“Well? Can your minds resolve this anomaly? This dissonance? Is there an explanation?”
The image in the tank reformed at last, taking a shape she had recorded during her interview with the Transcendent. A form that was sure to spoil the enemy’s composure.
If just one glimpse of Herbie—a billion-year-old mummy—had thrown half the fanatics in five galaxies into a tizzy, what would the mummy’s reconstructed likeness do? Emulated in apparently living flesh, the faintly amphibian humanoid now offered an enigmatic smile that broadened to uncanny width, conveying a touch of cruel empathy.
“Come now, foolish youngsters. Surely you can draw conclusions from what lies before your very—”
Akeakemai interrupted with a squeal.
“Impact in ninety secondsss! Let’s do it-t!”
Gillian blinked as Streaker’s engines let out a wail of exertion, yanking the ship out of normal space.
Too had, she thought, regretting that it had happened quite so soon.
I wanted to watch the show once through, all the way to the end.
In theory, you could dodge enemies by jumping into hyperspace.
Unfortunately, that idea was older than a lot of stars. The arts of war had long ago adapted to such tactics. When Streaker jumped, so did the pack of onrushing missiles, which had no trouble sensing which way she headed.
Akeakemai played the engines swiftly, sending their old Snark-class survey ship leaping laterally among the known strata that still overlay Galaxy Two.
Unlike Galaxy Four, the varied levels of hyperspace were still accessible here, though with greater difficulty than before. Gillian was counting on that difference now to disrupt the timing of the incoming barrage. With any luck, there might also be chaos waves—aftershocks from the Great Rupture—to warp space and confuse the death machines.
Alas, it did not take long to realize—she had committed the worst sin of any commander. Assuming her enemies were stupid.
In B Space, where all stars turned into midget rainbows, the detection officer yelled dismay.
“Mines! They’ve filled the place with—”
Akeakemai was swift, triggering a second jump, but not before several nearby objects detonated, slamming Streaker with shock waves, even as the ship flickered over to A Space.
The strange-familiar sensations of that speedy realm crowded around Gillian, as if each direction she turned became a tunnel, offering a shortcut beyond some far horizon. Down each of those tubes, there glowed the disk of a single majestic, spinning sun.
“Fifty seconds,” murmured Hannes Suessi, mostly to himself.
“More mines!” came the rapid cry … unneeded, as a drumbeat of savage thuds rocked the ship, straining the energy-absorbing power of Streaker’s new shell. Excess heat brought sweat popping from Gillian’s skin.
In our old form, we’d be vapor by now, she thought during the agonized moment it took to flick into D Space.
It was a lousy place to look for shortcuts. Everything looked far away, as if you were peering through the wrong end of a telescope.
Unfortunately, D Space was also inhabited, by members of the Quantum life order—glimmering half-shapes whose outlines grew more vague the closer you looked at them. A multitude of these amorphous beings suddenly converged on Streaker the moment she appeared.
“Our enemies must have hired local allies to guard this back door.” The Niss Machine sounded bemused by such clever thoroughness.
Gillian saw chunks of the transcendent coating evaporate under this new attack.
“Get us out of—”
Anticipating her wishes, Akeakemai yanked Streaker’s laboring engines one more time … the same moment the converging missiles struck.
Jijo
KAA EKED OUT ONE LAST JUMP BEFORE B SPACE disappeared.
The wrenching leap peeled every nerve in Harry’s body, forcing air from his lungs in an agonized scream.
Even when transition finished—and the shuddering passengers of Harry’s station found themselves miraculously back in the normal continuum—a plague of scraping irritations kept their skins twitching. Rubbing tears from his eyes with quivering hands, Harry knew, with vivid certainty, the exact moment that B Space finished detaching completely from Galaxy Four, to float away on its own, leaving the domain of atoms to spin on, bereft and alone.
It felt as if something had been amputated. A presence that had been in the background, unnoticed, for his entire life. Now it was gone forever.
We got out just in time, he thought as vision cleared. Then he turned to marvel at what Kaa had accomplished with that final display of piloting skill.
There, glowing just ahead, lay a blue globe, wearing a slender skin of moist air. Continents—mottled brown and green—bulged between arcs of ocean. Along the sweeping terminator, lightning could be seen dancing atop clouds and mountain peaks.
“Jijo, I presume,” Harry murmured, silently adding—my new home.
“Yeah,” answered Dwer. “Welcome. It’s good to be back.”
Judging by his taut stance, the young man was eager to reclaim the forest trails he loved. Apparently, there were two women waiting for him down there, in a feral forest, who considered themselves his “wives.” Dwer seemed loath to explain the situation, but he felt anxious to get back. That much was clear.
And what about me? Harry pondered. A career with the Navigation Institute doesn’t offer much promise now. Even if Galaxy Four retains a few hyperspatial links, nobody’s gonna want to hire an E Space scout.
He eyed the blue world, which crept closer at a snail’s gait—the relative velocity determined solely by hard momentum and kinetic energy. Without microjumping to fine-tune the approach, landing could be difficult and dangerous.
They had a pretty good pilot, of course. So that part didn’t worry Harry, much. But once the station was down, it might never leave again. Antigravity relied on tricks that involved balancing forces from several layers of hyperspace. With most of those layers gone, the field generators would probably never be able to push hard enough to climb free of Jijo’s heavy pull.
Most likely, it’s a planet-bound life from now on.
Heck, at least it’s a life.
Jijo sure looked a whole lot better than dusty Horst. Even prettier than Terra, in fact.
And there are neo-chimps here … though of an earlier breed that couldn’t talk yet. Other than that, Dwer says they’re pretty civilized.
He sighed.
I guess being the “ape that speaks” should set me apart.
That … and my white fur …
… and my … tail.
It was enough to make him chuff dry laughter. What an ironic reversal of his time on Earth, where the chatty, sophisticated chims found him taciturn and slow. Here, his mates and grooming partners would scarcely bug him with irritating gossip.
For conversation, I’ll have six other sapient races in the “Commons of Jijo”—or eight, if you include dolphins and tytlal. And soon, chimps will make nine.
He glanced at Kaa, whose brilliant piloting had brought them here, safe and mostly sound. So anxious was the dolphin for those warm coastal waters—and to find his Peepoe—that it might take some persuasion to get him to land ashore first and let everyone else debark.
“Well, well. It is a winsome little place,” commented Kiwei Ha’aoulin. “I suppose it should do for a spell, while I assess the commercial possibilities.”
Harry shook his head. The Synthian had apparently retreated into her former madness, assuming that everything would soon return to normal. For her sake, Harry hoped Kiwei remained cheerful and crazy for the rest of her life, because she would spend it all here, in a small corner of Galaxy Four.
Kaa tossed his dark gray head, emitting a worried sputter.
“I’m detecting shipssss!”
Harry rushed to his instruments.
“I see ’em. They’re mostly behind us. Your last couple of crazy jumps took us past ’em! We’ll reach Jij
o weeks before they do.”
Peering closer at the readout, he went on.
“They’re mostly small craft—lifeboats, scouts, shuttles. Survivors, I guess, from those fleets who got torn up in B Space, during the Rupture.” He paused, pulling nervously on both thumbs. “They’re headin’ for the only refuge in sight. The same place we are.”
Dwer blew a long sigh. “So, even if the Commons managed to get rid of the Jophur garrison while we were away, the danger isn’t over.”
Harry nodded. By standards of his former civilization, the oncoming forces were pathetic and weak. Some of the lifeboats would not make it. Others would burn in Jijo’s atmosphere. Still, the remnant would be far more than his little station could stave off. Soon, the Jijoans would face real troubles.
And, he realized, the coming confrontation could have long-lasting repercussions.
Unless there were other sooner outposts, hidden on fallow planets elsewhere in Galaxy Four, this may be the one place where oxygen breathers exist with knowledge and experience of starfaring.
Even if hyperspace is completely cut off, a culture will someday expand outward from Jijo. That culture may fill this entire galaxy, starting a new tradition of Uplift when it comes across promising species along the way.
The implications chilled Harry.
Whoever wins control of Jijo, this year, may establish the morality—the whole social ethos—of that star-spanning civilization to come.
Harry had already been willing to give his life for one community. Now, it seemed there would be no rest. Before even partaking of Jijo’s food and air, he must decide to become part of this new world and take on its troubles as his own.
From what I’ve heard, this Commons of Six Races was a pretty impressive bunch. If Dwer and Rety—and Alvin and Ur-ronn—are any indication, the Jijoans will put up a stiff fight.
He patted the console of his trusty old station. Maybe we can help just a bit, eh?
Their approach spiral took them over Jijo’s dark side, below a big moon that Dwer identified as “Loocen.” Harry exclaimed when he spied a line of bright sparkles along the day-night boundary. Glistening cities shone in a long crescent across the airless surface. Then he realized.
Reflections. Sunlight, that’s all it is, caught at an angle as dawn creeps across the lunar surface. The domes are silent, lifeless. They have been ever since the fabled Buyur departed—how long ago? Half a million years?
Still, he admitted. It is a pretty sight. And maybe someday—
A piping cry made Harry turn around.
Rety was standing by a far window, obstinately refusing to look at the soft beauty of her homeworld. Sullen, with arms crossed, she ignored repeated calls from her “husband,” the miniature male urs called yee. The little centauroid stood on the windowsill, prancing with all four delicate feet, reaching out with his long neck to nip Rety’s shoulder, then gesture at the view outside.
“look, wife! look at this sight!”
“I seen it before,” she muttered sourly. “Scenery. Mountains an’ bushes an’ dirt. Lots of dirt. No ’lectricity or computers, but all the dirt you could ever want to—”
“not scenery!” yee interrupted, “turn and see fireworks!”
Rety stayed obdurate. But others hurried to find out what the little fellow meant. “Douse interior lights,” Harry ordered so glare from the observation deck would not drown the view outside.
Jijo’s night stretched below, a dark coverlet that might come ablaze with city lights within a few generations, no matter who won the coming battle. Now, though, the expanse showed no visible sign of sapience that Harry could detect, even with instruments. Well, the Six Races have been hiding for a long time, he thought. They must be good at it by now.
It was interesting to imagine what kind of starfaring civilization might arise out of the Jijoan Commons, with its fervent traditions of environmental protection and tolerance, and yet an easygoing individualism when it came to endeavor and new ideas. Something pretty interesting, assuming it survived the coming crisis.
At first, Harry saw nothing to justify yee’s excitement. Then Dwer nudged him, pointing to the right.
“Look. A spark.”
“How pretty,” Kiwei commented.
It did look like a flickering ember, blown upward from a campfire, wafting—gently and very slowly—out from that thin film of atmosphere into the black sky above.
“Observer mode,” Harry commanded. “Zero in on the anomaly I’m looking at, and magnify.”
The computer scanned his eyes, judged the focus of his attention, and complied. A holo image erupted, showing the strangest object Harry had ever seen, despite years spent exploring the weird memic corners of E Space.
A long, slender tube hurtled upward pointy-end first … and from its tail poured gouts of white-hot fire.
“It … looks like a burning tree!” Kiwei murmured in amazement.
“Not a tree,” Dwer corrected. “It’s boo!”
Curiosity finally overcame Rety, who turned around at last—barely in time to see the flame go out. While the slim missile coasted for several seconds, Harry’s instruments measured its size, which was many times bigger than his station!
Abruptly, the pencil-shaped object split in half. The rear portion tumbled away, still smoldering, while the front part erupted anew from its aft end.
Kiwei uttered hushed perplexity.
“But, what natural phenomenon could—”
“not natural, silly raccoon!” yee cried, “boo rocket made by urs-hooman-traekis! shoot rocket high to welcome Rety-yee home!”
Harry blinked, twice. Then he grinned.
“Well, I’ll be. That’s what it is, all right. A multistage rocket made of hollowed-out tree trunks … or whatever you call ’em, Dwer.”
He called again to the computer. “Zoom in at the front terminus. The part that’s farthest from the flames.”
Like the tip of a spear, that end flared a bit before tapering to a point. It rotated slowly, along with the rest of the crude rocket.
A brief glint told them everything. A pane of some kind of glass. A pale light shining from within. And a pair of brief silhouettes. A snakelike neck. A crablike claw.
Then Harry’s station swerved, making everyone stumble. Kaa reported they were entering the planet’s atmosphere.
“T-time to buckle up-p!” the pilot commanded. Soon, a different kind of flame would surround them. If they survived the coming plummet, it would not be long before their feet stood on solid ground.
Yet, Harry and the others remained transfixed for a moment longer, watching the rocket as long as possible. The computer calculated its estimated trajectory, and reported that it seemed aimed at Jijo’s biggest moon.
At last, Rety commented. She stomped her feet on the deck, but this time it was no tantrum—only an expression of pure joy.
“Uttergloss!” she cried. “Do you know what this means?”
Harry and Dwer both shook their heads.
“It means I’m not trapped on Jijo! It means there’s a way off that miserable dirtball. And you can bet your grampa’s dross barrel that I’m gonna use it.”
Her eyes seemed to shine with the same light as that of the flickering ember, till their orbital descent took it out of sight. Even when Harry ushered her to a seat and belted her in for landing, Rety’s wiry frame throbbed with longing, and the grim inexorability of her ambition.
“I’ll do whatever it takes.
“I’m headin’ out again, just as fast an’ as far as this grubby ol’ universe lets me.”
Harry nodded agreeably. One of the last things he ever wanted to be was someone standing in Rety’s way.
“I’m sure you will,” he said without the slightest doubt or patronizing tone of voice.
Soon the windows licked with fire as Jijo reached out to welcome them.
Home
TERRIBLE WOUNDS MARRED THE HAGGARD vessel as it prepared to drop back into normal space. Most of St
reaker’s stasis flanges hung loose, or had vaporized. The rotating gravity wheel was half melted into the hull.
As for the protective sheathing which had safeguarded the crew—that gift of the Transcendents now sparked and unraveled, writhing away its last, like some dying creature with a brave soul.
Gillian mourned for its lost friendship. As she had mourned other misfortunes. And now, for the loss of hope.
Our plan was to avoid destruction, leading the enemy on a wild chase away from Earth.
Our foes planned to thwart and destroy us.
It looks like we each got half of what we wanted.
Suessi was down in the engine room, working alongside Emerson and the rest of their weary team, trying to restore power. As things stood, the ship had barely enough reserve energy to reach the one level of space where there weren’t swarms of mines—or other deadly things—converging from all sides.
No, we’re headed back to face living enemies. Oxy-beings, just like us.
At least it should be possible to surrender to the battleships, and see her crew treated as prisoners of war. Assuming the victors did not instantly start fighting over the spoils.
Of course, Gillian couldn’t let herself be captured. The information in her head must not fall into enemy hands.
She let out a deep sigh. The ninety-second battle had been awfully close. Her tactics had almost worked. Each time a mine went off, or a quantum horde attacked, or a chaos aftershock passed through, it disrupted the neat volley of converging missiles, shoving their careful formations, reducing their numbers, until the detonation—when it occurred—was off center. Inefficient.
Even so, it was bad enough.
As Streaker finished its last, groaning transition into the normal vacuum of home space, surrounded by clouds of blinding debris, she knew the grand old vessel could not defeat a corvette, or an armed lifeboat, let alone the armada awaiting them.
“Please transmit the truce signal,” she ordered. “Tell them we’ll discuss terms for surrender.”