“Navigation has provided us with a possible destination that’s closer, easier to reach, and potentially superior.” He looked back at her. “If we’re fortunate and the preliminary analysis is accurate, this may prove to be a better habitat for the entire colony. If that turns out to be the case, can you imagine the reaction when we start to revive the colonists?”
She nodded knowingly, her expression still sour.
“And you’ll be the guy to have found it.”
He chose not to argue with her, not caring in so choosing if his lack of combativeness only served to confirm her preferred conclusion.
“And we don’t want to resume hypersleep,” he said. “Nobody does. Nobody wants to get back into those damn pods. Also, there’s something else. Singing and ancient song selections aside, that sounded like a human voice. A voice in need. Nobody can deny that. The desperation was unmistakable.” His voice trailed off. “If I was a lone human stuck on a distant, unknown planet…”
“How is that even possible?” she asked him.
He was ready with an answer. “Ships go missing from time to time. You know that. Transports, prospecting vessels—not everybody takes the time and trouble to report their itinerary.” He essayed a thin smile. “Not everybody wants the government or competing companies to know their itinerary.”
She shifted tack. “We’re responsible for two thousand colonists. Whole families. They went into hypersleep on the assumption that when they were awakened, it would be on a productive, livable, safe world. They were promised Origae-6.
“This isn’t about you,” she pressed. “This is about them.”
He stiffened. “I’m fully aware of what they were promised. Karine and I were promised the same thing immediately, to occur upon the Covenant’s official decommissioning. As were you and the rest of the crew. I’m not free climbing here. I’m making a sound judgment based on all the data we have. Or are you disputing Ricks’ and Mother’s analytics?”
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, “we don’t owe the colonists sound judgment. We owe them our best judgment, Captain. And in my judgment, putting the mission in jeopardy to follow a rogue signal to an unknown and unidentified planet in an uncharted system is not the best judgment.”
He could no longer conceal his exasperation.
“It’s the decision I’m making,” he replied. “And the signal itself is secondary, at best. I’ve already said that. What we’re really going to take a look at is a potentially colonizable world that’s seven years nearer to our present position, and possibly more amenable to settlement than Origae-6.”
She drew herself up. “Well, as your second-in-command, I need to protest officially.”
“Officially?” His voice went flat. “Do what you need to do. Mother will record it in the ship’s log, and you can send it out by relay whenever you feel the time is right. I’ll acknowledge your objection, if you wish. Officially.” He turned away from her.
Seething inside, she watched him move over to Ricks’ station. There was nothing more she could do. Despite her objections, she knew that most if not all of the rest of the crew would back Oram’s decision.
The prospect of not having to endure another seven years or more of hypersleep was a powerful incentive even to those who might be inclined to support her position. She could only file her formal objection, knowing that it would take more time to reach Earth than it would for the Covenant to arrive in the uncharted system—much less for a response to come back to the ship. Given that reality, she wasn’t sure it was worth the effort to file.
Oram would know that, too, she realized.
She could retire to her cabin—hers alone now—and rage and scream and kick the walls in frustration. If she requested Walter’s presence, he would come and listen solicitously to her grievances. He might even agree with her, but it was inconceivable that the synthetic might vote against the captain. Logic and reason were her only allies, and for all the good they were doing her, they might as well be locked up in hypersleep alongside the colonists.
There being nothing more she could do, she remembered the perfect joints Walter had rolled for her. That way lay, if not redress, at least momentary contentment.
Without a word to any of her colleagues she exited the bridge. It was a measure of their excitement and anticipation that no one, not even Tennessee, turned from their work to inquire about her state of mind, or where she was going.
VI
A bluish sun flared against the blackness of space as the massive bulk of the Covenant slowed upon entering the unnamed system.
As it approached the fourth planet, every station on the bridge was manned, every set of organic and inorganic eyes and ears was attuned to the blue-white dot they were approaching. Its two moons, each smaller than Earth’s, occupied unremarkable orbits. In contrast to the world they circled, the satellites offered nothing of interest.
On the bridge, Ricks worked his instrumentation with the hand-to-eye coordination of a professional gambler. At the moment, the comparison was apt.
“I’m cycling through every communications channel, including the theoretical ones, but all I’m getting is a lot of interference and white noise, some high frequency echoes… Trying to isolate and analyze, but it’s just a mess all across the spectrum.” He pursed his lips. “Can’t even tell if some of the sources are natural or artificial in origin. Planet’s got a heavy core, ionosphere is heavily charged, and predictors suggest the poles swing a lot. Place is a real electromagnetic gumbo.” He glanced across to another station. “You hearing anything?”
Nearby, an apprehensive Daniels stayed focused on her instruments as the Covenant maintained its cautious approach.
Having recovered his worry beads from his wife, Oram was nervously clicking them against one another—but softly, softly, so as not to disturb any of the others. At the central navigation table, Walter looked on intently as Mother continuously refined the imagery of the nearing world and its two moons. As yet there were no topographic details, but he knew those would begin to become available soon.
Finally replying to Ricks, Upworth nudged one half of her headphones and shook her head negatively.
“I’m getting pretty much what you’re getting, except I’ve kept the steady signal from our friendly ghost on a separate line.” She made a face. “I’m getting pretty sick of the song, by the way.”
Tennessee let out a dramatic sigh. “The siren’s song.”
“‘Once he hears to his heart’s content, sails on, a wiser man,’” Daniels murmured. When Oram gave her a sharp sideways glance, she added with a shrug, “I’m not criticizing. Blame Homer.”
“Well,” Tennessee quipped, “whatever’s down there, it isn’t Scylla, and it isn’t West Virginia, either.”
Ricks looked over at him. “What is a ‘West Virginia,’ anyway?”
“Ancient tribal demarcation,” Walter explained without looking up from his position. “There once were a great many of them, back when that sort of thing was considered relevant. The world used to be full of dozens of minor political entities, all working at cross-purposes instead of for the common good of the species and the planet.”