“That's the plan. Assuming there are passengers, we'll want you to approach with your landers and stand by. We'll be stocking each lander with additional pressure suits. Chase and I will attempt to board. If there is anyone in there, we'll try to get them to the landers as quickly as we can. We want you to stay clear. If the thing submerges, we don't know the size of the surrounding area that will be dragged under with it. Maybe it won't affect the surroundings at all. But we're assuming the worst.
“That means there is a risk. It's possible that, if it submerges, and you're nearby, you'll be dragged along with it. I wish we knew more about this, but that's our situation. So if anyone wants to rethink this, we'll understand.”
Cal looked unhappy. “You might not be able to get there in time. There's less risk to everybody if whoever finds it first boards it and starts the extraction. The others can help as they arrive.”
Alex looked around the room. The others were nodding in agreement. “He's right, Alex,” said Allie.
“Absolutely,” said Dot.
And so it went, until Alex raised both hands. “Hold it a second. Look, we don't want to lose any of you-”
“Too late now,” said Paul Kaczmarek. “First one there starts the extraction, right?”
Every hand in the place went up.
Dot was standing beside Cal. “Do we know when this thing will surface again? If we miss it this time?”
Alex let Shara answer. “Sixty-seven years,” she said.
“What kind of ship is this?” asked Michael. “Have we been able to identify it?”
“Negative.”
“It's too old?”
“That's what we think, yes.”
And it's still under power?”
“Yes.”
“My God,” said Cal, “you mean this thing might be seven thousand years old?”
“Yes.”
Dot smiled. Beatific. Beautiful. What a marvelous universe we live in.
“Any more questions?”
One more. From Linda: “Alex, you've described these black-hole tracks. If I understand what you're saying, you get in trouble if you try to initiate a jump while you're sitting in one.”
“That's correct,” said Alex.
“When we start back from the target area, we'll be right in the middle of it. Isn't there a possibility that one of us will get caught?”
Alex passed it to Shara. “Let me start,” she said, “by admitting we don't have everything down yet. But we're pretty sure we know what kind of vehicles are vulnerable. And under what circumstances. We'll have a couple of technicians look at every ship before we proceed. You should be safe.”
“Anything else?”
Apparently not. Shara passed out formation assignments, another two or three questions, and that was it.
“Okay,” said Michael. “I guess we have something to tell the grand-kids about.”
Dot lifted a glass to Alex, Shara, and me. “This,” she said, “is a proud moment. I'm delighted you guys decided to trust us. And we will give you our full support.” She laughed. “Let's hope we come home with some company.”
Afterward, as things quieted back down, she took me aside. “I've changed my mind,” she said.
“About what?”
“Charging you for one of the ships. I can't do that. Just cover our expenses. That's all I ask.”
Taiulus Zeta was, in fact, well past Antares. It was another long ride. Almost six days each way, several more days getting organized, plus however long we had to wait for our apparition.
We packed up and left the country house at midmorning on a beautiful day, birds singing, tree branches swinging gently in a soft breeze. As we lifted off, Shara called my attention to an elderly couple visiting the old graveyard just across the property line. “I hope,” she said, “that's not an omen.”
Four hours later, we launched from Skydeck, sixteen vehicles counting the Belle-Marie. (We'd picked up one more at the last minute.) The squadron reassembled out past the Moon, put identical settings into the drive units, turned in the general direction of Antares, and slipped into hyperspace in as coordinated a manner as we could manage.
Despite all efforts to stay close to one another, we knew we would emerge a substantial distance apart, and we'd need an additional day or two to regroup.
It was maybe the longest six days I've spent in hyperspace. I don't know why. A foreboding of some sort crept over me. I don't usually have a problem simply because there are no stars. Or because I can't communicate with other ships. Maybe it was that Alpha was still hanging over my head, with its terrified radio voice that wouldn't go away. I knew now there were people out there, from a time before anyone had ever come near Rimway, when most of the worlds of the Confederacy were unknown. From an age before Elmer Campbell and his religious engineers had erected the obelisks.
Shara didn't help matters by explaining how the darkness was probably only a kind of wrap, that it extended no more than a few meters beyond us. I told her that was crazy, and she tried to explain to me why MacKenzie's Theory required it. And, of course, MacKenzie was always right, except for one famous blunder. Which I've never understood, either.
I pretty much stayed off the bridge. I didn't want to be looking out the ports at Shara's black wrap. For whatever reason, it didn't bother me when I was sitting in the cabin, where I could push it out of my mind while we argued politics.
And up front somewhere, waiting for us, would be the Antares.
We were talking about languages. Shara stretched out her legs and crossed them. She was wearing a pullover shirt that read PHYSICS MAKES MY HEART BEAT. “Hard to imagine what that must have been like,” she said. “People saying stuff that other people couldn't understand. No wonder they were shooting one another all the time.”
I found myself thinking about Cal, alone in his ship. I'd done it often enough, but I'm not that much of a social type anyhow. But Cal, despite the grumpiness, struck me as a guy who wouldn't be comfortable without company.
Alex periodically left us and wandered onto the bridge for long stretches of time. I'd never known him to do that before. I could hear him talking with Belle, though I couldn't make out what they were saying. When I asked, he said they were “just talking.”
“About the ship?”
“That, too.”
“What else?”
“I don't know. Books. Religion. Whatever.”
“You were talking with Belle about religion?”
“Why not?”
“I don't know. It just seems-”
“She has a pretty wide knowledge of the subject. She knows how most of the major faiths got started. She knows the dogma. The requirements-”
“But-” Shara broke in. “That's not what people usually mean when they talk about religion. Does Belle believe in God?”
“Maybe you should ask her.”
So we did. Belle took a few moments to answer. “The evidence,” she said, “is inconclusive.”
“Then you don't believe,” said Shara.
“You're talking about faith now, Shara,” said Belle. “I prefer not to draw conclusions based on guesswork.”
“Which way,” I said, “does the evidence point?”
“Let me say, first, that it is difficult for a mere Beta, as limited as I am, to conceive of a Being without limits.”
“Then you do not believe?” Shara said again.
“I reserve judgment.”
I thought it would be a good idea to change the subject. “What books were you talking about?” I asked.
“Oh. Chan's Write On, for one.”
“Which is what?” I asked.
“It's a book about why you cannot learn to be a professional writer by reading books on the subject.”
“Good,” I said. “What else?”
“The Life and Times of Malakai Petrona.”
“He's a famous archeologist,” Alex said, for Shara's benefit. “Last century.”
“Anything else?”
“Culture Wars and Points South.”
“Really? You're interested in battles over social issues?”
“Of course. I enjoy watching people argue over whether it's destructive to society to provide food and shelter to those who choose not to work.”