The Group Voice was equally impressed. "Commander, that's one hell of an artifact."
Russell scanned the displays. There was enough mass in the region to slightly distort space! The stars behind did not show through.
"Could it be a dark nebula?"
"Too dense."
"You'll take a closer look?"
"When it's cleared up top."
"Whatever it is, it's moving. At a damned good clip."
"That's what makes us so interested, Commander."
Russell looked for a spare seat. There were none. The word was out. The place was filled with curious Blues. The Heart Of The Shield, or Fleet Admiral, made her entry. She spoke with her science officers, and included Russell as a courtesy. Russell simply listened. It was not his place to offer his thoughts.
It took three days to design a probe mission. A swarm of instrument packages would be placed in the great globe's path, well ahead, passive, hidden on old spatial debris. Care would be exercised so the ships placing the instruments would remain undetected.
It took three weeks to do the seeding. Another month passed before the globe reached the instruments. During that period scores of couriers were recorded moving to and from the neutrino source. Two convoys swarmed out toward the remote frontier.
Intense examination of space behind the globular revealed it to be the focus of tremendous activity. Enemy ships swarmed through that trailing space. The globular had a cometary tail of vessels falling away and catching up.
"It looks like the warfleets are clearing the way for this outfit," Russell told his compatriots.
"Aren't they working a little far ahead? I mean, it'll be thirty or forty thousand years before they reach Confederation."
"Maybe it's lag time in case the war fleets run into somebody stubborn."
"Stubborn? They could roll over anything. There're so many of them the numbers become meaningless."
"Still, there seems to be a gap in weapons and communications technology between them and us. I'd guess around two centuries. That means we'll kill a lot more of them than they'll kill of us. The Blues think they're frozen into a technological stasis. Their real weapon is their numbers. If they ran into somebody very far ahead of us, they'd suffer. They'd win, but it might take them generations. I'd guess they've been through it before, which would be why the Globular is so far behind the front."
Probes into star systems behind the Globular had shown, for the first time, the enemy actually living on planets. Billions of the little kangaroo people seemed to have been dumped, apparently to rework the worlds to certain specifications. The Ulantonid experts thought they would be taken off after the terraforming was complete.
Yet another puzzle.
More of the little creatures were occupied mining the asteroidal and cometary belts of numerous systems. Operating in hordes, they stripped whole systems of spatial debris.
The significance of the marked bodies had become apparent. The little folk were using that type asteroid as a portable world. The big bodies were mined hollow, given drives, and turned into immense spaceships. Given spin, they achieved centrifugal gravity. Built up in tiers inside, they could provide more living space than any planet. They could grow with their populations.
"They must breed like flies," someone suggested. "If they have to devour everything for living space."
"Question," Russell said. "The Blues say they leave the planets after terraforming them. Why?"
"Nothing about these things makes any sense," a woman replied. "I think we're wasting our time trying to figure them out. Let's concentrate on finding weaknesses."
Russell suggested, "Knowing why they're doing what they're doing might clue us how to stop them. Anybody think we can do that now?"
Ruby Dawn was a ship of despair. Hope had vanished. Its crew no longer believed their peoples would survive the coming onslaught.
"We need deeper probes," Russell said. "We have to get this far again past the Globular if we really want to know what they're doing. From here it looks like a million-year project to remodel the galaxy."
"But we can't probe that deep."
"No, we can't. Unfortunately. So we'll never know."
When the first remote instruments were activated by the Globular, everyone in the fleet made sure he or she could examine the incoming data.
Within hours the sight of lines of huge asteroid-ships, stacked tens of thousands high, wide, and deep, killed all interest.
What point to staring into the eyes of doom? Let the watching be done by machines that could not be intimidated.
The probe fleet turned toward home, pursuing the sorry knowledge it had sped ahead.
Sixteen: 3050 AD
The Main Sequence
Six of Moyshe's best men gathered outside his trailer. They had donned nighttime black. They were buttoning buttons and making sure their equipment was in order. Each bore weapons, carried a hand comm, gas mask, and any odd or end the individual thought might come in handy. To a man they were still trying to rub sleep from their eyes.
BenRabi leaned against the frame of the door to his office. He was still shaky. "You guys willing to get into a fight to save my friend Mouse?"
"You're on, Chief," someone muttered.
"He's just an immigrant, you know."
"We wouldn't be here if we weren't ready, Jack."
Another said, "We're ready, sir. He's one of us now. I never liked him much myself. He stole my girl. But we got to protect our own."
A third said, "Klaus, you're just spoiling for a fight,"
"So now I got an excuse, maybe."
"Okay, okay," benRabi said. "Keep it down. Here's the frosting for the cake. I think the Sangaree woman is involved."
"Yeah? Maybe this time we'll do the job right."
"I tried before. I didn't get a lot of support."
"Won't be nobody to feel sorry for her this time, Captain."
Moyshe started, looked the speaker in the eye. He saw no offense was meant. He and Mouse did have brevet-commissions as captains of police, with Kindervoort's regular captain's commission senior. Seiners seldom used their professional ranks and titles.
He grinned. "I think you're all fools," he said. "And I thank you for it. I'll be with you in a minute." He stepped back inside, scanned the current data on number of Seiners on-planet. The count was way down. People did not want to play tourist at night, when most everything was closed. He tapped out a red code to Traffic aboard Danion, meaning something was up and no one else was to be allowed down till further word. He guessed that within four hours there would be no Seiners on The Broken Wings who were not part of the security effort. He stepped outside. "Let's go."
They whooped like a bunch of rowdy boys.
They worried Moyshe. They thought this would be fun. He had to calm them down. They could get themselves hurt.
He led them aboard a Marine personnel carrier, took the control seat himself. The engine hummed first try. He roared toward Old Town, gears crashing and tracks whining. He was so excited that, for a few minutes, he forgot to cut in the mufflers.
Rumbling through empty night streets, he tried to anticipate Mouse. Where would Storm go? That would depend on his quarry. If Mouse lost her, the warehouse important to their first mission would seem to him a likely place to pick up the track again. The Sangaree, always nose-thumbingly bold, or stupid, might be using it again.
The warren of tall, crowded old brick buildings pressed in as Moyshe plunged ever deeper into the inky silence of Old Town. The wareshouse district was a nerve-taunting area. The smell of poverty and old evil reeked from every alley and doorway. BenRabi became jittery. He put on more speed. "Almost there, men."