Mostly, what I saw was lots of black, with distant points of light that were stars. An indistinct flickering of amber occasionally appeared, almost like the faintest of mists that I could barely see. I thought that might be the ship’s defense shields interacting with the few molecules of gas that comprised space outside planetary systems.
I’d just as soon have gone back to working on the study of the pilots, but when I started to unfasten the harness, the system warned me, “Please remain in your harness. The ship could lose gravity at any time. Please remain in your harness.”
I stayed put and tried to master the other functions of the screen controls in the armrest.
After about half an hour, while switching screens, I caught sight of something, small arrows, greenish. There were five of them, and they flared yellow-amber as they moved away from the Magellan. I increased the magnification gain on the screen, enough to see that they were more like cylinders that flared slightly into a conical base. They had to be needleboats. That was what I’d gathered from the basic information about the ship. I’d only skimmed through it, because I’d been looking for images, rather than text. The small craft didn’t look at all like needles, but I didn’t know what else they could have been. I was sure that torps would have moved faster.
In moments, they were gone beyond the range of any of the screens connected to my system. I tried the other feeds to the screens, but they all came up showing just stars as points of light, with a few dark splotches here and there. Except for one, and it just showed a small disc of amber-green, and that was only with some sort of enhancement or filters. I thought that might be our escort ship, but that was a guess.
Without access to my equipment, all I could do was switch screens and watch.
After another half hour or so, the lights flickered, and for a moment, there was no gravity. My stomach wanted to turn inside out, but didn’t have a chance to before gravity returned.
Right after that, a small flare of light appeared on the center screen. It wasn’t much bigger than the sun of the Hamilton system, and then it was gone.
I had everything in record mode. I pulled the image back to that and tried to get an enlargement. Even at max gain, and amplification, the best I could do was a tiny image of chunks of something flaring outward, then disappearing into the darkness. I tried infrared, and that outlined the pieces some, but they still faded quickly. Distance and the cold of space, I guessed.
I kept watching.
After a while one of the needleboats returned, followed by another. Then another craft eased out of one of the Magellan’s bays. It was cylindrical and looked to be more than five times the size of the needleboats, although it was hard to tell because they were at different distances, and the needleboats had docked or locked before I could really compare them. The second craft vanished into the darkness. I went back through the familiarization information on the Magellan and discovered that the larger boat was one of the ship’s shuttles.
Another needleboat returned before the announcement came that we could stand down, and the system didn’t warn me when I finally released all the harnesses.
Because I’d wondered what the last boat had been up to, even after I’d taken out the easel and lightbrushes again, I kept checking the screens. In time, well after I’d gone to the mess and eaten and come back, the shuttle-craft finally returned. Grappled to its side was a damaged needleboat, partly crumpled in places. I hoped the pilot was all right. I wondered if she had been one of those whom I was trying to portray.
Then I realized that one of the needleboats hadn’t returned. At least, the screens and the recordings hadn’t shown the fifth needleboat coming back.
From what I could tell, I’d just been in the center of a space battle. I had the best visual screens on the ship—or access to them—and I’d hardly seen anything.
Aeryana would never believe that. Neither would Nicole.
25
Fitzhugh
At the evening repast, if one could term it such, although I had eaten far worse institutional fare over the varied years of my existence, Melani, Tomas, and I found ourselves at a table with Dr. Sorens and Dr. Fer-ward. Sorens had his doctorate in structural engineering. I hadn’t the faintest idea what Ferward did, but all indications were that his expertise was congruent to that of Sorens, given how readily and animatedly they were conversing before we joined them.
Alyendra had demurred from accompanying us, asserting politely that she would refrain from partaking in order not to place more strain on her system. The so-called battle had affected her, although it had scarcely seemed to have had any impact on the Magellan. I had strapped into my seat and watched the screen only long enough to ascertain that the representation of hostilities would display little new to me, indeed, display little at all, and would only provoke my own fruitless analysis of what might have been done. That being the case, I’d employed the time to endeavor to catch up on the seemingly endless professional journals, monographs, and articles that I had downloaded from my datablocs into my office system on the Magellan.
Most of what I had gone though I’d skimmed and discarded, falling as it did in one of two categories—over-analysis of the trivial or inconsequential or reverential obsequiousness in support of long-established historical truisms.
There had been an interesting article by a singer, a Carol Ann Janes, one suggesting that the creative arts, qualitatively presented in terms of exemplary and original work, foreshadowed cultural ascension and decline more closely than more traditional barometers such as technical innovation, predominance of exchange mechanisms, military puissance, or popular cultural inundation. I suspected that there might be flaws with her approach, but it had the merit of being a real-time potential direct causative correlation, rather than delayed secondary symptomatic association. The remainder of the articles had been far less intriguing, and I was more than relieved to join Tomas and Melani.
“Good evening,” offered Dr. Sorens, the engineer who looked as if he would have been more at home as an elf of ancient wish-fulfillment fantasies than on a mission where he was to determine the structural properties of alien materials.
“Good evening,” returned Melani.
“What did you think of the fight?” asked Ferward, a man presenting a round face suggesting jollity above an angular physique that bespoke great physical effort in maintaining optimal aerobic condition.
“I didn’t follow it,” Melani admitted.
“I would have been surprised if it had turned out any other way,” Tomas observed.
“What was your opinion about the events?” I asked, looking at Sorens.
“Ah… I was actually going over some material on anomalous composites.”
“You didn’t watch the screens?” asked Ferward.
“I can’t say that I did, Edmund. There wasn’t much to see, and some of the data in my briefing materials suggested that the aliens might have mastered wide-scale production of anomalous composites.”
“What does that mean?” asked Melani with a warm smile. “If you wouldn’t mind explaining?”
“Anomalous metals and composites have been around for centuries. They’re materials that incorporate the best features of bom glass, liquids, and metals. That’s oversimplifying, of course…”