Starbridge

by A. C. Crispin

  "I'm going to get a sandwich," she announced, sitting up. "Anyone want one?"

  Moments later, she was making a list.

  Once in the galley, Mahree began programming the servo. Let's see . . . two ham and swiss on rye, one curried chicken salad, one tuna-melt in a pita, a roast beef with cheddar, and, what do I want . . . a nice turkey club. Too bad the real tomatoes and lettuce aren't ready to eat yet . . .

  Of course foodstuffs the servo produced were ersatz, formed and flavored to reproduce the sight and smells of the real article.

  53

  Desiree was a freighter, and lacked the luxuries of the huge, expensive passenger liners.

  Mahree wolfed her sandwich while she waited for the system to produce the others, and, still hungry, ordered up a plate of nachos. "Can I steal one?"

  said a voice in her ear as the nachos slid out of the servo.

  She turned around to see Yoki behind her. "Sure, take some. How's it going?"

  "All right. I've been in the cargo hold, trying to see if we've got anything that might be universally appealing to another species." The older woman took a nacho, dipped it liberally with hot sauce, then popped it into her mouth. She grimaced.

  "Too hot?"

  "Not the sauce," Yoki said thickly. "Cheese is hot."

  Mahree sampled one herself. "So, did you find anything?"

  Yoki shook her head. "Impossible to say for sure . . . but I doubt it."

  Mahree began collecting sandwiches, stacking them on a tray.

  "It's funny how you can get used to anything," Yoki mused. "A couple of days ago we were all beside ourselves with excitement over the possibility that we might be intercepting an alien message, and now, here we are, eight alien ships pacing us and we're thinking about food."

  "I think people reach a point where their excitement quota just shorts out,"

  Mahree observed, pouring coffee.

  "Need help carrying those?"

  "Thanks," the girl said, picking up the sandwiches.

  Yoki gave the younger woman a searching glance. "And how about you, honey? Rob mentioned last night that you were looking a little strained."

  "No, I've been fine," Mahree mumbled, picking up the tray. Dammit, I like Yoki, it's not fair! Why can't things ever be black and white, instead of all these shades of gray?

  The Cargo Chief sighed, and Mahree wondered guiltily if the older woman had read her thoughts. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I just hope to hell we don't screw this up," Yoki muttered as she maneuvered the tray out the door. "All of a sudden I've got a bad feeling about this."

  "Well, Simon," Rob Gable began, carefully measuring

  54

  nutrient solution into a beaker, "they've been escorting us for hours now, and nothing bad has happened. If they were hostile, surely they'd have tipped their intentions by now."

  The Bio Officer shook his head stubbornly as he fastened up a trailing beanstalk. "They'd be fools to attack us on the fringes of their territory, when we might be able to get away and make a run for it. It makes a lot more sense to get us where they want us, and then make their move."

  Rob sighed. "Simon, if you try really hard, you can put a negative connotation on even the most innocent actions!" His mouth tightened and he sternly reminded himself that he couldn't afford to allow Viorst to exasperate him. The Bio Officer was stubborn and opinionated, granted, but he was also genuinely scared, and getting mad at him wouldn't help the man conquer--or at least control--his fears.

  "They've given us no reason to think we couldn't just turn Desirie around and head back the way we came," Rob said, after a moment's thought. "Those ships are so small they couldn't possibly stop us."

  "How do you know?" Viorst demanded. "Now you're doing what you always accuse me of doing, Doc--generalizing from what humans do. Any ships we built that were that size couldn't have S.V. drive or much weaponry, but how do we know they don't have a drive that would fit into that box there? Or weapons the size of that beaker that could blast us into next week?"

  Rob blinked, taken aback. Finally he nodded. "You're right, Simon, I was generalizing. But that kind of thinking is just as distorted as what you're doing when you put a negative connotation on everything, don't you see?"

  "Maybe." Viorst's sullen tone was back. "That's what you keep telling me, anyway."

  Rob measured the depth of the algae in a tank, then made a minor adjustment in the lighting. "All I'm saying is, don't jump to conclusions. Try to adopt a 'wait and see' attitude, okay?"

  Simon considered the suggestion, then sighed. "Okay, Doc," he agreed, but he still sounded troubled.

  "I'm getting a blip," Jerry announced tensely, "it's big, and it's dead ahead."

  "One of those small moons?" Joan asked. "Nope, it's artificial."

  55

  "A space station!" Mahree exclaimed, her voice squeaky with excitement.

  She flushed. Why do I always have to sound like I'm twelve?

  "Not like any I've ever seen before, but that's not surprising," Jerry was agreeing.

  "When will we be close enough for visual contact?" Yoki asked, after hastily swallowing the last nacho.

  "In about five minutes. It's on the dayside of the planet, so we ought to be able to see it pretty well," Jerry said.

  Raoul made a general announcement over the intercom, warning the crew that there would be something worth seeing on the viewscreen in the galley in a few minutes.

  "Think that's our destination?" Paul Monteleon asked Jerry.

  "Makes sense," the Communications Chief said, "because they've probably concluded from their observations that Desiree can't make a planetary landing ... also, it's likely that they'll want to keep us in some form of isolation."

  Mahree, who had been staring at the viewscreen, trying so hard not to blink that her eyes nearly crossed, suddenly gasped. "I saw a flash at about ten o'clock!"

  "That's it," Jerry confirmed.

  Mahree and the others sat watching, wide-eyed, as the object grew in the viewscreen. It was vaguely rectangular, with rounded- off corners, and it seemed small until they saw one of the little amber ships dart past it, and realized the scale. "The damned thing's nearly ten kilometers across, and fourteen high!" Jerry breathed, awed.

  "It looks like something I've seen before," Mahree said.

  "An abacus," Yoki said. "That silvery blue and black rectangular frame, and then all those round pods strung across, like beads."

  "Different colored beads," Jerry said. "Another indication that they have eyes of some kind. Different colors may indicate different functions. Orange for engineering, green for communications, yellow for living quarters--like that, maybe."

  "The violet hurts my eyes," complained Joan.

  "It probably looks gorgeous to them," Yoki said. "Their eyes don't see the same color ranges we do."

  "But they're close," Jerry said, his voice taut with excitement. "Pretty damn close. I don't think we're dealing with energy beings, folks."

  56

  By now they were near enough to the planet to make out large areas of deep green vegetation, plus the ochre of deserts. "Not much in the way of seas,"

  Paul reported, studying a monitor. "Only that one we noticed earlier. Lots of lakes, several the size of Superior or bigger. Some really high mountain ranges. Temperature averages a couple degrees warmer than Earth's."

  "Equatorial rain forests?" Joan asked.

  "Yeah, and a lot of savannah."

  "Any signs of cities?"

  "Still too far away to tell."

  With an effort, Mahree looked away from the planet and found that Desiree was nearing the space station rapidly. "Check the left viewer," she said.

  Jerry immediately switched the main viewscreen back to the massive structure.

  They watched the station drift closer, and now they could see circular openings in the "frame" that were apparently docking bays for assorted sizes of spacecraft. One by one, the eight ships escorting them drift
ed away.

  "Wil any of those cradles fit us, Paul?" Raoul asked his Chief Engineer.

  "Negative. All the ones in visual range are made for vessels with those flared-out bows, Captain," Monteleon replied.

  "So what do we do now?" Raoul wondered. "We can't dock. How do we meet them?"

  "I'd say our next move is to kill our speed so we don't ram into their station,"

  Jerry said mildly, and, indeed, the huge frame was looming closer at an alarming pace.

  Joan swore under her breath as she hastily activated the forward maneuvering jets. Desiree slowed even further, then the freighter was stationary. "That stations's big enough to exert enough gravitational force to gradually pull us closer," she said. "I'm telling the computer to check position and correct when necessary."

  Raoul nodded absently. "Now what?"

  Mahree and the others stared at him. Nobody ventured an answer to the Captain's question.

  "Stalemate," Rob said, gazing at the galley's viewscreen. "How long has it been?"

  "Nearly twelve hours," Mahree answered. "Maybe they're waiting for us to make the first move."

  57

  "Damn." Rob took a final swig from the mug of beer in his hand, then keyed the servo for another, his fifth. Mahree couldn't recall ever seeing him drink more than one before. She found it disturbing. Why? a sarcastic little voice inside her head asked. Because drinking too much under stress is a failing, and the man you love isn't allowed to have any human weaknesses?

  Her mouth twisted as she ordered up a beer for herself. "Hey," Rob protested, "you shouldn't be drinking that!"

  "Says who?" Mahree said, then deliberately took a gulp.

  "You're too young."

  "No, I'm not." She gave him an annoyed glance. "Jolie isn't Earth, remember.

  I've been a legal adult since I turned sixteen." She grinned wickedly. "We colonists mature more quickly than you Terran earthworms."

  Rob winced exaggeratedly, but his answering grin was a little forced. "You don't have to get nasty about it."

  "Sorry," she said, taking another sip of her beer. "It's just the waiting, getting to me. I wonder how long Uncle Raoul will just sit here."

  The doctor drained the last of his beer, then peered at her owlishly. "Well, only thing I know for sure is that I'm tired, and at the moment I don't give a shit what those guys"--he jerked his chin at the viewscreen--"choose to do or not do. Screw 'em. I'm going to bed."

  He put his mug down and walked out of the galley with commendable steadiness. Mahree sighed. This is making all of us crazy. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

  Then, because she could think of nothing further to do, she finished her drink, then went to bed, too.

  She was jerked from sleep several hours later by her cabin intercom.

  "Mahree! Are you awake? Answer!"

  "Huh?" She had been sleeping so heavily and was still so tired that for long seconds she was completely disoriented.

  "Mahree Burroughs, wake up! Are you awake?"

  She struggled to sit up, then things clicked into place. Mahree thumbed the intercom. "I'm awake now, Jerry. This had better be something more than a request for sandwiches."

  The Communication Chief's usually laconic tones were clipped with excitement. "Get up here, kid. I want you to see this."

  The connection went dead.

  58

  Mahree dragged on pants and a sleeveless top; she braided her hair loosely as she jogged down the corridors, arriving in the control cabin panting and breathless. "What's going on?"

  "Watch. I've got the main viewscreen focused on our bow."

  Mahree steadied herself on the arm of the pilot's seat as she caught her breath. They and the planet beneath them had turned (the station was in a synchronous orbit) and it was now night "below," but the space station was lit up brilliantly. Then, as she took in the view, she realized that one of the small alien craft was directly before them, perhaps 500 meters out. As she watched, a blue light flashed at the nose of the little ship. One flash . . . two flashes . . . three flashes.

  She waited, counting seconds in her mind, and when she reached twelve, the entire sequence repeated. Then the little craft turned away, moving slowly, and accelerated until it was several kilometers distant.

  "Now"--Jerry's voice broke her absorption--"it'll come back and do the whole thing over again. This is the fourth time."

  "They want us to follow them!" Mahree whispered. "I'm sure that's it!"

  "That's what I think, too. Okay, I'm going to call Raoul."

  Minutes later, Raoul, Joan, and Paul had joined them on the bridge. This time, when the little ship signaled, then moved away, Joan nudged Desiree after it.

  The alien craft led them around the frame of the giant "abacus" until they were on the other side. Then it killed its motion, and Joan also halted Desiree. "Now what?"

  Ahead of them another blue light flashed, within a spidery cradle extending outward from one of the dark openings. "They've built us a docking bay!"

  exclaimed the Chief Engineer. "That's why they surveyed our hull!"

  "Now let's hope I can get us in there," Joan said. "It looks like a tight squeeze."

  Desiree drifted forward, with Joan positioning the freighter with tiny touches on the steering jets. The First Mate's eyes never left her instruments and the schematic of the docking bay that showed on her control console. Slowly, gently, the big freighter poked its nose into the makeshift docking bay. "I'm in," announced Joan. "Now if our docking grapples wil just work ..."

  She triggered them, then relaxed. "That's it, folks!"

  59

  Everyone stared at one another, grinning, then the bridge was filled with triumphant whoops. Mahree threw her arms around her aunt's neck and kissed her cheek. "You did it, Aunt Joan! We're the first ship to dock in an alien port!"

  Her aunt returned her hug. "Does that mean I'm famous?"

  "We're all famous!"

  Their celebration attracted the attention of the night crew, and the next thing Mahree knew, the day shift was awake and demanding to know what had happened. Jerry played the holovid of the entire incident over again, and the party was on. Most of the crew seemed to be crowded into the bridge and the corridor leading to the galley, with the servos working full-time.

  Mahree found herself on the outskirts of the crowd, after a long succession of toasts and congratulations and having to relate over and over again how she and Jerry had "seen the light." Azam Quitubi whirled her around until she was dizzy, then set her down. Mahree stumbled back, giggling, only to bump hard into someone else and nearly fall. She turned and froze when she saw Rob's face, eyes dark and shadowed beneath tousled hair. He had half slid an arm around her shoulders to steady her; with a jerk she pulled away.

  "Rob!"

  He put a hand up imploringly. "Do you all have to yell so loud? Just what the hell is going on?''

  Mahree's mouth twitched. "Forgot to take something for the hangover before you went to sleep, huh? You need something to eat. I could scramble you some nice ersatz eggs."

  He gulped. "Sadist. C'mon, what's happening?"

  Mahree explained.

  When she was finished, Rob began cursing under his breath. ". . . and like a jackass I missed it all! Damn!" He shook his head fiercely. The motion was obviously a mistake, for the next second he was groaning and clutching his temples. Sekhmet, who was sitting at his feet, meowed plaintively.

  "Come in here," Mahree said, grabbing his arm. She led him down the corridor and into her cabin, dimmed the lights, then pushed him onto the bunk. The cat jumped up beside him and sat like an ebony statue, tail curled around her tiny forefeet.

  Rob made an abortive effort to sit up, then subsided with another groan.

  "What an asshole."

  "I agree. Stay still," Mahree ordered, and went to get a cold compress for his forehead. "Where'll I find the hangover

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  A. C. Crispin

  medicine? In your office? Or i
n the infirmary?" She smoothed the damp towel into place.

  "In the infirmary, but it's locked, of course," he muttered, relaxing with a resigned sigh. "Aspirin'll do."

  Mahree produced two, and, after a minute, a cup. "Here, it's orange juice.

  Potassium, right?"

  "Yeah." He gulped them, then sank back onto the pillow. "Be better soon.

  Thanks, kiddo."

  Moments later, Mahree heard a distinct snore. She sat gazing down at him in the dimness, and her heart lurched within her. Hesitantly, she reached down and touched his hand.

  "You watch him, Sekhmet," she told the cat.

  By the time Mahree reached the control room again, she was weary but completely composed ... or so she thought. Jerry took one look at her and drew her over to the pilot's section. "What's wrong, honey?"

  "Nothing," she said. "I've missed out on another night's sleep, that's all."

  Greendeer eyed her measuringly. "Whatever you say. Myself, I--" He broke off, staring intently over her shoulder at the rightmost viewscreen, which currently showed what was directly in front of the ship.

  Mahree wheeled around to follow his gaze. Desiree was lodged bow-first in the docking cradle; the silvery blue wall of the alien station was approximately ten meters from the tip of her nose. On that wall a blue light was flashing-- one, one-two, one-two- three . . .

  "They're signaling again!"

  She turned back to see that Jerry had already activated the recorders; he switched the image onto the main viewscreen. A bright white light, like the one they'd seen earlier, splashed out onto the station's wall, just below the flashing blue signal,

  "Now what?" muttered the Captain. He switched on the intercom. "All hands, you might want to watch the viewscreen in the galley."

  After a few minutes the white light was replaced by a picture. Star-studded blackness, with tiny spheres revolving around a large, blazing one. Mahree began counting planets.

  "It's their solar system!" Paul Monteleon exclaimed.

  The system representation held steady for several minutes. "They're orienting us," Jerry said. Even as he spoke the picture

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  altered, began to close in on the sixth planet. Finally the picture duplicated the scene outside ... the monstrous space station, the slowly turning world