Dark Beneath the Moon, page 19
“I know. It’s all right.” I found my own annoyance had fled as well. I had bigger things to worry about.
I assigned Gerazan to help Viss in checking over the ship, thinking it would be good for him to have something useful to do. He accepted the job without hesitation.
And then I excused myself and made my way down the corridor to the quarters Hirin and I shared. I stopped at the head on the way there and drew a shallow basin of water to rinse my face. I’m feeling all of my eighty-four years at once. It seemed that as long as I kept moving, crisis to crisis, I could manage. But any sort of lull, and the fatigue crashed in on me, threatening to bear me down under its weight.
My hands shook as I scooped up water, splattering the narrow rim around the sink and the floor below it. I hadn’t mentioned the aches and trembles in my arms and legs to anyone, not even Yuskeya. She was sure to tell Hirin, and he was already worried enough. It wasn’t difficult to find regular pain meds in First Aid; I knew the brand names on the injectors, even if I’d never needed them myself before. And dosing was merely a matter of reading the labels. Before long she’d surely notice her supplies running low, but I’d deal with that confrontation when it came.
I closed my eyes and dragged more water over my face, relaxing into the cool, soothing tingle of it against my skin. I repeated the motion until the tremor in my hands abated, then rested them on the rim of the sink. I let my head droop toward the water, feeling the delicious stretch in my neck muscles. Maybe Yuskeya and mother’s software were wrong, and I could put most of this down to stress. We were stranded in an unknown system surrounded by hostile and unknown aliens, after all. That could take a toll on anyone.
Drip, drop, plop. The water I’d splashed dripped over the edge of the sink and onto the floor. I’d apparently made quite a mess. I sighed and opened my eyes. Better clean it up.
The bright red droplets diffusing in the basin told a different story. Not water dripping. Blood—my blood—splashing steadily from my nose into the water. I watched, mesmerized, as the colour swirled and fanned through the water like a red silk scarf floating lazily in a breeze. I grabbed for tissue and crammed it against my nose, checking in the mirror to make sure none had stained my t-shirt. That would be difficult to hide. It was clean. The shakes came back and I had to use both hands to hold the wad of tissue in place. My legs chose that moment to tremble as well, and I sat down heavily on the toilet, forcing myself to lean forward and pinch the bridge of my nose with shaking fingers. Our son, Karro, had suffered frequent nosebleeds as a child, so I knew the drill. I counted seconds, forcing myself to go slowly and breathing shallowly through my mouth. Sixty. Then sixty more. Three more times, for five minutes.
I pulled away the tissue, grimacing as it tore, shreds stuck to my face with thick, dark clots. Threw the handful in the recycler, gingerly released the bridge of my nose. The flow seemed to have stopped. I released the water in the basin and drew fresh, repeating the motions of cleansing my face, but with a distinct purpose now. The water was a deep pink by the time my face was clean again.
Forcing myself to take deep, calming breaths, I concentrated on tidying away every drop of water and scrap of tissue. When the head was spotless again, I regarded myself in the mirror. I looked pretty much as usual. A little flushed, perhaps, as if I’d just finished a mild tae-ga-chi workout. I ran my hands through my hair, combing it with my fingers, which no longer shook. I thought I was presentable enough to open the door.
“What’s wrong with you?” I whispered to myself in the mirror before I left the room.
But the mirror had no answer.
DESPITE THE NOSEBLEED episode, or perhaps because of it, I fell into my bed and slept for two solid hours. I’d been on the bridge only a few minutes, getting progress reports that basically said not much of anything had happened, when a Corvid reappeared.
The hologram sprang to life on the bridge, close to Rei’s pilot board. It gave her more of a start than she’d admit to later.
“You have suffered a loss,” the crow-like being began. “We sympathize.”
It was still wrapped in the same burlap-coloured robe, all but the head and what might be considered a neck hidden by its folds. Was it Fha, the same creature that had spoken to us before? It was impossible to tell. The appearance and voice seemed identical, so I was inclined to think it was. The more intriguing question was, how did they know about Chen’s death? They must have a way of monitoring us, the same way we’d identified the scientists on the operant moon. I hoped that was all it was.
I decided to risk calling it by name. “Thank you, Fha. It is, I’m afraid, another reason our return to Nearspace grows more imperative.”
It didn’t correct me, so it must indeed be Fha. It nodded, beak-like mouth bobbing up and down. “We understand. I have data to share that may affect your decision.” I had the impression of movement beneath the cloak, but no hands or wings appeared.
“May I ask a question, first?”
“Of course.”
I had to phrase this diplomatically. “The other ship that was in the system with us—it was encased in a dark field. We couldn’t contact them or scan the vessel. Are they—will they be—”
Fha nodded. “They are perfectly safe. The stasis field was for their protection—I am only sorry we could not protect the other ship in the same manner. It will dissipate over time—not overly long by your standards. They will be confused, but unharmed.”
I let out a long sigh, relieved. “Thank you.”
Fha nodded. “Now, have you studied the information on the species you call Chron?”
“Not all of us, but our expert is still reviewing it. She will explain it to the rest of us.”
“Efficient,” Fha noted. “I will, then, tell you only what is necessary to understand the current situation.”
Another hologram appeared in the air above the Corvid’s head, and it took me a few minutes to realize what I was seeing. A wormhole, represented from the outside. It looked like a pencil stuck through several layers of paper or cardboard.
“The Chron discovered their first wormhole at about the same time as your species did,” the Corvid said, “but their reaction was very different. Instead of seeking out new worlds to colonize peacefully, they went in search of conquest. It is an old tale, oft repeated. Some beings cannot stand the thought of being less than foremost among all they encounter.
“When they discovered a wormhole into our space, we realized quickly that they were not interested in peaceful coexistence or economic relations. We were so different from them that they actually seemed indifferent to communicating with us—in fact, they viewed us as . . . prey.” Fha shrugged as if shaking off the unpleasant thought. “They declared war, not so much formally as by an immediate attempt to exterminate us. Their technology was inferior, however, and they quickly abandoned their hostilities. We were happy and relieved to see them go.”
“If it’s not impolite to ask—what should we call your species?” I asked when Fha paused.
The beak-like mouth opened and closed in a staccato rhythm—the equivalent of laughter? “Your own term for us—Corvids—is perfectly acceptable. And I, should you be wondering, am one of the females of my people.”
I felt my face flush slightly. Had my unspoken question been so obvious? I merely said, “Thank you.”
“They left us with an ethical dilemma,” Fha continued. “Could we stand quietly by and allow them to find other species and perpetrate the same aggressions? After much consideration and debate, it was decided that we were morally constrained to try and stop the Chron.”
She swung her head side to side sorrowfully, dark eyes troubled, beak low. “We were regrettably slow in reaching this decision, and the Chron had already found your Nearspace and begun systematically attacking you. By the time we stopped them, you had suffered greatly.
“We found this system, a ‘hub’ system which the Chron used to travel to various others. Several natural wormholes converged here, and we configured several others—”
“Pardon me,” Viss interjected in his politest voice, “did you say ‘configured’ wormholes? As in, constructed them?”
The Corvid nodded. “It is not a simple technology to manipulate, and the resource costs are extremely high. We were also fearful that it might fall into Chron hands, as some of our other technology did. But there seemed little choice. We established this station and others, and the attendant guardian asteroid fields, to keep the Chron contained within systems they already controlled.”
“I can’t imagine they were too happy about that,” Hirin said.
“An understatement,” the Corvid agreed with a bob of her head. “It was during this time also that we sent data-collecting drones into your Nearspace, and learned much about your several species. That is why we appear proficient with your language. It is actually being filtered through a database and translated as we speak—but it allows a comfortable semblance of conversation.”
“But it’s been a century and a half since our Chron War,” Baden noted. “Surely you haven’t been holding them off while they hammered away at this system all that time?”
“Fortunately, no. They’ve had other things to concern them in that time, notably a schism in their society between the warlike sects and more peaceful ones—although we have been unable to learn many specifics. That set them back decades.”
“But now?” I asked. “From what we’ve seen, they seem to be on the offensive again. And after so long, why are they apparently breaking through your defenses?”
“They certainly are on the offensive. Despite their setbacks, they have not stood still in the development of technology. They are not content to stay within the systems they currently control. They have become more adept at using algorithms to calculate and navigate a path through the asteroid fields, as well as developing a stealth mechanism so they can sneak through the wormholes.”
“Why not simply destroy the wormholes that lead out of their systems?” Rei asked bluntly. “Cut them off, seal them in, and forget about them?”
Fha’s beak fluttered again in what might have been a Corvid smile. “Destroying wormholes is not as easy as you might think. We can disable them temporarily—you saw that when our ship fired on the renegade Chron who was trying to reach your Nearspace.”
I sat forward. “You mean the damage to that wormhole is temporary?”
She nodded. “In relative terms. It will revert to its previous state naturally, usually within—” she paused, then finished, “three to five of your years.”
My heart sank. Three to five years! PrimeCorp could harm Mother in a matter of days, much less years—if they hadn’t already done so. I shied away from that thought. As for me and my condition—I shuddered, remembering my earlier nosebleed. I was quite certain I’d be dead long before that wormhole was in working order. I forced myself to nod. “I see.”
“So it is a temporary solution, and there is another reason that is more—mysterious,” the Corvid went on. “We cannot explain it, at least not yet. When a wormhole—a naturally occurring one—is disrupted, we have found that another one will soon appear, connecting the same two systems as the original. Its endpoints may be a great distance from the originals, but there it will stay, as stable as the first one was, for as long as it is needed. When the original wormhole is restored, the replacement will, after a time, dissipate. It is as if some fundamental balance in the cosmos must be restored and maintained.”
Hope surged again. “So a new wormhole could open at any time between Nearspace and the system where we were stranded?”
The Corvid nodded gravely. “Yes. But it may be difficult or nearly impossible to find, and there is no way to predict precisely when it will appear.”
I sighed. “Okej. So you can’t seal the Chron into their systems. What do you think they’re after now?”
She shrugged. “More of the same, we imagine. They reject all attempts on our part to communicate with them. Their initial forays into this system, and their attempts to break through into others, intensified recently.”
I glanced over at Hirin and caught his eye. He cocked an eyebrow. Had the Protectorate scientists, mucking around on the artifact moon, somehow turned the eyes of the Chron toward Nearspace once again?
“I fear that difficult times may lie ahead for us, and for others,” the Corvid said.
“I’m certain you’ll find the inhabitants of Nearspace to be allies,” I said, “but is there any way to forestall another war before it begins?”
“If there is, we have not been able to find it,” she said. “We cannot indefinitely keep them from leaving their systems, if we cannot destroy the wormholes, and they do not wish to be confined. The only thing that has restrained them this long is the schism in their society—should the two sides reunite with a shared agenda of conquest, or should the warlike Chron find other allies, we would not be able to stop them.”
“Is that likely?” Hirin asked.
Fha raised her shoulders and dropped them in a very human shrug. “We do not know. We have had little contact even with the peaceful ones. They are—mistrustful at best.”
“Which is why you thought we’d be safer staying here,” Viss said.
The Corvid nodded. “We felt obliged to offer you our protection, since it was the actions of one of our ships that severed your means of returning home directly.”
“But we can’t stay here,” I said. “We need to return to Nearspace as quickly as possible. For many reasons, as well as warning others about the impending threat of the Chron.”
“In addition to which, the Captain is ill and needs special medical attention,” Yuskeya added.
I threw her a reproachful frown, but she ignored me.
Fha regarded me with a keen eye. “We have limited knowledge of your physiology, so I am afraid we could be of little assistance in that regard.”
Rei continued my initial thought. “But can you help us get back to Nearspace?” she asked impatiently. “Everything hinges on that, and so far, well, you haven’t been very encouraging in that department.”
The Corvid regarded her unblinkingly. “I cannot get you there,” she said finally. “But I can show you a way. Whether or not you choose to take it is up to you.”
The holographic image of the wormhole that had been suspended above her head disappeared, and a starmap took its place. The configuration was completely unfamiliar to me, and extremely complex, showing numerous systems linked by wormholes. There were more systems than in all of Nearspace, and I felt a sudden insignificance.
A series of three wormhole skips blinked green, and my heart sank.
“Three skips?” Hirin asked, trying, I could tell, to sound optimistic. “That might not be too bad, if the in-system travel times are reasonable. This is the most direct route?”
“It is not the most direct,” the Corvid said, “but slightly less dangerous than the most direct. I still have mixed feelings about the propriety of even offering this as a possibility. Because,” she said, and the middle two systems in the route changed to slowly blink red, “it will take you directly through a sector of Chron space. Which makes it difficult for me to calculate your chances of survival.”
Chapter 23 – Jahelia
Zelendu and Jousting
I LET MYSELF drop into my chair, my hands falling from the screen where I’d been furiously typing all I’d heard over my eavesdropping rig—which consisted of Pita, in my datapad, patched into the bridge comm system.
“Sankta merde, Pita, did you hear all that?” I subvocalized into the throat touch mic.
“That they’re going into Chron space? Yeah, I heard it. I can’t believe we went to all that trouble to download me into this thing and bring it aboard, only to end up on a suicide mission.”
I pursed my lips. “I don’t know—we might have a slim chance of survival. Whatever else I might think about Luta Paixon and her crew, they seem to have a knack for getting out of tight situations unscathed.”
“This is not a tight situation.” Pita’s voice sounded dryly amused in my head. “This is a death sentence.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t even die.”
“I feel like I can die,” she retorted. “Doesn’t that amount to the same thing?”
I wasn’t interested in getting into an existential argument with my PAREA AI at the moment. “Anyway, that was only part of what I meant. Did you hear them talking about the tech these crow-things have?” I got up from the chair, pacing the small room. It was killing me that I didn’t know yet what the aliens looked like. All I knew was what I’d overheard from the bridge. “Creating and manipulating wormholes? Static asteroid fields? Can you imagine what some of that would bring in Nearspace? Alin Sedmamin, for one, would literally drool on his great big shiny desk if I told him I could get him tech like that.”
“I didn’t hear the crow make any offer to share that technology,” Pita observed. “In fact, she sounded fairly annoyed that some of it had fallen into Chron hands in the past.”
“Well, I’m obviously not going to ask them for it. But if the opportunity presents itself—”
“Um, and how exactly do you propose to get your hands on any kind of tech or specs? You’re sort of a prisoner here. We’re sort of prisoners here.”
The room was bigger than my sleeping quarters on the Hunter’s Hope, but it felt cramped. Even smaller when you tried to pace inside its confines. I didn’t need Pita to remind me of our situation. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d come aboard the Tane Ikai, and I was already starting to chafe at the restraint. At least the news about the Hunter’s Hope was good—if I could return to claim her before someone else decided she was salvage. But that worry could wait. One problem at a time.
“Our situation could change if you could get access to the ship network,” I reminded her. “I didn’t bring you along for your scintillating conversation.”
Her heavy sigh whistled through my brain. “I’m getting there. I think I’m close. There are always vulnerabilities in every system, I just have to find the right one.”
