Leaning back his head, Flinx closed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired. To have come all this way, to have risked intrusion into Empire space, only to have lost the trail of the one syb that might contain critical clues to his history, was almost too much to bear. And the trail was lost. No ship could be tracked through space-plus. One had to know its destination, or at the very least its departure trajectory. Even then, and with the aid of sophisticated plotting and predicting instrumentation, trying to decide on a vessel’s eventual destination without knowing where or when it planned to emerge from space-plus was an arcane art that bordered on the metaphysical.
Unless . . .
“You said they’ve left the planetary vicinity. Did they make changeover, or are they still in-system?”
“Their coordinates abide locally. I am presently receiving indications, and have been since they departed, that they have established an orbit around Pyrassis Ten, the outermost of this system’s worlds.”
A chance. There was still a chance. Excitement rose within him, tempered with confusion. What did the crew of a seemingly innocuous commercial vessel want with this unprepossessing AAnn system? Or were they simply moving until activity around Pyrassis quieted down, to avoid attention from the local authorities who had been stirred to unusual activity by the disclosure of Flinx’s presence? Pyrassis at least presented certain credible commercial potential in the form of exotic mineral formations and possible other, as-yet-unknown resources. A cold methane dwarf accompanied by a single similarly gaseous moon would seem to offer no such potential.
Single moon. According to the venerable mated pair of contentious AAnn scientists, that was where the single abrupt discharge of energy from the alien transmitter had been directed. What was going on here? What possible connection could that unforeseen revelation have to do with the crew of the Crotase? Did it somehow suggest a connection between him and the missing sybfile? A myriad of musings rushed and crashed through his head, and none of them made any sense.
They would, he vowed as he gave directions to the Teacher. Sooner or later, somehow, they would.
It took longer to generate an approach to the edge of the Pyrassisian system by avoiding the plane of the ecliptic, but Flinx felt, and the Teacher’s AI agreed, that they were less likely that way to encounter any investigating AAnn craft, be they crewed or automated. It would also, if they were challenged, allow for a safer and more rapid insertion into space-plus, should flight to avoid confrontation become unavoidable.
Whether the forces stationed on Pyrassis were slow, or under-equipped, or confused, or all those and more Flinx did not know, but he was greatly relieved when the Teacher commenced its final approach to Pyrassis Ten without having come upon anything more threatening than a robotic scientific satellite. Using techniques developed and adopted by the Ulru-Ujurrians and incorporated seamlessly into the Teacher’s design, he was able to circle the roiling, dirty brown mass of the enormous planet at cloud-top level. This allowed him to approach its solitary thickly clouded moon unobserved.
The Crotase was there, just as the AI had predicted. Shielded by advanced military technology that should not have been present on a private vessel, the Teacher ignored the other craft’s rudimentary scanning devices and settled into an entirely separate orbit. While Flinx’s ship could not be detected by the instrumentation on board the Crotase, that did not mean someone could not look out a port and detect with the naked eye the glint of another starship floating nearby. By stationing himself on the opposite side of Pyrassis Ten’s single satellite, that most elementary possibility was avoided.
Arrival brought with it no revelation. In the elaborate and always growing catalog of substellar astronomical objects, neither the moon nor its parent world were especially impressive. Methane dwarves were among the most boring planetary types in the celestial lexicon. Pyrassis Ten boasted no psychedelically tinted cloud bands, no rings, and no volcanically swirling storms. Its atmosphere was brown, dull, and incredibly dense, even if it was seven times the size of Saturn. Its moon was similarly unmemorable.
Or was, until the Teacher, in addition to running standard approach scans, began to probe more deeply with its most sophisticated instrumentation.
“This orbiting object is not entirely of a gaseous nature. It has a solid core.”
Gazing at the grimy brown sphere, Flinx was unable to descry any evidence of nonvaporous material. That wasn’t surprising. Some methane dwarves had solid centers, others were effluvium all the way through, in still others certain gases had condensed to form entirely spherical oceans at their center. The same could easily be true of a companion satellite.
“Stony material, nickel-iron, what?” he inquired, only mildly interested.
“The core material is diverse in composition. Metals are present, though in atypical combinations. There are also stratified elements existing in deviant states. Metallic fluids, for example, and liquid metals. Altogether, a very anomalous affair.”
“Core dimensions?” There was no sign of active weather among the lugubrious clouds of either planet or moon; no upward-spiraling tempests, no towering flashes of monumental lightning.
“Approximately four hundred and sixty-three kilometers by one hundred and thirty-nine.”
Flinx frowned as Pip glided to a halt above his shoulder. “Approximately?”
“The core surface is very asymmetric, with many dips and rises discernible in all directions. This is not surprising when one considers its evident nature.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “Which is?”
“The core is not natural. It is an artificial construct of unknown origin.”
Flinx’s interest in what had up to that moment been a remarkably drab satellite quickly blossomed. “Are you sure? That’s an awfully big building project.”
“I have been scanning and analyzing since contact was made. There is no question about it. The core of this ‘moon’ was not formed by natural processes. It was built.”
Then why the gaseous methane-heavy envelope? Flinx found himself wondering. Camouflage? The result of some kind of leakage from within the inner phenomenon itself? An accident of celestial mechanics? What kind of object was he about to investigate? A relay station of some kind? A floating artificial colony, long abandoned? Deity help him, a ship? Whatever it was, it was four hundred and sixty-odd kilometers across. Even if he could gain entry to the interior, he was not going to be able to explore it in the few days likely to be available to him.
Most importantly, most intriguingly, if it was indeed the intended and not accidental destination of the brief burst of energy from the transmitter on Pyrassis, had it somehow or in some fashion acknowledged that transmission? In which case, what might happen next? He had almost forgotten that he was here to look for a sybfile containing information about his origins.
Of one thing he was reasonably certain: The local AAnn knew nothing of the existence of a massive, cloud-masked alien object on the fringes of this star system. If that were so, there would be a permanent research station out here dedicated to examining and exploring it.
If the intention was to disguise the object by giving it the appearance of a natural moon, its makers had done a superb job. Save for actual depth of atmosphere, there was no detectable difference, either chemical or visual, between the haze-shrouded satellite and the world it circled. Depending on how long the gravity-generating object had been in orbit, however, it might simply have drawn off enough material from the tenth planet to acquire the modest atmosphere of its own. The murky haze that enveloped it might easily have come about through natural processes and not via intelligent design.
“Can you hazard a guess as to the satellite core object’s age?” he asked the Teacher.
“Without samples of actual material to break down and analyze, I cannot.” The ship’s tone was apologetic. “However, the methane-ammonia clouds surrounding it are of comparatively youthful inception.”
Flinx rocked in his chair. “Then you’v
e decided that they are as artificial in nature as the core material?”
“I did not say that. I cannot tell from their composition whether they are of natural or manufactured derivation. But I can estimate their age, which pertinent instrumentation places at between four hundred eighty thousand and five hundred thousand years.”
Something about those dates prodded at Flinx’s memory. Something more than the fact that they matched the AAnn researchers’ estimate of the age of the great transmitter on Pyrassis. But he was too caught up in the excitement of the moment to stop and try to identify their significance. If any, it could wait until later.
“So you think the core object is of similar antiquity?”
“I did not say that.” The Teacher had learned to be patient with its sometimes excitable owner. “Such a supposition, however, would not on the face of it be immoderate.”
“Bring us in closer. And keep alert for activity on the part of the other Commonwealth vessel.”
“I am already aware of this and continue to monitor its ongoing activities.”
“ ‘Ongoing activities’?” Flinx was only momentarily taken aback. If there had been any danger, the Teacher would have taken appropriate action. At the very least, it would have notified him of any suspicions.
The synthesized voice was unruffled and beautifully modulated. “Since before we arrived in its vicinity, the other vessel has been running a general-purpose englobement scan. I have been deflecting it around us. Were my KK-drive functioning, our presence would of course be impossible to mask. On in-system power alone, however, I am well equipped to dissemble such attempts at detection.”
“I thought so, but it’s always nice to hear that everything’s working. Will you be able to continue to do so?”
“Yes, unless the ship in question manifests abilities as yet unrevealed. Though unusually well equipped for a commercial vessel, its capabilities remain inferior to those of military craft. Or myself,” it added, without a hint of boastfulness.
“Sensors detect the presence of ionized particles compatible with recent shuttlecraft emissions emanating from the vicinity of the Larnaca ship Crotase. Though dispersing rapidly, said particles remain concentrated in an arc suggesting that at least one transference from the base vessel to the surface of the satellite’s synthetic core has taken place. I thought you would want to know.”
The ship was right, as it usually was. “So they’re trying to get inside and have a look around.” Flinx rubbed his forehead, trying to decide whether to proceed as he should or as he wished to. “I don’t blame them.”
“Emissions continue beyond the external line of demarcation. It is my considered opinion that they are already inside.”
Could he possibly corner someone and demand to know about the syb? If a segment of the crew had left the Crotase to go exploring, it might make his task of penetrating that vessel’s security much easier. But if the people he wanted to talk to were now aboard the alien object, he might penetrate the other ship’s security to no avail. So intent and preoccupied had he been with simply trying to track it down, he had never really thought through how to go about actually locating and accessing the missing sybfile once he came near enough to do so.
Now that he was forced to confront that ultimate possibility, he saw that it might come down to as unsophisticated a process as jamming a weapon in someone’s face and demanding that they turn over what he had come for. The process might not be cultivated, but in Flinx’s experience it was usually effective. While in the course of carrying it out, he could also have a look at the enormous inorganic fabrication.
“Can you take us in closer to the satellite without exposing us to electronic detection from the Crotase?”
“I believe so.”
The Teacher began to descend. Very soon the view out the ports was obliterated by cloud, and Flinx was reduced to observing via monitors. On one, the Crotase appeared in perfect outline, her shape revealed by the Teacher’s probes. Though they continued to be scanned, his ship assured him that their presence remained unknown both to people and to instruments on board the other vessel.
Emerging from beneath the thick cloud cover, the vast scale of the alien artifact soon dominated the view on every monitor. As to the function or purpose of the arcane projections and protuberances that covered its surface, he could only imagine. Many were themselves larger than small cities. The complete structure itself far exceeded in size and volume anything built by humanxkind. The presence of the all-encompassing clouds prevented him from arriving at a true appreciation of its extent.
The hollow, or bay, or basin into which the shuttlecraft from the Crotase had descended was itself impressive. A docking port for many small ships, Flinx decided as he studied the steady stream of readouts—or for one mind-bogglingly huge one. Because of the intervening clouds, anyone aboard the shuttlecraft could not see the Teacher standing off just outside the bay, and its advanced masking electronics continued to conceal it from detection by other means.
“They are entering the object,” the Teacher declared definitively. “I detect the cycling of a lock and the movement of small amounts of gas. Residual atmosphere is escaping from the artifact.”
“Then this thing is pressurized?” Flinx remained skeptical. “After half a million years?”
“It is more likely that it is only responding to their presence, and pressurizing proximate internal partitions accordingly.”
“Yes, that makes more sense. Can you analyze the leakage?”
A pause, then, “Oxy-nitro in breathable proportions. The collateral blend of trace gases I deem to be unusual but nonthreatening, at least if not inhaled over a long period of time.”
That was not particularly significant, Flinx knew. The majority, though not all, sapient races thus far encountered depended with minor variations on essentially the same atmospheric cocktail to sustain life.
He had a decision to make. He could direct the Teacher to initiate an electronic assault on the Crotase’s cortex, or he could track those who had entered the artifact with an eye toward physically confronting one or more of them. The former course might be more productive, and promised less potential for sustaining bodily harm. The latter would allow him to have a look at this remarkable discovery. It took only a few moments for him to decide.
Not only did he want to know what was in that sybfile, he wanted to know why it had been taken and why the people who had absconded with it had gone to so much trouble to cover their tracks. That was information that could not be gleaned from hasty electronic perusal of molecular storage facilities.
“I need individual transport,” he announced as he slid out of the command chair.
“There are three vehicles on board that fit the requirement. I have commenced prepping two for immediate use.”
Flinx made his way back to the shuttle bay. In addition to simplex suits designed for inspecting and working on the exterior of the ship, there were three larger, more elaborate torpedo-shaped conveyances that would allow one person at a time to not only function and work in the harsh environment of the void, but to cover short distances without the need to utilize shuttle or ship. They could not operate at distance, but they did allow for extended periods of outside labor.
It was for the latter purpose that Flinx, after first taking water, some food concentrates, and a sidearm and firepak from ship’s stores, slipped himself prone on his belly and chest into the first of the compact vehicles. He relaxed while the transparent, polarizing canopy slid shut above his back and the flight harness automatically fit itself to his body type. Pip snuggled down between his shoulders, her sinuous form light enough so as not to discomfort him, her tongue flicking occasionally against his ear or neck.
Rising on its braces, the solo craft was rotated and positioned for insertion into the main lock. Flinx let the Teacher program the transport’s internal guidance system to deliver him to the place where the visitors from the Crotase had entered the artifact. All he had to d
o was breathe easy and hang on. There followed a brief final systems check, ignition of the small internal engine, a jolt, and then he was accelerating forward. As he exited the lock, the bulk of the Teacher shrank behind him and was quickly subsumed in swirls of methanic miasma. Soon he was enveloped in darkness.
A brief eternity later, the surface of the alien construct began to emerge from the gloomy brown mist. Though his restricted field of view prevented him from making visual confirmation, he correctly surmised that he was already deep within the approach bay that had previously been accessed by the Crotase’s shuttle. Studying the body of the artifact, he found he could not identify any of the material of which it was composed. It might be metal or glass or composite, or perhaps some kind of stasis-bound synthesis beyond his experience. The realization that he was soaring over a manufactured surface that had been fabricated when his ancestors were still hiding in trees was a sobering thought.
Though the Teacher informed him as his little vehicle began to slow that the shuttle from the Crotase was not far away, he never caught so much as a glimpse of the other craft, so obscuring were the clouds and so commodious the entry bay. He was, however, able to make out a ceiling and one wall as the Teacher gently inserted him into what it believed to be the access to the lock where it had earlier detected an internal atmospheric leak. How had the crew of the other ship activated the ancient apparatus?
The explanation presented itself shortly, as the Teacher informed him that a gravity seal of impressive proportions had sealed shut behind him. Personnel from the Crotase had not manually activated the alien device. It had detected their presence and responded accordingly. This supposition was confirmed by the Teacher, which assured Flinx that it had done nothing to stimulate any apparatus aboard the alien object.
An ancient welcome, Flinx reflected as his tiny craft, rocking slightly in the breathable atmosphere, settled to the deck. He felt he should respond somehow, though he had not the slightest notion of how to do so. As soon as the transport touched down and the engine cut off, he released and slid back the canopy. Rising from his prone, head-forward position, he stepped out of the vehicle and onto alien surface. A deep, low-pitched humming filled his ears as Pip rose above him, finding the unfamiliar air and gravity to her liking.