as if he were whipping it into submission. His sensor web flashed. "A pleasure to do so."