Warhorse (36 page)

He hadn't expected there to be much; and there wasn't. Estimated sizes, estimated distances, spectral classes, estimated probabilities of solar systems—each listing had barely half a dozen lines. “Not much there anyone could want,” Marlowe muttered.

“Unless Ferrol knows something about one of them we don't,” Roman pointed out. “Kennedy, do you have a list yet of what those datapacks he had might have been?”

“Near as I can tell, all he accessed from the
Amity
were the navigational locator program and the full Cygni Telescope stellar mapping list,” Kennedy said. “Plus the Arachne data he gave Yamoto. She told us he took six datapacks with him, which would be about right for dumps of the nav and Cygni packages.” She eyed Roman. “Which implies to me that whichever of
these
stars he Jumped to was just a transition point to somewhere else.”

Roman nodded, his throat tight with frustration and bitterness. He'd already come to the same depressing conclusion…and if Ferrol was doing a multi-stage Jump here, then he was gone. Period.

His console two-toned a proximity alert: the
Amity
was coming alongside Yamoto's lifeboat. “Kennedy, have the hangar doors opened; as soon as we've matched velocities Yamoto can go ahead and bring the boat in.”

And when she was aboard, he knew, the decision would have to be made. Whether to fight the massive probabilities stacked against them and try and go after Ferrol, or to accept that any such attempt would be a useless gesture.

To accept that, whatever Ferrol was up to, he'd won.

I should have stopped him
, Roman thought wearily. And he
could
have done it, too—that was what galled the most. He could have had Ferrol off his ship right from the very beginning, or at any point since then. It was his own damn fault—all of it.

The intercom pinged. “Rro-maa?”

Roman looked down at the lopsided alien face.
Here it comes
, he thought, bracing himself. The accusation—delivered, no doubt, in the usual quiet/polite Tampy manner—that through lack of foresight or simple plain stupidity he'd just lost them a priceless space horse calf… “Yes, Rrin-saa, what is it?” he said.

“Is it your wish that we follow Ffe-rho?”

“It's hardly a question of wishes at this point, Rrin-saa,” he growled. So that was how the Tampies were going to play this. Nothing so crass as accusing the captain outright of negligence; Rrin-saa was simply going to throw out innocent-sounding questions until Roman wound up confessing the fact on his own. “Ferrol and Epilog are long gone.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless, of course, you'd happen to know where they went.”

“I do not,” Rrin-saa said. “But Sleipnninni does.”

Roman stared at the screen. The question had been nothing but pure sarcasm… “Say again?”

“Sleipnninni knows where Epilog has gone,” Rrin-saa said. “He can follow, if you wish.”

Roman glanced up, caught Marlowe's disbelieving frown, looked back down again. “I don't understand,” he told Rrin-saa. “Epilog Jumped six hours ago. How can Sleipnir possibly know where it went?”

“I do not know,” Rrin-saa said. “I know that he knows; that is all.”

Roman rubbed thumb and forefinger together, looked up again. “Marlowe? Opinion?”

The other shook his head. “You got me, sir. Sounds like pure voodoo.”

“Does, doesn't it?” he agreed. “Kennedy?”

She shrugged. “I'd vote voodoo, too,” she said. “But on the other hand, what have we got to lose?”

What, indeed? “All right, Rrin-saa, you're on. Get Sleipnir into position; as soon as Yamoto and the lifeboat are aboard, we'll Jump.”

The Tampy's face was, as usual, unreadable. “Your wishes,” he said quietly, “are ours.”

It took the
Scapa Flow
six Jumps over nearly eighteen hours to get to Cygnus X-l, the first black hole on Ferrol's list.

It was, for Ferrol, highly reminiscent of the pre-nova system
Amity
had gone into all those months ago. Blazing away to one side was the black hole's companion, a huge blue-white star of perhaps twenty solar masses; to the other side was the black hole itself, a pinprick of equally bright blue light. Surrounding both was a textured swirl of gas being ripped from the star by the black hole's gravity, thickest in a curved corridor directly between the two bodies, the entire mass of it fluorescing brilliantly under the steady blast of ionizing X-rays pouring from the black hole. The star was brighter on that side, and noticeably elongated as well. The cloud of gas enclosed the two masses like a free-form cage; and though most of it moved too slowly for human eyes to follow, right in close to the blue pinprick it could be seen visibly swirling in, falling from infinity to disappear from the universe, giving up its gravitational potential energy as it did so to feed the outward flow of radiation.

Impressive as hell. And just about as dangerous.

Earlier, in one of the systems they'd passed through on the way here, Ferrol had had Epilog pull the
Scapa Flow
an extra six million kilometers further out from that system's star, knowing that doing so would put them proportionally farther out along the X-l system's gravity well when they finally arrived. Now, listening to the creaking of heat-stressed hull plates and watching as, one by one, the outside radiation detectors overloaded and burned out, he wondered if perhaps he should have taken the time to move them even further out.

They didn't stay long. A fifteen-minute run with the anomalous-motion program was enough to show that there was none of Ferrol's hoped-for life within a million kilometers of the ship, and it was already abundantly clear that even if they found something outside that radius the ship would never hold together long enough to go investigate it.

Four more Jumps took them to the next system on the list: a far quieter one, this, with the black hole's companion star too far away to lose such massive amounts of itself to the gravitational tugging and a correspondingly gender flow of radiation. They stayed longer here; but again, there was no trace of life.

Nor was there in the third system. Or in the fourth, or in the fifth.

In the sixth…they found it.

“I'll be damned,” Demarco breathed. “I'll be
damned
.”

Ferrol nodded absently, a tingling thrill of excitement flooding through him as he alternated his attention between visual, tactical, and scanner-composite screens. Three flashing circles marked anomalous motion within the haze of gravel and rock that made up the black hole's accretion disk; even as he watched, two more circles appeared. “It's the rocks,” he said. “Got to be. It's the only thing about this system that's different.”

Demarco seemed to pull himself together. “Well, it's not the
only
thing,” he countered. “The black hole itself is a hell of a lot quieter, radiation-wise, than any of the others we've seen. For starters.”

Ferrol gritted his teeth momentarily, the flash of reflex anger breaking the spell and bringing him jokingly back to the real world. “That's true,” he agreed, forcing his voice to remain calm. The thrill of excitement wasn't what was important right now; neither was the irritating—and possibly deliberate—habit Demarco had fallen into these past few days of challenging everything Ferrol said or did. What
was
important was that they not squabble this opportunity away…and what
that
meant was investigating the system and its life as carefully and thoroughly as possible. With a maximum of care, and a minimum of interpersonal conflict. “I'm sure the lower radiation makes the environment a lot more stable,” he added. “Randall? You got a profile on the accretion disk yet?”

“Only first-order details so far,” the other told him, “but it's looking pretty much like a normal asteroid belt. At least out this far; you start getting in too close and the radiation and gravitational effects start fouling things up good.” He turned to look at Ferrol. “I think you're right, too, that it's the lumpiness of this particular disk that's the critical factor. At least two of the movements we've tracked so far definitely started out from the dark side of boulders. Probably helps to have a place to hide from the radiation when you're built smaller than a space horse—less shielding mass, and all that.”

“Yeah,” Ferrol nodded. “Take a look at the black hole itself; get me some idea what exactly we're dealing with.”

“Right.” Randall turned to his scanners, and Ferrol keyed for the cargo bay and lander. Speaking of space horses…“Wwis-khaa? You there?”

A Tampy face appeared on the screen, or what was visible of a face sandwiched between the amplifier helmet and a gold-blue neckerchief. “Ffe-rho?”

“Yes, Ppla-zii,” Ferrol acknowledged. “Wwis-khaa resting, I take it?”

“He is,” the Tampy replied. “He rests too much.”

“You
all
rest too much,” Demarco muttered.

Ferrol threw him a glare. “I know, Ppla-zii, and I'm sorry,” he said to the Tampy. “I realize that what we've put Epilog through these last few days has been hard on the three of you, too. But it's paid off. We've found what looks very much to be the space-creature community we've been looking for.”

“I know,” Ppla-zii said. “Epilonninni has already seen.”

Something that sounded like a snort of derision came from Demarco's direction. “I see,” Ferrol growled, not even bothering with the glare this time. “Glad to hear it. What else does Epilog tell you?”

“I do not understand.”

“I want to know what impressions Epilog has of this place,” Ferrol amplified. “Does it feel uneasy or pained in any way by the black hole's radiation, for instance? Or is it bothered by the fact that the gravitational fields even at this distance are slightly warped?” He glanced at the flashing circles on the display. “More importantly, does it feel danger from any of the life-forms around us?”

“Epilonninni feels no danger,” Ppla-zii said promptly.

“Good. You tell me
right away
if that changes—you got that?”

“Your wishes are ours.”

“Yeah.” But just in case…Ferrol glanced around the bridge. “Kohlhase, as of right now your only job is to watch for anomalous movement heading toward or across a line directly in front of Epilog,” he instructed one of the crewers. “Randall?”

“The black hole weighs in at about a hundred solar masses,” the other reported. “Only slightly charged, but it's rotating pretty fast. Figure the event horizon at about 150 kilometers; we're approximately three million kilometers out from that now.”

Ferrol nodded, trying to remember everything he'd ever read about black holes. “We getting any relativistic effects yet?” he asked. “Frame dragging or other orbital anomalies?”

Randall shrugged. “Not at this distance, no.” He cocked an eyebrow. “ 'Course, we'll have to go a lot closer in if we want a real look at those beasties of yours.”

“Right,” Ferrol nodded. “And your job will be to make sure we don't get carried away by the thrill of it all. Pay especially close attention to radiation levels and gravitational gradients; but if you see
anything
going on outside the ship that bothers you, I want to hear about it. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

And all was ready. Ferrol took a deep breath, shifted his gaze to the screen. Over twenty flashing circles marked anomalous motion now, the nearest of them twenty thousand kilometers further in toward the black hole. “Okay, Ppla-zii,” he said. “Real slow and careful, now…take us in.”

T
HE ASTEROID WAS LARGE
and craggy, its edges sheathed in a pale and ghostly blue light from the distant black hole. A spot of white from the
Scapa Flow
's searchlight swept slowly over it, lingering on a handful of shadows before moving on. Staring at the display, Ferrol shook his head. “Okay, I give up,” he said to no one in particular. “Where
did
the damn thing go?”

“To the left, I think,” Demarco said. “Over there by the—there it goes!”

A black shadow had detached itself from the asteroid and was skittering off through space, reaching the edge of the display before the tracking system caught up and centered it again. Roughly half a meter across, with a tendency to make right-angle turns in mid-course, it had early on been dubbed a butterfly…and in Ferrol's opinion they'd learned just about all that twenty minutes of passive observation could teach them about it. “Let's bring it in, Mal,” he said. “Whenever you've got a clear shot.”

“Right.” Demarco hissed gently between his teeth. “Here goes…”

The
Scapa Flow
jerked slightly as the net shot out. Ferrol held his breath…and at the last instant the butterfly swerved into a hairpin curve. Too late; the net swept around it and tightened—

In the pale blue light the brief flicker of coronal discharge from the net was clearly visible. The butterfly gave one last spasmodic twitch and went limp. “Townne: we've got it,” Ferrol called into his intercom. “Reel it in.”

“Right.”

On the display the netted butterfly began moving back toward the ship. Ferrol arched his shoulders, stretching muscles stiff with tension, and listened to the growing sense of bitter emptiness rumbling through his stomach. In four hours of drifting through the accretion disk they'd spotted, identified, and filmed no fewer than fifteen different variants of space-going creatures. Four—five, now—had been netted, electrically stunned or killed, and brought aboard for further study.

And in that whole damn menagerie, they hadn't found a single solitary predator.

“Ffe-rho?”

With an effort, Ferrol shook the self-pity from his mind. “Yes, Wwis-khaa, what is it?”

“Is it your wish that we continue inward toward the black hole?”