“Thirty minutes. I see what you’re asking. We would have nearly a minute’s heads-up from their jump flash if we were at 16A. Here we would only have twelve-hundredths of a second.”
“Yeah…” Hitoshi says, drawing out the word. “I vote for 16A.”
Willow leans towards James. “If they try to communicate with us and we’ve jumped back to 16A, we’ll miss it.”
Lin shrugs. “Well, why don’t we just poop out another probe?”
Hitoshi blinks. “Kinda gross way to put it, but a good idea.”
“One more idea,” Isaac says. “Put Promise in geosynchronous orbit behind Cisseis. Use the planet to block line-of-sight to Sao. No one could jump straight to us, and we avoid more Riggs flashes. Kind of like one of Hitoshi’s ‘cloaking devices.’”
Hitoshi holds his hand over his chest. “Score one for movie night.”
Isaac touches an icon, and the bridge screen displays an animation of Cisseis spinning. A parabolic arc connects Promise with a spot on the dark side of the planet. As Cisseis orbits around Luhman 16B, Promise stays tucked in the planet’s shadow, hidden out of sight from Sao.
Beckman chuckles. “Isaac, that’s some pretty good tactics right here. Nicely done.”
James pans his gaze across the crew. Everyone seems to like Isaac’s plan. He nods appreciatively. “All right, let’s do it.”
Promise is set for night with the bridge lights dimmed to a soft blue. On the screen, Cisseis’s night side is a nearly black sphere fringed in Luhman 16B’s red glow. From their perspective, Promise is hovering over an unmoving planet. The combination of riding in Cisseis’s shadow with the bridge lights dimmed for the evening gives the strongest sense of actual night that James has experienced since the voyage started. The time display in the lower corner reads 23:20 - OCT 27 2094 LOCAL /NOV 21 2102 SOL / Mission Day 24.
In the tactical graphic, the interplanetary probe glides along a parabola that curves past Sao. The probe’s distance to Sao decreases rapidly, the numbers spinning down to ten thousand kilometers. A blue communications graphic shows the interplanetary probe piggybacking its signal off a second probe to Promise’s location on the dark side of Cisseis.
“First batch coming in,” Beckman says.
James rubs his hands, catches himself, and squeezes his fists, relaxing.
“Processing complete,” Isaac says. “On screen.”
Sao’s bay is a j-shaped hook of rocky land bordering the ocean. The ground is dark blue in UV wavelengths, but the sea is brighter, reflecting highlights of Luhman 16B’s trace ultraviolet light. Twelve off-shore structures curve along the arc of the shoreline. At this magnification, each is a disk with radial blue specks stretching out from its center. On the land, a massive illuminated structure has a base like a twelve-toothed gear. From the camera angle, they can see its three-dimensional structure rising into a tapered open cone, like a skyscraper sculpted to look like a volcano. The tower’s external geometry is slatted with blue lights carving irregular rectangular patterns in its hull. At the tower’s top, a luminous spotlight emits from the opening.
James’s stomach drops as he takes in the image. This is it, he thinks. It’s what we’re out here for.
The image zooms to an off-shore structure. What looked like a disk under lower magnification resolves itself as a twelve-sized mushroom. The water surrounding it is turbulent and frothy white. It’s hard to see, but the dark gap between the mushroom and the white foam may be cascading water.
“Each of the twelve water structures is slightly less than a kilometer wide,” Ananke says. “The tower’s base is approximately three kilometers wide, and its height is five kilometers.”
“Whoa,” Lin says.
“I second the whoa,” Hitoshi adds.
Beckman responds to a notification on his console. “Probe’s picked up another UV source in orbit.”
“Imaging,” Isaac says.
A new window pixelates on the screen. When it resolves, the arc of Sao is framed against a starry sky. A grappling hook shape hovers in the image’s center. Similar to the tower structure, its exterior is covered in slats and illuminated in patchy blue light. The grappling hook’s top has a wreath encircling an open space with rods extending upwards like antennae.
“Huh,” Isaac says calmly.
“Kinda freaking me out with the ‘huhs,’” Hitoshi says.
Isaac points at the screen. “Orbital structure is at an altitude of fifteen thousand three hundred kilometers, but it appears to be motionless relative to the ground structure. Wrong geosynchronous altitude if Sao is tidally locked. Let’s see.” He taps his console, and a time-lapse appears from the Sao approach. Sped up over fourteen hours, Sao rotates two and a half times. “Ahah!”
“What do you see, Isaac?” James says.
Isaac is pleased with the revelation. “Five to two resonance, so it rotates five times for every two laps around the star. Like Mercury in our solar system.”
“Interesting,” Ava says. “So, Sao is different than the other words. It has a day and night cycle. Also, lots of energy movement from each side heating up and cooling down. Liquid oceans, rock, volcanos, and energy movement increase the chance of life.”
Hitoshi smiles and points at the grappling hook. “Uh, Ava. Hate to burst your bubble, but there’s life.”
She smirks. “Thanks, Hitoshi.”
Isaac says. “Maybe it’s why this world has the structures.”
“Yes,” Hitoshi says. “I think the life built those, too.”
“No, I mean Sao is the only world that moves energy around in day and night cycles.”
A tone dings from Beckman’s console. “Probe’s moving out of range. It’ll be behind Sao in a few seconds.”
Digital artifacts corrupt the image as the signal breaks up. In a moment, the picture freezes and is replaced by a black screen with the white text Signal Loss.
“All right,” James says. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about. Let’s head to the galley, grab a cup of jo, and sort it out.”
19
Firsts
James lies awake in the dim light of his cabin’s bedroom, Ava’s arm draped over his waist. She stirs, rolling over with her back to him, and settles back into the rhythmic breathing of slumber. He glances at the clock. 3:21 - OCT 28 2094 LOCAL / NOV 22 2102 SOL / Mission Day 25. He takes a deep breath and swings his feet out of bed, padding barefoot out of the room wearing his pajamas. The hallway to the Canteen is an artificial starry sky overlooking rocky mountains. It reminds him a bit of Joshua Tree. He wishes he could sit around a campfire with Will and Sarah right now, but instead, he heads to the Canteen.
Through the Canteen’s arched windows, Luhman 16B is massive, casting red light into the pantry like a neon sign outside a cafe. A dozen worlds float in front of the star. Some are spheres and other specks, some reflecting its glare from icy shells and others just dark shadows occulting its bands. Colorful stars dapple the black space around Luhman’s periphery. There’s a serenity to it, the worlds floating by silently, and a calmness washes over James. He smiles, taking in the beauty of it for a long second before he walks over to the pantry’s refrigerated section. After rummaging around, he produces an ice cream puck and a spoon. He strolls over to a seat near the window, swings his leg over the chair, and sits. When he takes his first spoonful, the chocolate is brisk and creamy. He savors it. For a moment, he’s back on Earth with the briny tang of saltwater on his tongue, gravely sand beneath his feet, the rough paper texture of a crinkled napkin in his hand with cool streaks of melting ice cream on his fingers. When he opens his eyes, a feminine shape rests one hand on the doorway in the shadows of the Canteen’s entrance.
“Would you like some company?” Ananke says. She’s wearing her mission flight suit.
James smiles. “Sure thing.”
Ananke walks over and sits facing him. “I didn’t know you liked chocolate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat anything sweet before.”
“Everyone likes chocolate,” James says. “Bit of a guilty pleasure. Ask Will about it sometime. He’ll tell you how we used to raid the pantry in the wee hours before a big test flight. Good times.” He dips his spoon and takes another bite.
Ananke smiles. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Not a lot of room for error if things go south. If it’s the Silver Stars, we don’t have a spare ship this time around to bail us out if they smash up Promise.”
“The structure’s technology does resemble the Silver Stars’ design, although there’s no way to tell. I think we have a good plan, though, and it’s why we’re out here.”
James glances around the Canteen. Just a few hours ago, they had cobbled together the plan. Sao is closer to Luhman 16B and only has an eight-hour orbit. As it slips behind the star, it’ll be cut off from them while they orbit Cisseis. Promise will leave the dark side of Cisseis and accelerate into open space towards the spot where Sao will appear after its transit. They’ll be able to charge the Rigg’s drive, they’ll be under the gravity of the ship’s acceleration, and they’ll try to initiate contact using Ava’s first contact protocols. If things go south, they’ll get the hell out of there.
After his long silence, Ananke adds, “You know, I still remember our first flight in Bernard’s Beauty, when we didn’t know if it would work, and there was a good chance that whoever was flying the ship wouldn’t survive. I offered to fly it solo, but you said, ‘Sorry, you’re stuck with me.’ It was at that moment that I knew that it was going to work out.”
James smiles slightly. “Well, in fairness, we did almost explode.”
“Almost, but we didn’t, because of you.” She sets her hand on James’s. Although her hand isn’t solid, her hologram generates the faintest bit of heat, and the air is a trace warmer over the top of James’s hand. “Don’t worry, my friend. I have faith in you.”
James quirks his head slightly. Ananke’s always been very human, but ever since she’s become a hologram, it’s even more apparent. He’s not sure if it’s just because he can read her facial expressions and body language or if she’s becoming more human the longer she spends time with the crew.
Ananke says, “I think Ava’s coming to join you. I’ll be back on the bridge if you need me.” She smiles, and her hologram vanishes, leaving an empty seat.
Ava arrives at the doorway wearing a flannel robe and slippers. “Hey.”
James holds up his ice cream cup. “Pre-flight jitters. Can I grab you one?”
“Oh, definitely!” She walks over and sits in the same chair Ananke had occupied. As James walks over to the pantry, Ava stares out the window at Luhman 16B. “It’s so pretty. You know, as a girl, I’d always put these space landscapes on my study slate’s lock screens. This looks like one of them.”
James returns and hands her a chocolate cup. He grins and clinks his spoon against hers. “For me, it was model spaceships and planets hung on strings.”
“Oh, c’mon, you had to have something good on your lock screens.” She points her spoon at him. “Spill the beans, Hayden.”
James gives her a sidelong glance. “Picture of Chuck Yeager.”
She pauses. “Really? How old were you?”
“It’s, uh, the one where he’s posed in front of Glamorous Glennis, just leaning on it with one arm, casually. Looks like it’s out of a movie. I was nine.”
“I would have guessed sports cars or maybe fighter jets.”
“Nah, that’s more Will’s speed.” He takes another bite and looks out the window. “So, you think we’ll make contact tomorrow?”
“I do,” she says, “but I also think you’re not eating chocolate all by yourself out here to talk about work. We’ve got, like, three hours to not be on duty. Let’s talk about anything but work.”
“What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, I found out the secrets of your lock screen, so let’s see what else I don’t know about James Hayden.” She leans forward on her elbows. “First kiss?”
He chuckles. “Oh, we’re doing this. I see. All right, ninth grade. Jessica. Behind the bleachers.”
“Aiden. Sophomore year. Track star. End of our date, the front seat of my car. I guess the athletic types worked for me back then, too.”
James laughs. “Okay, let’s see…first car?”
“’52 Atlantis. Blue, of course. Struggled going up hills with more than two people. That’s right. My first kiss was in an Atlantis.”
James cringes. “Oh, that’s painful. Well, my first car was a motorcycle. ‘41 Raven.”
“A classic! Bet you stressed out your parents with it.”
“I was just warming them up for the airplane.”
“Now that I expected. How about…favorite vacation spot?”
Sapphire waters, white sails, and emerald mountains spring into James’s mind. He’s on his yacht in the Whitsunday Islands with Kate beside him, squinting in the sun. It’s not really his favorite vacation spot. In fact, it’s more of a sad memory than anything else, but he’s often visited it in his mind, and it’s the first place that comes up. His eyebrows pull together, and his lips flatten. Quickly, he regains his smile. “Yosemite. Will and I love to hike there.”
Ava pulls back slightly, reading his face, but then she raises her eyebrows while offering a kind, patient expression. James has had other relationships, albeit short, but he was younger then. Ava is nearly the same age as him, and her maturity level is different than the light, fun flings he’s had in the past. As she searches his eyes, there’s understanding behind them, and he feels a bit naked in her gaze. She sets her warm, soft hand upon his, and he thinks of Ananke’s holographic gesture a few minutes ago. He turns his hand upwards, so his palm faces hers, curling his fingers around her hand. The moment passes quietly as the marbled worlds of Luhman drift outside the Canteen window in the star’s rose light.
Nice and easy has been the motto for the past five hours since Promise emerged from the far side of Luhman 16B and started slowtiming it to Sao. Willow has been alternating between radio and UV laser tightbeam communications using Ava’s first contact protocols. Their initial message is simple, pulsing the transmission on and off in patterns that count prime numbers. They’ve chosen ultraviolet light-based upon their previous successful communications attempts on Janus. So far, it’s been five hours of silence. There’d been a reasonably spirited debate about whether Promise should even approach the planet. In their previous encounters with the Stars, the Stars completely ignored them even when they boarded the alien ship. So, the plan is to approach slowly and keep their distance in a much higher orbit while giving every opportunity for communication. If the Stars ignore them, at least they’ll get detailed imaging of the structures and surface.
James glances down at the pulse pistol on his hip. Like everyone else, he’s wearing his EV suit and armed per Beckman’s recommendation. He has his helmet off, dangling from the tether on his hip, but he’s prepared to snap it on. After what happened on Janus, they have to be prepared. If one of those things jumps in the ship again, Beckman had said, we’re going to have to kill it. Bringing a pistol to a first contact leaves a sour taste in James’s mouth, but he also isn’t naive.
On his console, Promise approaches its final waypoint. “Secure for zero-gee in sixty seconds,” James says.
The navigation display shows Promise at a high orbital altitude of one hundred thousand kilometers. The alien orbital structure is far below them at a geosynchronous altitude of fifteen thousand kilometers. Beckman’s flyby probe came much closer, just ten thousand clicks above the alien structure. If it didn’t react to that, they thought, they’re gambling that a higher altitude will also be benign.
“Surface structure onscreen,” Isaac says.
The off-shore structures might be a dam or water processing plant based on the turbulent ocean around them. In visual wavelengths, everything is completely dark, except for the spotlight that connects the tower with the orbital
ring. In ultraviolet, everything is lit up like a skyscraper.
“How close will we have to get for images at one-meter resolution?” James asks.
“Low orbit,” Beckman responds. “Two hundred clicks.”
James takes a breath. “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Maybe we’ll send a probe down first.” He taps the engine controls. “Cutting engines. Ten-second step-down.” Gravity decreases steadily until he’s in freefall. In the corner of his eye, Ava’s hair swirls up off her shoulders and wreathes around her as if she were underwater.
Ava chuckles and pulls a scrunchy off her wrist, gathering her hair. As she slips it on, she says, “You’d think this was the first time I did this. Got a little spoiled by the gravity.”
“Transmitting the UV sequence again,” Willow says. “This one’s going to the orbital structure.”
Everyone watches the magnified inset. The ring drifts far below. It glides along for the full five minutes of Willow’s repeating patterns.
Willow taps an icon. “Switching to radio.”
“This would be easier if there were a universal hailing frequency,” Hitoshi says. “Also, a universal translator. Ava, can you whip us up one of those?”
“Well, there kind of is,” Ava is. “The hydrogen line for radio emissions. That’s what we’re using. How’d your sci-fi stories tackle translators?”
“Babel fish, telepathy, human-cyborg relations protocol droids. You know, standard stuff.”
A tone dings from Isaac’s console. “Guys, thermal emissions.” He swipes the surface image to the main screen. The tower is shades of blue with a brightening orange at its apex. “Two hundred and ten degrees Celsius.” The blue spotlight beam also brightens to a warm red. “Seems like it's warming the atmosphere along the beam.”
“Look sharp,” James says, eyeing up the tactical display. Promise is nowhere near the beam's path, separated by eighty-five thousand clicks vertically and two thousand clicks laterally. They’ve intentionally plotted their orbit so that they will not fly over the top of the orbital structure’s apex. “Anything on coms?”
Bernard's Dream: A Hayden's World Novel (Hayden's World Origins Book 8) Page 17
