Chindi

THEY EMERGED IN the 97 system on the third day after making their jump into the sack. Tor’s clock showed four days, twenty-two hours remaining.

Hutch’s first act was to ask Bill whether he was picking up any stray signals. It was unlikely that the chindi could have beaten them there, since theory dictated that all vehicles moving through hyperspace traveled at the same velocity relative to the standard space-time continuum. But that was theory, and if the chindi actually possessed advanced technology, who knew what they might be capable of doing?

In any case, Bill replied as expected: “We are not receiving anything from our transmitter.” Then he appeared on-screen, up close, eyes intense. “But we are getting a distress call.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Bill’s having a breakdown,” he said.

They were a hundred light-years outside the bubble. In a place nobody had ever gone before. “Bill, how would you know it’s a distress call?” she asked.

He appeared across the room, a VR version, white slacks, navy blue shirt, anchor on the breast pocket. “It’s in English,” he said.

Chapter 29

Bless me, how little you look. So shall we all look—kings, and kaisers—stripped for the last voyage.

MAURICE MOGAMBO STEPPED out of the lander, took a few steps, and stopped to gaze at the Retreat. The oculus window gave it a kind of surprised look. How good to see you, Maurice. Nice of you to come by. We don’t get visitors here very often.

And yes, it’s true, that other group that was here earlier was right. I served as a refuge for two remarkable entities. They worked and studied here, and lived their lives undistracted by the routines you have to deal with. No bureaucracies, no competing specialists, no petty jealousies. Socrates would have been at home here.

The delegation that had accompanied him was spilling out across the shelf. Some had already surrounded the other lander. Martinson was on its ladder, and poking his head inside. Sheusi was gazing over the edge of the precipice. Hawkins was kneeling, chipping off a rock sample. Alvarez was taking pictures, recording every step of the inspection.

He was suddenly aware that Chardin was standing beside him. But Chardin understood this was not a time for idle conversation, and so he stayed a few paces to the rear, allowing Mogambo to absorb the moment.

It was, of course, the climax of a life already rich in achievement. His only regret was that he had not been first. (But he felt a tinge of guilt, and knew it was an unworthy sentiment, wishing for primacy in a place that seemed almost sacred.)

He was about to go inside when John Yurkiewicz, the Longworth’s captain, buzzed him. “Maurice,” he said, “We’ve completed the sweep of the other moons.”

Mogambo shook away the irritation he felt at being disturbed. Then he had to run the captain’s comment through a second time to extract its meaning. Damn. He knew what the result would be, but he had to be certain. “And is there anything of interest?”

“No, Professor. There’s nothing.”

“What about the Memphis? Have we heard from Hutchins?”

“The Memphis should be arriving about now at 97. But we haven’t heard from them yet. Do you wish me to contact them?”

“No. We have our plate full here at the moment, John. I’m sure they’ll let us know when they have something to report.”

Mogambo turned his attention back to the alien structure. It was, he thought, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

IN ENGLISH.

“Yes. They identify themselves as Venture SL002. Voice only.”

“Venture?” Nick’s eyes went wide. “That’s not—”

Bill put it on audio. “PLEASE ASSIST. VICINITY SEPC 6A1193KKM.”

“Registry number is correct,” said the AI. “There has only been one vessel with that name.”

“What’s SEPC et cetera?”

“It’s the designation for 97 in the Pandel-Corbin star catalog. Which would have been in use at the time the Venture was lost.”

Something cold gripped her heart. The Venture was the second ship to attempt superluminal travel. After the Terra had made its historic journey to Alpha Centauri forty-two years before, the Venture had embarked on a flight to Wolf 359, carrying with it a crew of four, a team of scientists, and an NAU senator. It had never been heard from again. A search of the area around Wolf 359 had revealed no evidence that it had ever arrived, and its disappearance became one of the enduring mysteries of the age. The common wisdom held that its drive—which was by modern standards primitive—had failed after it made its jump into the sack, and that it had been lost in hyperspace. As a result of the Venture experience, Hazeltine engines had been modified. Now, if a failure was imminent, the system immediately took the vessel back into standard space. That sort of unscheduled and unexpected jump had occurred several times, and had caused a few injuries. But no ship since the Venture had simply vanished.

“Location?” she asked Bill.

“Pretty much on the other side of the sun.” He showed her. “Solar orbit,” he added. “But in a lot closer than we are.”

Alyx, who’d been sitting quietly through all this, leaned over and put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “That’s good news,” she said.

“I guess.”

“How could it not be?”

“Alyx, why do you suppose the chindi’s so far off course? What’s the point of coming in way out here? Is their navigation equipment that bad? It would take months to get to the Venture from here, unless it jumps again.”

Bill looked thoughtful. “Hutch,” he said, “it may be that their mass renders them far more vulnerable than we are if they arrive at a site that’s already occupied by a solid object. It might be that the mere existence of a small rock in their jump area could destabilize the entire ship.”

“You really think so?”

“I have no idea. But it is a possibility. And it explains why they would come here, rather than jumping into the i

But they’d have to do a secondary jump to manage things within a reasonable time. Did they have some sort of advanced technology that would allow them to do a quick scan, make sure everything was safe, and move in closer?

“It amazes me,” said Alyx. “Wherever the chindi goes, there’s something unusual to look at.”

Nick laughed. “Typical archeologists. They ignore us when we show up and say hello. Their only interest…”

“…Is in the dead,” Alyx finished.

“Bill,” said Hutch, “we’ll do another jump. Get as close as we can, then set course for the Venture. Leave a hypercomm probe here to alert us when the chindi shows up.”

EVERY SCHOOLCHILD KNEW what the Venture looked like. Small fat vehicle that seemed to be mostly composed of rocket tubes. There were eight of them. Landers attached on both beams. (In those days, an extra lander was considered an essential safety feature.) There were no viewports. No transparent material that was considered adequate to the hazards of space travel had yet been developed. A World Council flag was emblazoned on the hull.

And, of course, there was the historic registry number. SL002. Second ship of its class, superluminal.

What was it doing out here?

It was in solar orbit, about 180 million kilometers from the sun. None of its lights was on, but an ante

“Forty years,” Nick said. “Another thirty or so, and its distress signal will reach Outpost.”

“Do we board?” asked Alyx.

Hutch’s eyes closed. Here we go again.

“We’ve time,” Alyx continued. “We’ve got nothing else to do until the chindi gets here.”

“No,” she said, after a long hesitation. “Let’s leave them in peace.”

“The chindi won’t,” said Nick. “They’ll insert a team, take pictures, and make off with some artifacts. That’s what they do.”