“Yes, Prime Councilor. Etnarii has but one stargate, so there was no way to report what had happened. After collecting all of the data we could, we returned to the planet to await the freighter with the replacement gate. It took longer for someone to come looking than we expected.”
“Yes, Ship Commander. Those responsible will answer for their negligence. However, that is not why we asked you here. The situation is sufficiently unique that we wanted to hear your story for ourselves.”
“What situation?” Pas-Tek asked.
“Dos-Val.”
The representative of the Ministry of Science turned to Pas-Tek. “Ship Commander, the Ministry has analyzed the data you collected. You are to be complimented on your thoroughness. Your observations of the gas cloud were especially enlightening.
“We have extrapolated the density of the plasma to determine its mass, as well as its composition. We have come to a startling conclusion.
“All of the mass in the cloud appears to be from the stargate. We can find no trace of these bipeds’ ship in the debris!”
#
Chapter Four
Daedalus
was a weary ship as it dropped sublight at the edge of the Hideout System. Hideout was the G-class star astronomers had chosen to host humanity’s secret base of operations in Broan space. It had been picked because it was only 10 light-years from the Crab Nebula, actually on the fringe of the expanding ball of gas and dust. Proximity to the pulsar gave it a high level of background radiation, making it the perfect hiding place.
The Crab was the remnant of a supernova that exploded around 6000 B.C. Though relatively close to Sol on the galactic scale of distance, the “guest star” did not appear in the skies of Earth until May of 1054 A.D. By July 4 of that year, the new star had grown in luminosity until it was brighter than everything save the full moon. It would have been hard to miss for anyone familiar with the night sky and was duly noted in the annals of both Arab and Chinese astronomers.
The Crab was important to Earth’s astronomers for a simple reason. Under interrogation about where the Broan Sovereignty lay in space, Sar-Say had sketched a series of sky scenes he had witnessed in his travels. One of these featured a large globular glowing cloud in a black sky which Sar-Say had dubbed “Sky Flower.” Computer analysis identified it as the Crab Nebula.
Hideout was a G-class giant of a star some ten times larger than Sol. The system possessed seven planets, none of which radiated any detectable artificial energy. Two of the worlds were gas giants in the outer reaches of the system, and a third orbited in the middle of the temperate zone.
Although classified as terrestrial, the world was twice the size of Earth and inconveniently large. However, its oversize moon, some three times the diameter of Luna, was made to order as a base of operations.
#
Of necessity,
Daedalus
had broken out on the outskirts of the Hideout System, beyond the critical limit. To penetrate too deeply into a star’s gravity well would have strained the stardrive generators. It took a full week to dive into the inner system. For much of that time, the main viewscreen was slaved to a telescope that showed their destination. The crew watched the planet/moon pair grow from a dimensionless point, to a misshapen blob, and finally, to two perceptible disks with faint mottling.
From the ship’s vantage point, both moon and planet were crescent-shaped, with the glowing yellow ball of Hideout hovering against a black backdrop. The planet was half-lit by Hideout’s rays, while Sutton, the moon, had both a bright and a dim hemisphere — the latter illuminated by the copious light reflected off Brinks’ clouds.
The only other thing visible against the backdrop of space was the Crab Nebula. The ghostly apparition covered half the sky, with the supernova remnant clearly visible at its center. Some claimed to be able to see the remnant actually pulsate… unlikely, since the neutron star at its center rotated 30 times each second.
“How can something so ugly be beautiful at the same time?” Lisa Rykand asked her husband as the two of them cuddled on their too-narrow bed and watched Sutton grow ever larger on their cabin screen.
“Cognitive dissonance,” he replied. “We were out too long this time.”
“Well, we made it home and we’ll have thirty days before we have to go out again.”
He groaned. “Don’t remind me! Let’s live in the present for awhile. I wonder what new amusements they’ve set up since we’ve been gone?”
“I’m sure the recreation center has the usual array of well-thumbed playing cards and chess sets missing no more than a piece or two. Then, of course, there’s the booze.”
“There is that,” he agreed.
Space Navy regulations were very specific when it came to being intoxicated on duty… specific and draconian. When the art of distillation was as easy as hooking up a plastic tube to the nearest vacuum spigot, the powers-that-be controlled drunkenness in the same way the British Navy had once handled the problem. They became the sole authorized distributor of alcohol.
Daedalus
had been out three full months this trip. Their routine was the same as on every other voyage. They would sneak into the traffic flow in some Broan system, and then jump from gate to gate to gate until they ran out of recording space in the computer.
And so, in addition to Broan traffic of all sorts, there were a dozen or so human craft traversing the stargate network at any given time. By pretending to be locals, they could survey star systems faster than more surreptitious methods allowed. Even so, they were not getting the job done quickly enough.
The problem was that the Broan domain was too damned large! The human fleet, operating at the end of a year-long supply line, could easily spend several lifetimes poking around on the fringes of enemy star systems. And the more they did so, the more likely that they would be detected, or worse, one of them would be captured.
It was a scenario that kept the Q-ship crews on edge the whole time they were in Broan space… and kept their Captains’ hands never far from the self-destruct switch wired to a small nuke welded to the ship’s keel.
Mark Rykand and his wife snuggled together and watched the approach to Sutton parking orbit. Since the moon was airless, ships could orbit close to the surface; so close, in fact, that it sometimes looked as though they would clip the tops of the moon’s Alpine-size mountains.
As
Daedalus
used a staccato burst of attitude control jets to slide into its assigned orbital slot, the view shifted. A large spherical shape lay at the center of the screen. It floated stationary while Sutton’s surface swept past in a blur of motion behind it. The big freighter wore a ring of silver around its hull, giving it the look of a bald man with a hat perched at a jaunty angle.
“What the hell is that?” Mark asked.
Lisa was quiet for a few seconds, and then laughed.
“It’s a stargate!”
“So it is!” Mark exclaimed. “They actually snagged one while we were gone!”
#
One thing you had to say about the Space Navy, once a ship returned from a long, arduous patrol, they wasted no time in emptying it out. Save for a minimum watch on the bridge and in the engine spaces, the rest of the crew crowded into the three ground-to-orbit boats that arrived to take them down to Sutton.
Mark and Lisa managed to squirm into one of the bare acceleration shelves on the third transport along with two space bags.
“Happy, Darling?” she asked as she snuggled closer and gave him a brief kiss on the lips.
“Ecstatic,” he replied. “Somehow this canned air smells fresher than our canned air, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
There was nothing to see as the boat’s retro engines fired and they dropped from low orbit into lower orbit, en route to the main spaceport on Sutton’s surface. The boats were built for cargo, not sightseeing.
They listened intently to the quiet cacophony of noises as gravity returned for the first time in months. It wasn’t much gravity. Sutton was larger than Luna, with one-quarter of Earth’s pull. Still, it seemed like a lot for muscles used to microgravity.
Then there was a long muted roar from the engines, the sound of fuel pumps somewhere nearby flooding them with reaction mass, and various subdued conversations as crewmates spoke urgently about what they were going to do when they “hit dirt.”
The short flight was over more quickly than Mark remembered from previous mission debarkations. Apparently, the orbital mechanics were more favorable than usual, or perhaps he had just been more anxious the previous times.
Whatever else one might say about whoever was flying this particular space truck, he knew his business. The landing was so soft that it took a moment for Mark to realize they were down. Only the fact that the engines went suddenly quiet, but the gravity remained, told him that they had
Sutton firma
beneath them.
“I guess we’re here,” Mark said, struggling to undo the chest strap that had restrained him while Lisa did the same. They then slid off the shelf and into the central aisle of the boat, joining the tangle of bodies doing the same.
At the end of a voyage of several hundred light-years, a week navigating from the edge of the Hideout System, and twenty minutes getting down from orbit, there was naturally some kind of a problem with the airlock embarking tube.
Daedalus
’ anxious crewmembers waited impatiently while the sound of soft cussing emanated from the boat copilot as he worked to obtain a green latch light. Eventually, the recalcitrant light turned emerald and the sound of rushing air could be heard through the cabin. The ship lock opened, and spacers began to walk unsteadily into the tube and disappear.
When it came to Mark and Lisa’s turn, he gathered up both of their bags, marveling at how heavy they were, and followed his wife to the tube.
They caught a glimpse of sunlit moonscape as they crossed the gap to the main terminal. They hurried because the supernova remnant was above the horizon. When the nova rose, the background radiation level on Sutton was not healthy for long exposure.
Then they were through the big port airlock, and entered a tunnel with bare rock walls slanting sharply downward. A dozen meters later, they spilled out into the subterranean arrival hall that seemed to have been expanded in their absence. At least, a section that had been closed off was now open to reveal a small snack bar for passengers waiting to disembark.
Looking around at what seemed a teeming mass of humanity, but was in reality only about thirty souls, Mark was about to lead the way to an exit when a very young ensign approached them.
“Commander and Lieutenant Rykand?” the boy asked in a voice that cracked as he spoke, as though its owner wasn’t quite through puberty.
“Yes,” Mark responded.
“Ensign Foxworth, sir… ma’am. Will you come with me?”
“Where?” Mark asked.
“The Admiral wants to see the two of you, sir.”
The ensign was startled when two voices — one male, one female — both uttered the same short, sharp obscenity in unison.
#
Chapter Five
Mark and Lisa followed the young ensign through the bowels of Sutton’s underground labyrinth, down two ramps, to a newly opened level of the base. They moved with the usual skating motion required by low gravity, lest too energetic a stride send them bounding into the air to crack a skull on the rough-hewn rock overhead. The walls were native stone, still bearing the scars of digging lasers under a transparent layer of atmosphere sealant. Thick black cables suspended from the ceiling carried power to the widespread overhead lamps. They paralleled smaller cables that glowed with the soft violet color of shortwave lasers transporting data and communications. The corridor smelled of still-curing plastic.
Ensign Foxworth led them to an emergency airlock door with the words “BASE COMMANDER” emblazoned on its otherwise dull surface. The door was of local manufacture, cast from iron ore mined and smelted a few kilometers from the base. The sign was redundant. The presence of two alert Marines with sidearms was sufficient to identify the inhabitant of this particular office.
Foxworth pushed open the door. Inside was a small office dominated by a desk occupied by a decorative blonde in the uniform of a spacer-second. Besides the regulation work station in front of her and the intercom unit, the only other article in the spartan office was a large green plant with broad leaves sprouting from a yellow plastic bucket. A pair of sun lamps anchored to the overhead shone down on the plant, providing the office’s illumination.
“Lieutenant Commander Rykand and Lieutenant Rykand to see the Admiral,” the ensign announced.
“Yes, sir.” The assistant pressed a key on the intercom and repeated the information.
“Send them in,” a familiar voice answered in response.
“You can go in now.”
“Thanks,” Mark answered. The closed door before him was a simple cast iron slab mounted on hinges and latched in the traditional manner. Mark pulled the door open, surprised at the inertia of it.
Beyond was the inner sanctum. It was the typical hollowed-out gallery. The bare walls were decorated with paintings rendered on dull mirror sheets of cryo insulation stretched over metal frames. Most were of terrestrial scenes.
“Mark, Lisa, welcome back!” Admiral Daniel Landon said, moving from behind his desk to greet them. He shook both of their hands and ushered them toward a side table where sat two large shiny pots. “Have some refreshments. Coffee or tea, as you like.”
“Coffee, sir? Tea?” Lisa asked, slightly bewildered “Won’t you run short?”
“That’s right, you two have been away for awhile,” Landon said with a chuckle. “Not to worry. A bulk freighter came in last month loaded with delicacies. Apparently, the Navy realized that we have been getting sick of carniculture and hydroponics. Not only coffee, but sugar! You’ll find the mess hall has all manner of delicacies now. Hell, we even have two kinds of muffins for breakfast.”
Mark poured himself a black coffee and Lisa a cup of tea to which he added two white sugar cubes. The coffee smell caused his mouth to water, it had been so long. The cups were low gravity models, round bottoms with high, inward sloping sides — a compromise between true cups and the sealed bulbs they drank from aboard ship.