"What did you tell him?"
"I recommended that we jettison an E-beacon with a copy of
Desiree's
log just before we enter the system. After all, we have to get out of metaspace before we enter the star's gravity field anyway."
"Makes sense to me. What else?"
"I also suggested that we have one of their own broadcasts ready to play back to them, so they'd know what brought us here."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Mahree objected. "Suppose that particular transmission turned out to be somebody's declaration of war? Mirroring what they sent when we don't understand it might be dangerous."
"Raoul pointed that out, so I retracted that suggestion."
"What else?"
"I said that if we see any signs of them, it'd be best for us to just sit there and let them make the first move. And that if we meet them physically, we should do it unarmed."
"What did he say to that last proposition?"
46
"I could tell he was having trouble with that one."
Mahree sighed. "I'm not surprised, although I agree with you. It might not matter whether we're armed or not, since they may not even recognize our weapons for what they are."
"And vice versa, I suppose." Rob leaned his head in his hands. "God, I'm so tired. I can't remember when I last slept well. This waiting is wearing us all down. You could take a laser and slice up the tension in this ship, then stack it in the cargo hold, it's so tangible."
"I know. I heard that Uncle Raoul and Joan had a terrible fight last night.
They hardly ever fight," Mahree said, shaking her head sadly.
Rob indicated the stack of computer flimsies. "Can I help you with this, or should I go below and check the zucchini?"
He looked so worn and haggard that Mahree's heart lurched, and she couldn't trust her eyes to meet his. "You go on," she said. "I'd rather work alone for a while. This stuff requires total concentration."
"Right." He stood up. "You
sure
everything's okay?"
She forced herself to smile brightly. "Positive. Don't worry so much."
"There goes the E-beacon," one of the engineering techs said as
Desiree
lurched slightly.
So Raoul decided to follow my advice,
Rob thought. I
hope that E-beacon
won't turn out to be the only trace of us anyone ever finds.
He brought himself up short.
Stop it. Those talks with Simon must be getting to you.
He glanced up at the viewscreen as he sat in the booth in the crowded galley. The stars shone in unwinking glory, for
Desiree
had emerged into realspace several minutes ago.
Ahead of them lay System X. From this distance, farther than from Sol to Pluto, the central star was only marginally brighter and larger than the surrounding stellar profusion.
"Yellow-white," Joan Atwood's voice reached the listeners in the galley.
"Younger and a little larger than Sol."
"Sixteen planets," Paul Monteleon said. "Three ringed gas giants, plus five ice-and-rock chunks out here at the farthest reaches . . . barely bigger than moons."
"Can you pinpoint the source of the transmissions?" Raoul asked, his voice coming through strained and hoarse.
47
"Not yet," said Jerry, sounding abstracted. "But they're not from these eight worlds. They're from deeper in ... which makes sense."
Rob watched tensely as they passed within visual range of one of the frozen worldlets. Sunlight glittered off ammonia snowbanks and methane lakes.
"How many hours will it take us to reach those warmer worlds?" he asked Mahree, who was sitting in the next booth. "They're our best candidates."
"At this speed, about three hours to reach a distance of about two Astronomical Units," she answered. "That's a little more than the distance from Sol to Mars."
"Past the gas giants," Rob said. "By then we should be able to get some data on those eight inner worlds."
Mahree mumbled a monosyllabic agreement.
Rob glanced over at the girl, noting the dark shadows that still lay beneath her eyes. And those eyes ... there was something haunted about them, a sadness that he'd only seen before when she'd avoided talking about the deaths of her friends from Lotis Fever. Mahree had aged in the days since they'd received the first transmission. Her previously rounded, unmarked features appeared fined-down, more mature.
She'll be an attractive woman
someday,
Rob found himself thinking.
She turned to glance at him, blushing, and he realized with a start that he'd been staring. He colored, too. "Sorry. I seem to be fading in and out of consciousness."
"That's all right," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes.
Rob wondered whether Mahree was still upset about her nightmare. But he'd asked her if anything was wrong and she'd said "no," so there was nothing more he could do.
As they sat watching the viewscreen, Yoki came in and crowded into the seat beside Rob. "How's it going?"
"Nothing so far," he told her, giving her hand a quick, unobtrusive squeeze.
"Just more hurry up and wait."
"We all must be masochists," Yoki said, glancing around the galley at the pale, tense faces surrounding them. "What we ought to do is just put on one of your films and let the bridge crew tell us whether anyone pops up to say
'hi,' instead of sitting here sweating it out."
"We could always go view one privately," Rob said, his voice pitched for her hearing alone. "Something romantic, maybe. You haven't seen
Casablanca
yet."
48
She smiled ruefully. "I probably couldn't concentrate ... on anything, including films. Could you?"
"No," he admitted, truthfully.
Desiree
penetrated deeper into the alien solar system. The star finally began to look like a sun, and Joan reported an asteroid belt, much thinner than the one that lay between Mars and Jupiter. They passed one gas giant, a dark-ringed orange behemoth slightly larger than Saturn.
At some point Rob dozed off, only to awaken an hour or so later with a stiff neck and back, his mouth dry and tasting of ancient coffee. Yoki was shaking his elbow. "Huhhh?"
"Shhhh! Listen, Rob!"
Jerry Greendeer's voice was saying: "... sure. It's located about one and a half A.U.'s out. Nearly twice the size of Earth, but the gravity is only about one and a half gee . . . fewer heavy elements, maybe. Four moons, little ones."
Rob tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "He found it?"
"Yes." Yoki never took her eyes off the viewscreen. It showed only the sun, which now appeared nearly the size of Sol as seen from Earth.
"Where is it?"
"The sixth planet," Mahree said. "We've slowed down our approach. Uncle Raoul didn't want to barge in like we owned the place."
"Good idea," Rob allowed. He stretched, yawned, then got up to get something to drink. By the time he came back, the planet was visible as a tiny, green-and-white disk.
"We still receiving transmissions?" he asked Mahree.
"I don't know."
The disk grew larger. Rob leaned forward in his seat, his heart hammering, his mouth dry again. Glancing over at Mahree, he saw that she was chewing furiously on her lower lip. Yoki alone sat without betraying excitement, her dark eyes fixed intently on the viewscreen.
"Hey," Jerry's voice reached them, "I'm getting something. Transmissions.
They're not from the planet."
"Then where are they coming from?"
Nobody answered.
Desiree
continued to glide forward, slowing even more.
Ahead of them the planet turned, and Rob thought he could make out the blue shimmer of water.
49
"Captain." Jerry's voice was flat, but something about it made the hairs at the back of Rob's neck stir. "I've found the source of the transmissions. They're ships, sir."
"Holy shit, they sure are," Raoul muttered.
Rob was on his feet by then, barely aware that Yoki had grabbed his hand, that her nails were digging into his palm. He gaped, frozen, at the small vessels drifting into visual range.
Four, five . . . seven, no, eight.
Desiree
was surrounded.
50
Dear Diary:
I'm up in the control cabin, lounging in the copilot's seat and looking up at the central viewscreen. They're still there, the alien ships, all eight of them, shining amber against the blackness. They're shaped very differently than
Desiree
(which vaguely resembles a pregnant blimp).
These craft are narrow and streamlined ... as though they could also navigate through atmosphere. Rob said they reminded him of an Earth predator called a hammerhead shark. On either side they have narrow, swept-back projections that don't really look like wings, but probably serve the same function. They're all the same golden orange color, with small black lines appearing amidships.
It's been nearly an hour and a half since they moved into position surrounding
Desiree,
but that was the last move they made. They're just pacing us out there, about twenty kilometers away, waiting, waiting for ...
who knows?
Uncle Raoul is sitting down in the galley, drinking Simon's horrible coffee, and from his expression I'd say he's having second thoughts about this whole venture.
When the eight craft first arrived, Joan slowed
Desiree
to a crawl, and our escorts decreased speed correspondingly. The question is, are they an honor guard, or are we prisoners?
In the beginning we were flooded with transmissions, but of
50
51
course we couldn't reply, and they soon stopped. We're still approaching the planet, but at this rate it'll take us half a day to get there.
There are four of us here on the bridge: Jerry, Paul, Joan, and me. A few of the crew members are still watching the screen in the galley, but most have gone back to work.
I don't know where Rob is at the moment, and, frankly, that's a relief. He's beginning to suspect something is wrong.
I wish I could get over the way I feel toward him! But no matter how hard I try, each time I see him it's like a jolt of electricity. Painful, but it makes me feel so
alive.
I keep telling myself that what I'm feeling isn't love, that I'm too young for that ... but it feels like love. Is it possible to
really
love someone when you're almost-seventeen?
How do you know when it's really--
Mahree stopped keying abruptly, her brown eyes widening. Only force of long habit made her hit the "save" button before she spoke. "Aunt Joan! One of the ships is moving closer!"
The First Mate looked up even as she keyed the intercom. "Captain to the bridge, on the double!"
Mahree and the others watched, mesmerized, as the little craft drifted closer . . . closer to them.
"Range, 750 meters," Jerry finally announced. "I'm going to take a better look at those black marks." He adjusted the magnification factor on the forward viewscreen to focus in on the small black lines Mahree had noted earlier.
Close up, the "lines" were actually strings of alien symbols. "At least we can be sure of one thing, now," Jerry said. "They have visual sensing organs, or they wouldn't have any reason to put external markings on their ships."
The little vessel moved toward
Desiree,
stopping about 500 meters away.
Mahree narrowed her eyes, straining to see whether it had viewports of any kind, but the flared nose of the craft appeared completely featureless. Behind her she could hear the babble of excited voices as crew members jammed onto the bridge.
"It's moving again!" Paul Monteleon said, a moment later.
As they watched, tracking its progress on the viewscreen, the alien vessel began a spiraling course, circling
Desiree
from bow to stern. Then, as it began a second circuit, a bright light splashed out from its bow, to shine on the bigger ship.
52
Joan gasped. "Are they aiming some kind of weapon?"
Paul glanced at an instrument reading, then shook his head. "Just a light beam. They want a better look at us."
As it drifted past on its second survey, the little ship paused four times, the first time at
Desiree's
bow; the next just forward of the galley, near the emergency suit lockers; a third time amidships, opposite the lifeboat hatch; and, finally, "below" the freighter's belly, opposite the cargo loading port.
"Why are they stopping?" Raoul asked. Mahree stole a quick glance and saw him standing beside her aunt, his hand gripping his wife's shoulder, either for comfort or support, Mahree couldn't tell which.
"They halted for nearly five seconds opposite each of our airlocks," Jerry muttered thoughtfully.
"Do you think they're planning to
board
us?" Mahree barely recognized Simon Viorst's voice, shrill with fear. She glanced back at the crowd, but could not see the Bio Officer.
"I doubt it," Raoul said sharply. "If they were hostile, surely they'd have fired on us by now."
"They were probably measuring the size and shape of our airlocks," Mahree said. "If they intend to meet us face to face, they'll have to connect one of their ships to ours."
As they watched, the little craft, indistinguishable from its companions, again took its place among those escorting
Desiree.
"Show's over, folks!" barked Raoul. "Let's clear out and free up the air in here. We'll inform you by intercom if anything else happens, okay?"
Mahree realized she was hungry. With all the excitement, she'd skipped breakfast and forgotten lunch. Now, her stomach seemed as empty as vacuum, and she felt weak and disoriented.
"I'm going to get a sandwich," she announced, sitting up. "Anyone want one?"
Moments later, she was making a list.
Once in the galley, Mahree began programming the servo.
Let's see . . . two
ham and swiss on rye, one curried chicken salad, one tuna-melt in a pita, a
roast beef with cheddar, and, what do I want . . . a nice turkey club. Too bad
the real tomatoes and lettuce aren't ready to eat yet . . .