“Negative,” said Belle. “No response.”
Alex exhaled and sat back, saying nothing, but I could feel the tension.
“How long,” Shara asked, “before we can get an image?” She was watching on the cabin display.
“We're still losing ground. That'll stop in about thirteen minutes, and we'll start to close the gap. After that, it looks like maybe another twenty or thirty minutes before we can get a look at it.”
That pretty much ended the conversation. Alex sat with his arms folded, not unlike a frustrated parent. Shara asked me to be sure I relayed any images back to the cabin display. Then she, too, went quiet.
I stared at the auxiliary screen. The marker continued to blink. On and off. On and off.
What are you?
The pressure of acceleration pushed us deep into our seats. “How about we move a bit faster?” said Alex.
“We'd burn too much fuel.”
“Burn it.”
“We could wind up stranded out here, Alex.”
“Maybe we could just turn it up a little?”
“If we go roaring after it, we'll have a major braking problem at the end. Let me handle it, okay?”
I'd have preferred to have him in the cabin.
“I'm sorry,” he said, after several minutes of stony silence.
“It's okay.” We weren't going to get a second chance, but there was nothing we could do that wasn't being done.
Belle knew when tc keep quiet. She said nothing as the minutes ticked off. Until, finally, she could give us some good news: “Chase, we have begun to close on the target.”
“Thank God,” said Alex. “Next time we do something like this, we need to rethink the strategy.”
“We need more than one ship,” I said. “The area's too big.”
“I'm sorry,” said Shara. “It's my fault. I should have realized-”
“It's not anybody's fault, Shara.” Alex's voice was tense. The silence returned. Alex remained restless, adjusting his position, adjusting it again, checking the time.
“Switching to cruise,” said Belle.
The pressure generated by constant acceleration went away.
Shara appeared in the hatchway. “How we doing?”
The blinker shut down, and we were looking at a dim light on screen. A ship at the edge of vision. Belle tried to enhance the image, but nothing changed.
Gradually, it became several lights. We were able to make out a hull. “Still has power,” said Alex, “after two thousand years. Incredible.”
The hull acquired some definition. Alpha had twin thrusters. And a blunt prow. “Large vehicle,” said Belle.
The lights continued to separate. Some were interior.
And, moments later, Belle was back: “Ninety minutes to intercept.”
The bridge was lit up. As were a double line of ports, from front to rear. We could see movement inside.
Belle's voice: “Incoming traffic.”
Alex gripped my wrist and squeezed. “My God,” he said. “We've done it.”
My heart was racing. “Put it through, Belle.”
We got a voice, a male, speaking a strange language. But the desperation was clear enough. Code five. Require assistance. Help us, please.
“We're getting a vid transmission, too, Chase. But the system is not compatible.”
“Can you make an adjustment?”
“Trying.”
“Open a channel.”
“Done.”
“Hello. This is the Belle-Marie. I know you can't understand me, but we will endeavor to assist.”
“Chase, the language is Standard.”
“No, it isn't.”
“It's a two-thousand-year-old version.”
“Oh.” I would never have known.
Behind me, Alex was climbing into a suit. Shara was digging hers out.
“Can you translate?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Tell him to stand by. We're coming.”
Belle did, and the voice responded, sounding simultaneously relieved and despondent. Belle translated: “He's saying he's lost.”
“Okay. Tell him we'll help.”
“I already did. He says they have no control over the ship.”
“Tell him again. Ask how many people are on board.”
Belle asked him, but as she finished, the ship began to fade. The reply was broken up by static. She repeated the question.
More static. It was hard to make out what he was saying.
“Can't hear him,” said Belle. “I think he said twenty-seven.”
The lights in the ports dimmed.
“Tell them,” Alex said, his voice tense, “that we'll be there with help in a couple of hours.”'
“Alex, I can't lie to-”
“Damn it, Belle, tell them what I said.”
But it was too late. The lights went out, and the ship faded into the dark.
“Son of a bitch.” Alex threw his helmet back into the cabin. “Damn damn damn.”
And I understood what he meant. It would be two hours their time.
Shara got a bottle out of the cabinet and poured drinks for us. “Just for the record,” she said, “we might not have caught the thing, but this has been a very good day. Now we know that the math works, and we have a record. Maybe we can get some help on the next run.”
“I hope so.” Alex looked down into his glass. And raised it. “Next time,” he said.
PART IV
THIRTY-FOUR
Life is a casino, baby. You make your best call, lay your money on the table, | and hope. It's all you can do; you can't do no more.
On the way back, Shara reviewed the math for the next target, which we labeled the Antares Object, not that it was close to Antares, but it was in the general direction, though considerably farther. “No matter how we do this,” she said, “it's essential that we pick it up as soon as it appears.”
“I think we've figured that out,” said Alex.
“The problem is that the data on this one isn't as exact as it was for Alpha.”
“You're kidding.”
“No. Unfortunately, the numbers for the earlier sightings-we have three of them-are a bit more vague. They're still pretty good, or would be for most purposes. But there is some”-she waggled her hand-”some inexactitude here.” She smiled. “Love that word. Don't get a chance to use it very often.”
“So how many ships do we need?” asked Alex.
“We'd have a decent chance with, oh, I don't know, maybe twelve.”
“How many to lock it in?”
“You mean board it?”
“Yes.”
“Depends how long we'll have before it goes back.”
“We don't know how long we'll have access with this one, either?”
“Nobody ever got a real good look. Longest recorded time for it to remain surfaced was two hours and eight minutes.”
“That's not very good.”
“No.”
“But it could be longer?”
“It could be six weeks, but I suspect it'll be closer to a few hours.”
“Okay. So how many ships?”
She drew some circles on a pad. “Twenty would be good.”
Alex looked at me. Made a face. “Okay. I guess that doesn't come as a surprise.”
“Even with twenty,” Shara said, “we still have a problem-”
“I know.” Alex shook his head. “No matter how we try to play this, the Belle-Marie will have trouble getting to it before it submerges.”
“That's correct.”
“I don't like having to ask somebody else to board it and run the rescue.”
“There's really no way around that.”
Alex sat silently and stared out at the Veiled Lady.
“It's time to try StarCorps,” I said. “They should take it on. Doing rescues is their job.”
Alex nodded. “I hope so. But I'm not excited about asking them for a couple of squadrons.”
“They'll be happy to help,” said Shara.
“I hope so.” He looked at her. “How long has it been since the Antares's most recent appearance?”
“The last one we know of was sixty-seven years ago. Before that, it seems to have shown up near Barilon III. That was more than seven centuries earlier. If we track it back far enough, it looks as if the ship came from Brandizi.”