Shipstar (6 page)

*   *   *

Asenath the Wisdom Chief was not of a mind to be placated. “One! You have one, and it is dying!”

“I will save it,” Memor said. “I will take it … her … down to the Quicklands, where spin gravity can restore her muscle and strengthen her bones. I know what she eats and I will procure it. This female is the one who understands me best. Gifted, though in many ways simple. She knows Rank One of the TransLanguage. Wisdom Chief, will you question her now?”

“What would I ask?” Asenath’s feathers showed rage, but that was a plumage lie. Memor’s undermind had caught the truth: She was in despair.

Memor found that revealing. Earlier the Wisdom Chief had been trying to bring about Memor’s disgrace and death. What had changed? Memor decided to wait her out.

Asenath broke first. “There comes a message from the Target Star, from our destination.”

All Memor’s feathers flared like a puffball. The human, engulfed, tried to wriggle free. Memor said, “That is wonderful! And dangerous, yes? Can you interpret—?”

“There are visuals. Complex ones. The message seems aimed at these creatures. At your Late Invaders!”

Memor’s feathers went to chaos: a riot of laughter. “That is … endlessly interesting.”

“You must care for your talking simian. We will try to make sense of this message. It is still flowing in. If I call, answer at once, and have the human at hand.”

*   *   *

Tananareve had caught little of that. She was nibbling at a melon slice now, slipped to her by Memor. She was enraged—tight-lipped, squinting in the strange glow—that she’d been caught again, but grudgingly grateful that Memor had brought provisions. The huge thing did not seem to mind carrying on conversation in front of a human, either.

What was that about? Hard to follow. Was Glory inhabited? And had someone there sent a message? Surely not to Earth; that would be foolish, when the Bowl was straight between Earth and Glory, and so much more powerful.

The captain should be told. He and his crew would figure it out.

Rockets fired, accelerations gripped her—and Memor’s ship was in flight. Tananareve sagged into the pull. The hard clamp was too strong to allow movement. She relaxed against the floor and tried to get into savasana pose, letting her muscles ease, hoping that her dinosaur-sized captor wouldn’t step on her.

EIGHT

They couldn’t all get into
SunSeeker
’s infirmary. Beth and Fred and Captain Redwing hovered around the door, watching as Mayra and Lau Pin were led to elaborate tables. Tubes and sensors snaked out to mate with them. Jam, acting as medic now, watched, tested, then asked, “Are you comfortable?”

Mayra and Lau Pin mumbled something.

“I’m sedating you. Also, you’re being recorded. Mayra Wickramsingh, I understand you lost your husband during the expedition?”

“Expedition, my arse. We were expi … expiment … animals for testing. Big birds had us—”

Redwing said, “Come with me. You’ll both be on those tables soon enough, but for now we’ll give you gravity and normal food.”

Beth resisted. “You’re testing her while she talks about Abduss? He was slaughtered by one of those monstrous spider-things.”

“We’ll need to know how badly that traumatized her. The rest of you, too. How are you feeling now?”

Fred said, “Hungry.” He lurched up the corridor toward the ship’s mess, then sagged against the bulkhead. “Feeble.”

Beth asked, “How is Cliff? Where is he?”

Redwing allowed a vexed expression to flit across his face, then went back to the usual stern, calm mask. “Holed up with some intelligent natives, Cliff’s last message said. The Folk tried to kill them all. They were shooting down from some living blimp—sounds bizarre, but what doesn’t here? The locals helped Cliff’s people get away. Aybe sends us stuff when he can. We have pictures of a thing that looks a lot like a dinosaur, plus some evolved apes. I sent those to you; did you get them?”

Fred spoke over his shoulder. “We got them, Cap’n. The Bowl must’ve stopped in Sol system at least twice. Once for the dinosaurs, once for the apes, I figure. And we found a map in that museum globe.”

“You sent us the map,” Redwing said, ushering them along the corridor. A pleasant aroma of warm food drew them. “How did that strike you?”

“Strange. Might be history, might be propaganda for the masses.”

“There’s a difference?”

She smiled. “It was in a big park, elaborate buildings, the works.”

Fred wobbled into the mess. Beth was feeling frail, too; there were handholds everywhere, and she used them. Surely she’d been longing for foods of Earth? There had been almost no red meat in the parts of the Bowl she’d seen. Beef curry? Its tang enticed. The mess was neat, clean, like a strict diner. Already Fred had picked a five-bean salad and a cheese sandwich.

Redwing dialed up a chef’s salad. “We’re recording everything we can get in electromagnetics from the Bowl surface, but there’s not much,” he said.

Beth asked, “What are you doing with our allies? I mean the—”

“Snakes? They kind of give me the willies, but they seem benign. We’re helping the finger snakes unload that ship you hijacked. Those plants will do more for them than for us, don’t you think? Shall we house them in the garden? We’ll have to work out what to give them in the way of sunlight and dirt and water. Want to watch?” Redwing finger-danced before a sensor.

The wall wavered, and yes, on the visual wall there were finger snakes and humans moving trays out of the magnetic car. Beth saw these were new crew. Ayaan Ali, pilot; Claire Conway, copilot; and Karl Lebanon, the general technology officer. The ship’s population was growing. They moved dexterously among the three snakes, struggling with the language problem.

Beth muted the sound and watched while she ate. Silence as she forked in flavors she had dreamed of down on the Bowl. No talk, only the clinking of silverware. Then Fred said, “The map in the big globe? It looked alien, but it’s blue and white like an Earthlike planet.”

“Could that have been Earth in the deep past?”

“Yeah. A hundred million years ago?”

Redwing said, “Ayaan says no. She pegs that clump of migrating continents to the middle Jurassic. Your picture was upside down, south pole up. Argue with her if you don’t agree.”

Fred shook his head. “I can recall it, but look—I sent Ayaan my photo file, so—”

Redwing called up a wall display. “There is a lot of spiky emission from that jet. Seems like message-style stuff, but we can’t decipher it. Anyway, it fuzzed up your pictures and Ayaan had a tedious job getting it compiled. She compiled, processed, and flattened the image store. Piled it into a global map, stitching together your flat-on views—here.”

Fred read the notes. “Of course … All those transforms have blurred out the details, sure. So now, look at South America. Just shows what looking at things upside down and only one side, will do. Now, rightside up and complete, I can see it. How could I have missed it?”

Beth said kindly, “You didn’t, not really. We were on the run, remember? And this doesn’t look a lot like Earth, all the continents squeezed together. But you were right about the Bowl having some link to Earth. Tell the cap’n your ideas.”

Fred glanced at Redwing, eyes wary. “I was tired then, just thinking out loud—”

“And you were right.” Beth opened her hands across the table. “Spot on. Sorry I didn’t pay enough attention. So, tell the cap’n.”

Fred gazed off into space, speaking to nobody. “Okay, I thought … wow, Jurassic. A hundred seventy-five million years back? That’s when the dinosaurs got big.
Damn.
Could they have got intelligent, too? Captain, I’ve been thinking that intelligent dinosaurs built the Bowl and then evolved into all the varieties of Bird Folk we found here. Gene tampering, too, we saw that in some species—you don’t evolve extra legs by accident. They keep coming back to Sol system because it’s their home.” Fred remembered his hunger and bit into his cheese sandwich.

A smile played around Redwing’s lips. “If they picked up the apes a few hundred thousand years ago, then they could have been en route to Glory for that long. They’re definitely aimed at Glory, just like we were. Beth?” Beth’s mouth was full, so Redwing went on. “All that brain sweat we spent wondering why our motors weren’t putting out enough thrust? The motors are fine. We were plowing through the backwash from the Bowl’s jet, picking up backflowing gases all across a thousand kilometers of our ramjet scoop, for all the last hundred years of our flight.”

Beth nodded. “We could have gone around it. Too late now, right? We’ll still be short.”

“Short of everything. Fuel. Water. Air. Food. It gets worse the more people we thaw, but what the hell, we still can’t make it unless we can get supplies from the Bowl. And we’re at war.”

“Cliff killed Bird Folk?”

“Yeah. And they tried to repay the favor.”

*   *   *

Beth had expected some shipboard protocols, since Redwing liked to keep discipline. But the first thing Redwing said when they got to his cramped office was, “What was it like down there?”

Across Beth’s face emotions flickered. “Imagine you can see land
in the sky.
You can tell it’s far away because even the highest clouds are brighter, and you can’t see stars at all. The sun blots them out. It gives you a queasy feeling at first, land hanging in the distance, no night, hard to sleep…” She took a deep breath, wheezing a bit, her respiratory system adjusting to the ship after so long in alien air. “The … the rest of the Bowl looks like brown land and white stretches of cloud—imagine, being able to see a hurricane no bigger than your thumbnail. It’s dim, because the sun’s always there. The jet casts separate shadows, too. It’s always slow-twisting in the sky. The clouds go far, far up—their atmosphere’s much higher than ours.”

“You can’t see the molecular skin they have keeping their air in?”

“Not a chance. Clouds, stacking up as far as you can see. The trees are different, too—some zigzag and send long feelers down to the ground. I never did figure out why. Maybe a low-grav effect. Anyway, there’s this faint land up in the sky. You can see whole patches of land like continents just hanging there. Plus seas, but mostly you see the mirror zone. The reflectors aren’t casting sunlight into your eyes—”

“They’re pointed back at the star, sure.”

“—so they’re gray, with brighter streaks here and there. The Knothole is up there, too, not easy to see, because it’s got the jet shooting through it all the time. It narrows down and gets brighter right at the Knothole. You can watch big twisting strands moving in the jet, if you look long enough. It’s always changing.”

“And the ground, the animals—”

“Impossible to count how many differences there are. Strange things that fly—the air’s full of birds and flapping reptile things, too, because in low grav everything takes to the sky if there’s an advantage. We got dive-bombed by birds thinking maybe our hair was something they could make off with—food, I guess.”

Redwing laughed with a sad smile and she saw he was sorry he had to be stuck up here, flying a marginal ramscoop to make velocity changes against the vagrant forces around the Bowl. He didn’t want to sail; he wanted to land.

She sipped some coffee and saw it was best that she not say how she had gotten a certain dreadful, electric zest while fleeing across the Bowl. Redwing asked questions and she did not want to say it was like an unending marathon. A big slice of the strange, a zap to the synaptic net, the shock of unending Otherness moistened with meaning, special stinks, grace notes, blaring daylight that illuminated without instructing. A marathon that addicted.

To wake up from cold sleep and go into
that,
fresh from the gewgaws and flashy bubble gum of techno-Earth, was—well, a consummation requiring digestion.

She could see that Redwing worried at this, could not let it go. Neither could she. Vexing thoughts came, flying strange and fragrant through her mind, but they were not problems, no. They were the shrapnel you carried, buried deep, wounds from meeting the strange.

PART II

S
UNNY
S
LAUGHTERHOUSE

After the game, the King and the pawn go into the same box.

—I
TALIAN
PROVERB

NINE

Cliff stood at the edge of the ruined city and tried to get his eyes to work right.

This world looked … strange. Shimmering green and blue halos hovered around the edges of every burned tree and smashed building. The jet scratched across the sky had its usual twisting helical strands around its hard, ivory-bright core … but there, too, an orange halo framed it, winking with vagrant lights.

Okay … shake the head, blink. Repeat. The colored halos dimmed. He made himself breathe long and slow and deep. Acrid smoke tainted the dry air.

In the second Folk attack, he had gotten hit again. Irma had stitched the wound in his right shoulder and then … he slept. It was strange to sleep for days and nights—though those words meant nothing here, where the ruddy star hung forever in the same spot in the sky. Yet he had slept long, his irked back and aching bones told him.