Chindi

Must have been his imagination.

He rolled over and pressed a palm against the wall, then against the deck. The vibrations had stopped. The engines were off, at last, and the chindi, finally, had gone into cruise mode.

Cruise mode? But hazeltines always feed off the main engines. You don’t shut them down before a jump. What was going on?

He opened a cha

The silence rolled back.

“Anybody…?”

HE’D BROUGHT A sketch pad, which he set up outside the chamber. And he began finally to try to capture the essence of the situation. The rock and the metal doors. The sense of absolutely nothing out beyond the fading light. As if one could walk down the corridor and stroll into oblivion.

Yes, he thought, capturing the shadows.

And the unimaginable mass that held the darkness together.

And George’s ghost, caught here forever.

He listened, imagining he could hear distant footsteps.

He worked until he got hungry. Then he went inside and ate too much. Two chicken sandwiches, and some donut holes.

Before he went back out, he changed the power cell.

THE FLIGHT TO RK335197 ran a little more than three days. It was a quiet time. Alyx joined them on the bridge, and that became the place where all three hung out, except during meals. Mission control was empty now, a place of echoes and shadows. There were no more games and no more sims. Nobody had much appetite, and even Nick found it difficult to remain cheerful. It wasn’t that they feared for Tor—everyone was convinced that the chindi would arrive more or less on schedule and they’d have no trouble mounting a rescue—but the loss of George had taken the heart out of them.

There’d been a time when Hutch would have blamed herself for the series of catastrophes. But she’d learned that there were limits to what she could do. If people wouldn’t listen…

Still it seemed as if she might have made a stronger case, maybe even called George’s bluff to take over the Memphis.

They’d lost Preach and his passengers on the Condor, they’d lost Kurt on the Wendy, they’d lost Pete and Herman on Paradise, and they’d lost George on the chindi. Was it worth it?

To the people who write the history books, and probably to the species as a whole, the answer was yes. The discoveries that would come out of this were going to be far-reaching. The human race would never again look at the stars in quite the same way. But she, personally, would gladly have returned it all, wrapped it up and sent it on its way, if by so doing she could have Preach and George and the others back.

During the nights, she wandered through the Memphis, padding quietly between her quarters and the bridge, where Bill maintained a discreet silence.

The others were adrift, too. She heard them sometimes in the small hours, Nick looking for a place to read that was less confining than his compartment, or maybe less lonely, where there was a chance of meeting someone. And Alyx, who could be heard occasionally crying in the early morning hours.

MOGAMBO WAS A tower of frustration. The Longworth was just approaching the Twins, and the fox, as he thought of the giant vessel, was on the run. He told Hutch that he’d considered changing course, making directly for 97, but he wanted to see the Retreat, which at least wasn’t going anywhere. He directed her to inform him as soon as she’d established the object’s presence, and he would come immediately.

“But don’t put anybody else aboard it,” he said sternly. “Rescue your man, but otherwise leave it. It’s too valuable to have people ru

She also received a long message from Sylvia Virgil, congratulating her on the various discoveries, and exhorting her to protect her passengers. (Remaining passengers, she thought.) “They’re not used to the dangers of field work, and we don’t want to lose any more of them. Not after everything that’s gone on already. People would start to think we can’t take care of our clients.”

She reminded her that Mogambo would take over the operation on his arrival. Hutch should do everything in her power to assist him. And she finished by assuring her that she would not be forgotten when all this was over.

That was precisely what worried Hutch most at the moment.

Virgil informed her, almost by the way, that their discoveries had ignited a worldwide sensation. Included in the transmission were a number of panels, news shows, and commentaries, discussing the discoveries and their impact. The director included an intercept package from the chindi net, which was the term given by the media to the series of stealth world-to-world relays. Some were believed to date back a few centuries although they were live signals. Everyone, she said, had been overwhelmed by the pictures from a place with no known name, which contained hauntingly beautiful images of a crystal city, gleaming in sunlight, built into the crags overlooking a misty sea. The prominent CBY analyst Creighton Wolford was proclaiming that humans, after several false starts, would finally have to give up their quaint notion that they were at the center of the universe. Tiras Fleming thought we would find technological marvels inside the chindi. (They were using the term, which appealed, it seemed, to everyone’s instincts for a foray into the supernatural.) It was likely, he thought, that any living civilization we encountered would be far older than we, perhaps by millions of years. Chindi technology, according to the New York Times, would be applied to the way everyone lived. Within a few years, it went on, we would not recognize our civilization.

The Kassel Report noted claims from inside sources that no one had been found on board the chindi, but that the mission had already learned how to operate its engines and that it was bringing the giant ship back to Earth orbit. Nobody believed official denials. Virgil herself looked suspicious. “There’s nothing to this story, right? Please send assurances.”

A rumor had gotten loose that something terrifying had been found on board the chindi, and that a second mission, composed of military units, had been sent out to attack the alien ship with nuclear missiles.

Some politicians were promising that the chindi would not be allowed near Earth. Others were assuring everyone there was nothing to worry about.

One story even had it that the original crew of the chindi had been found dead of a mysterious, and virulent, plague. And that the giant ship, as well as George Hockelma

She reminded Hutch that a Black Cat media team was en route from Outpost and had probably already arrived at Gemini. Hutch would be sure to make her people available for interviews.

There was also a packet of personal mail, which she duly distributed. There were several messages for George.

Tor had fourteen. There was no junk mail. Interstellar communication was too expensive. These would all be personal or professional correspondence. She relayed them to his mailbox, where they would await his return.

Alyx received an invitation to speak to a Parisian working group on a date she couldn’t possibly make. The fee was generous, and the exposure would be helpful, but she remained philosophical. “I’m alive,” she said. “If this mission does nothing else, it’s given me some perspective on my priorities.”

There were only a few pieces for Hutch. A commission was being assembled to look into the loss of the Wendy Jay.

That was routine, and she’d been expecting it. Since she’d been on hand, they’d want her to testify.

Her mother had read the mission had taken casualties and urged her to be careful. A couple of former male companions took advantage of the opportunity to say hello and wish her well. Omega Styling (“The Last Word in Fashions”) offered her a lucrative endorsement contract, and someone who was writing a book on the chindi wanted to interview her at the earliest possible moment. He, too, was on his way to Gemini, although he didn’t say how or when he’d arrive.