by Lisa Smedman
Alexi would only be able to observe and report. And to wonder if this might be a historic moment.
He let the thrust push him back into his padded chair, every muscle tense as his scout ship jetted its way toward the unidentified object. Already his mind was writing the entry that would appear in Neo-Soviet textbooks, once the war was finally over and school resumed. It wouldn’t be as large an entry as humanity’s first contact with an intelligent alien race—which at the moment was top secret; only the men and women of the Neo-Soviet space-recon teams knew that the Maelstrom was inhabited by more than just growlers. But it would be an entry, nonetheless. And Alexi’s name would be part of history.
History. Alexi had to laugh at himself. He’d loved the subject as a kid, but where had it ever gotten him? No, he’d made an intelligent decision on the day when he’d decided to pursue a career in mathematics instead. With a math degree under his belt, he’d persuaded the military to surgically correct his astigmatism and allow him to join its space arm. And he had childish imagination to thank for it. That day on the shore of Lake Baikal, when he thought he heard his father’s “ghost,” he’d sworn to choose a life path that would make his father proud.
Alexi hadn’t looked back since. The polluted, wasted husk that was Earth could blow itself to pieces, for all he cared. Except that Tatyana was still down there. A good Neo-Soviet soldier, she was still continuing the futile fight.
Suddenly, Alexi had the sensation that he was being watched. Which was ridiculous, given that his was a solo scout ship. Even so, he glanced around the confined cockpit. Nothing but his own shadow, cast by the lights on the instrument panel. Just as his logical mind had told him. But he still couldn’t shake the sensation of unseen eyes, watching.
Something began to press uncomfortably into Alexi’s chest. He glanced down and realized it was the gold cross that had been his mother’s. Contrary to all rules and regs, he’d smuggled it into space with him and wore it every time he flew a mission. His mother had always claimed that it was lucky, or blessed—or something. The cross itself dated back to the 1700s, and the gemstone it was set with was said to be even more ancient. Alexi wasn’t going to take any chances by leaving his lucky cross behind, even on missions when weight was calculated down to the last gram.
Realizing that the stone that was set into the face of the cross was what was digging into his chest, he flipped the cross over. The semiprecious stone—probably a piece of gray quartz, by the look of it—was a perfect tetrahedron. Probably the point of a larger quartz crystal. Its point was sharp enough, at two Gs acceleration, to leave a pyramid-shaped dent in Alexi’s chest.
He lifted the cross to his lips and kissed it for good luck.
The sensation of being watched grew stronger. And the presence was not a friendly one. It was dark, malevolent, destructive.
And confused.
Alexi still held the cross that hung around his neck, despite the fact that two Gs were making his arm as heavy as lead. He pressed his index finger against the crystal that was set at the center of the cross. Without understanding how, he knew that the object that was hurtling toward Earth was linked, somehow, to the pyramid-shaped gemstone.
Alexi’s ship was closing on the unidentified object. But it was still too far away to register as anything but a blur on his instruments. He peered out the tiny cockpit window and spotted the object by its reddish glow against the velvety blackness of space. It had just begun to enter Earth’s atmosphere, and the friction of its passage was creating a fireball. It was as beautiful as a sunset against the blue-and-white orb of Earth.
The object wasn’t taking any evasive action, even though Alexi’s ship was approaching it. It seemed to be headed straight toward Earth.
Alexi still had the sense that something was watching him—listening in on his very thoughts. He wrestled his paranoia down, then made his report, choosing his words with care: “Leitenant Minsk to Moonbase Gagarin. Unidentified object appears to be a hostile alien artifact. It has entered Earth’s atmosphere.”
As he spoke, his computer calculated the probable impact point: Siberia—just shy of the Arctic Circle. A desolate, lonely place, far removed from centers of population or anything of military importance. And far from Vladivostok, where his sister’s squad was currently putting one of the Neo-Sov’s new heavy-assault suits through its paces. But an object that large striking the Earth could throw up enough dust and debris to cause the “nuclear winter” that World War III had already come so close to precipitating. It wasn’t quite as large as the meteorite that had wiped out the dinosaurs, sixty-five million years ago. But it was damn close.
“Probable impact site of the object is . . .”
His words trailed off. Struck dumb by surprise, Alexi could only blink in amazement. The object was gone. Just like that. One moment it had been just starting to fireball its way into the Earth’s atmosphere, and the next it had disappeared.
A crazy notion popped into Alexi’s mind then: The meteorite was running away from him. Just as it had when . . .
In that same instant, Vasily’s voice erupted in Alexi’s ear. We’ve got another unidentified object! he said in a voice tense with excitement. It appeared out of nowhere, a split second after Alexi’s transmission ended. Probable impact site is the Yucatán Peninsula. Estimated time until impact is—
Vasily’s voice dissolved in a strangled curse. Christ! he muttered. Where in hell did it go?
A crazy thought blossomed in Alexi’s mind: It’s gone back in time to destroy the dinosaurs. Which will allow mammals to inherit the Earth, and humans to evolve, and me to be born . . .
Alexi suddenly realized that he was laughing out loud. Some sort of cosmic joke had just been played out. And even though Alexi couldn’t understand it, the joke was more delightful than any he’d ever heard. He felt dizzy, lightheaded—which was not a good symptom, up in space. He glanced in alarm at his instruments, but the oxygen supply was still constant, and the ventilators were whirring. It must have been an attack of nerves, then.
But as those jitters settled down and his laughter subsided, an even stranger feeling came over him. It settled over Alexi, as immovable as the heavy press of thrust-induced G forces. He had the overwhelming sensation that he’d played out this confrontation once before—in another lifetime, perhaps. And it had all started with the fireball—but he’d seen it from a different angle.
There. His imagination supplied the image. He’d been down on the Earth, looking up into the evening sky. An infantry soldier in a war-torn city, with a battle raging around him. An angry red streak had appeared in the heavens, midway between the moon and the Maw . . .
As suddenly as it had washed over him, the feeling was gone. Realizing that he had been silent too long, that the comm op back at the moonbase was shouting frantic questions in his ear, he returned to the here and now. His training taking over, he began methodically to plot and report the last known position of the unidentified object, which appeared to have somehow teleported itself to the other side of the Earth—and then out of this universe entirely. He ignored the questions in his mind: what, how, why?
Just as he ignored the tiny voice in his soul that knew the answers.
About the Author
Lisa Smedman is also the author of four novels set in the Shadowrun™ universe, has written a number of adventures for several game systems including TSR’s Ravenloft® line, and has published short science fiction and fantasy stories in various magazines and anthologies. Formerly a newspaper reporter, she now works as a freelance game designer and fiction writer. When not writing, she spends her time organizing literary conventions, hiking and camping with a women’s outdoors club, and (of course) gaming. She lives in Vancouver, B.C.
ok with friends
