Dark Secret (2016)

by Edward M. Lerner

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Try it,” Dana said, and Carlos’s face reddened. “Suppose anything happens to any one of us.”

  “I agree, Captain. We all need understudies,” Li said. “I, for one, would welcome the help.”

  “Rikki seems like the logical choice for you,” Dana said.

  Li smiled. “Very good.”

  Li’s intervention only made Carlos scowl.

  Doesn’t he get it? Dana wondered. However incredible and unfair, the six of them were humanity’s last, best hope. They had to pull together. They had to be a team.

  All too soon, the break period ended. Dana said, “Enough lolling about, everyone. Blake, show Carlos what’s what in the engine rooms. Li, Rikki, check out supplies in life support and the infirmary. When that’s done, survey the file servers we took aboard at the last minute.”

  Because as one defunct hope among many, forget about anyone beaming data after us as we recede. Whatever archive Hawthorne’s men pilfered on that last, chaotic day is all the knowledge we bring.

  Dana went on, “Antonio, you and I have shielding to install. We have the literal heavy lifting.”

  Antonio looked away from the pantry bins, though not quite at Dana. “All right,” he finally conceded.

  “Let’s go to work, Carlos,” Blake said, getting people in motion.

  Dana retrieved emergency toolkits from drawers on the bridge. When she returned to crew quarters, Antonio had not budged from the pantry.

  She lobbed a toolkit at him, and he bobbled the catch. “Okay,” she said, tapping the deck with a foot where the jump seats were folded and recessed. “First we remove the jump seats.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to plate the deck, here and in the bridge”—likewise forward in the ship—“with lead. Aft of this level, everything will be shielded.”

  In cargo hold three: the cold-sleep pods in which the six of them would sleep away the long trip. In cargo hold two: the embryo freezers, artificial wombs, and seed banks they would need at their destination. And in a corner of cargo hold one, Marvin’s computing complex.

  The prospect of years on autopilot made Dana’s skin crawl.

  “What about the…other end of the…holds? For when we…decelerate?”

  “After we flip, the main fusion reactor will be between us and the oncoming radiation. The reactor’s shielding should suffice.”

  “How will we fasten…the lead?”

  “A dab of glue,” Dana told him. It struck her that she had all but ceased to notice Antonio’s halting speech and odd emphases. So were his verbal tics worse today? Maybe. He struck her as even edgier than usual. “Acceleration will pin down the sheets anyway. Once we have the shielding in position, we’ll mount the jump seats to the raised floor with nail guns.”

  “The seats…will have nowhere to…stow anymore. This cabin is…going to be crowded.”

  “One more reason to finish prepping and get into the pods,” Dana said.

  “You remind me…a little…of her. Very focused.”

  You think I’m focused? But Antonio had never before volunteered anything personal about himself, so Dana chose not to quibble. “Who is that?”

  “Tabitha. My wife.” He took hold of his wrench by its socket, spinning the handle round and round, the ratchet clicks as arrhythmic as his speech. “I miss her.”

  Dana began loosening the bolts of the first jump-seat assembly. “What happened? But only if you feel like talking about it.”

  “A tornado.” With his free hand, he began stroking his chin scar. “My fault.”

  “How can you blame yourself for a tornado?”

  “I taught at Cambridge. We were…happy there, but…I chose to take a sabbatical at…Purdue.” In a flurry of ratchet clicks, he started unbolting another jump seat. “North Americans talk about a tornado alley. Indiana is…in the middle of it. A tornado hit our…house. It collapsed. Tabitha…Tabitha…”

  “I’m so sorry, Antonio.” That’s how he got that scar, Dana supposed, and why he never had it removed. She guessed the accident was also why he had left Earth twenty years earlier. “But it’s no one’s fault.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  All she could come up with was, once more, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Let’s…get these seats out.”

  “Sure.”

  In silence, they finished unbolting the four jump-seat assemblies and lifted them from the deck. They leaned the seats, still folded flat, against the curved, exterior bulkhead. Then their task moved to cargo hold one, restacking cargo to get at the bundles of lead sheets.

  They had seemingly unending cargo to shift. Vitamins and nutritional supplements. Freeze-dried emergency rations. Grain seeds: wheat, corn, rice, and crops she had never heard of. Vegetable seeds, fruit-tree seeds, and seeds for trees to provide lumber. Guns and ammo, for whatever wild animals they might encounter on the new world. (At least Dana didn’t think anyone expected them to find aliens at their destination, or that the six of them would wage war if there were.) Spare parts for ship, shuttles, and spacesuits. Grab bags of hardware, from electronic and photonic integrated circuits to literal nuts and bolts.

  If only there had been time in dry dock to retrofit shielding into the bow, where it belonged.

  If only she had the luxury of time for “if only.”

  Antonio kept bumping into and dropping things. Even at one-third gee most of the crates were heavy, and at any acceleration (or with none, for that matter) their inertia was substantial. Twice Dana lunged to grab something he had fumbled.

  Under acceleration, the ship’s central corridor had become a ten-meter-deep shaft. If he should drop a lead sheet in or down that shaft….

  Dana made the command decision: Antonio was too clumsy for this job. Maybe he had realized that going in. Maybe that was why he had been so anxious.

  She said, “No offense, this isn’t the task for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I do want to contribute.”

  “I know you do. And you have, or none of us would even be here.”

  “If it’s okay, I’ll scan ahead of the ship.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Dana brushed sweat-slicked hair off her forehead. “We’ve got new long-range sensors. It would be a big help if you could confirm the calibrations. Call on Marvin if you need help. But don’t touch any other console.”

  “I promise not to break anything.” Antonio managed an awkward smile before leaving for the bridge.

  She pressed the intercom button. “Blake, Li, I need you in cargo hold one. Earth muscles, and all that.”

  “Be there in a minute,” Blake responded. Li just showed up.

  Blake finally arrived. “What do you need?”

  “First, you can help me tote this stuff forward.” Dana rapped the stack of lead sheets. Li hefted one—and winced as it wanted to keep going. “Sorry, Li. This won’t be easy.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Dana said, “Li, stand near the top of the ladder. Blake will take the middle and we’ll get a bucket-brigade thing going between here and crew quarters.”

  “Lead buckets filled with lead,” Blake said. “Good times.”

  “What did you leave Carlos doing?” Dana asked him.

  “I told him to inventory spare parts in both engine rooms.”

  “And how did that go over?”

  “Inventorying is a task beneath the dignity of the Francis Crick Chair,” Blake said as he grabbed a lead sheet from the stack. “I can live with that.”

  Li paused in the hatchway. “May I offer an observation, Captain?”

  “Of course.”

  “Carlos is scared,” Li said. “I don’t mind admitting it: I’m scared, too. It’s the literal end of the world, Captain. You have your military training to fall back on. Stiff upper lip, and all that. Carlos doesn’t have that. When he falls back on academic snobbery, or any other familiar behaviors, it’s no surprise.”

  �
�I see your point,” Dana said. “But you heard the bad news when Carlos did. You aren’t”—a pain in the ass—“reacting like him. Is that because you’re a shrink?”

  “Oh, no,” Li said. “Psychiatrists are nuttier than most people you’ll meet. I suppose it comes of listening all day to complaints and traumas. Doubtless I’m still in denial. Give me time and I’ll get insufferable.”

  “Something to look forward to,” Blake said.

  Dana asked, “Any more professional advice?”

  “We’re confronting a terrible ending. It would do us all good to refocus on new beginnings.” Li tipped her head, considering. “Just a crazy idea, but suppose we rename the ship? Suppose that as a crew we come together on a new name?”

  “Interesting,” Dana said. And at worst, harmless. “Why don’t you make the proposal?”

  “Very well.” Li flipped on the intercom. “Everyone, this is Li. Despite the tragic events that have set us on our course, a part of me can’t help but be excited at the prospect of exploring a new world. We’ll be building a new home, establishing a new civilization, beginning new lives. What better way to mark this rebirth than with a new name for our ship?”

  “I propose…Santa Maria.” As Antonio turned off his intercom pick-up, Marvin was saying something cryptic about string.

  “Excellent,” Li said. “Other suggestions?”

  “Mayflower,” Blake offered. “Of course that’s just the Bostonian in me talking.”

  “Isn’t renaming a ship considered bad luck?” Carlos called. “Not that I believe in luck.”

  “From the Department of Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud,” Blake whispered.

  Dana went on the intercom. “If so, Carlos, that ship has sailed. So to speak. When the university bought this vessel, it was named Beaumont. That was fine for a delivery truck, but then Blake and I started flying around with experimental drives. At Blake’s suggestion we renamed the ship Clermont, after the first commercial steamship.”

  Because I can pilot a ship knowing as little about its experimental drive as Robert Fulton knew about thermodynamics.

  “As it happens, the name Clermont was Rikki’s suggestion,” Blake said. “I just passed it along. She’s the science historian.”

  The intercom offered the clatter of things plastic and metallic, and then Carlos said, “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

  “And you, Rikki?” Li asked. “What are your thoughts? How do you feel about a change from Clermont?”

  “I’m for calling it Endurance,” Rikki said. “After the Antarctic exploration ship.”

  Blake’s eyes flicked forward toward life support, where Rikki remained at work.

  Dana toggled off the cargo hold’s intercom mike. “Blake, is something wrong?”

  He shook his head, and she reactivated the control.

  “How about you, Captain?” Li asked. “What name appeals to you?”

  Dana said, “How about Endeavour? HMS Endeavour was a ship that James Cook sailed around the world, on the trip in which he discovered Australia and New Zealand. And by the way, he had renamed his ship; Endeavour wasn’t the original name. NASA called one of its Apollo command modules Endeavour; and also one of its early space shuttles. And the ship that Johansson first flew to Ceres was likewise an Endeavour. It’s an honored name, but I believe our aspirations are worthy of it.”

  “I withdraw my suggestion,” Antonio said from the bridge. “I like Endeavour. That’s what we’re…doing: embarking on a great endeavor. And as unscientific as luck…is, we can use some. Endeavour sounds like an…auspicious name.”

  A judgmental-sounding sniff came over the intercom. Carlos?

  “I also like Endeavour,” Li said.

  “Me, too,” Blake said.

  “Carlos?” Li asked. “What’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t care,” Carlos said. “Endeavour is as good a name as any.”

  “I’ll make it unanimous,” Rikki said.

  “Can I get back now to my skilled labor of counting?” Carlos asked.

  Li mouthed, “Give him time.”

  So much for the benefits of psychiatry, Dana thought. Picking up a lead sheet, she said, “Let’s all return to work.”

  10

  The hardest part was the not knowing.

  Would Endeavour get clear in time? If not, its crew would die unaware. Without a planetary atmosphere to cushion the blow, the blast of the GRB would kill them in an instant. They could only keep running and hope for the best.

  While they waited, they dug through the cargo, including things thrown aboard at the last minute. They sorted and stowed it all. They installed shielding. They ran full diagnostics on every ship’s system and cold-sleep pod, every cryostat and liquid-helium backup loop. They tweaked and tuned, calibrated and recalibrated everything.

  Marvin assessed it all, assessed itself, and declared itself ready to take charge of the vessel—

  Only to have its offer rebuffed.

  As difficult as it was not to know, for as long as familiar planets shone brightly to stern no one wanted to withdraw into cold, dark oblivion.

  *

  The days since departure had become a blur.

  Blake climbed up and down the ladder in Endeavour’s central corridor, his muscles aching. If he caught anyone but Dana doing this, he would read them the riot act. A tumble down the shaft under acceleration guaranteed broken bones, if not worse.

  If anyone caught him, he’d assert his Earth-grown skeleton, med nanites that maintained it, and lots of shipboard experience—knowing that he was rationalizing. With Dana pounding away on the ship’s one piece of exercise gear, he had nowhere else to work out the stress.

  If only he could sleep.

  At two gees, no one slept well. At two gees, the usually comfortable knotted-rope hammocks became torture devices, determined to slice a person into stew meat. He had tried sacking out in one of the jump seats. He might have dozed in fits and starts.

  Rikki somehow managed. When he had last peeked into the crew cabin, she’d been softly snoring.

  Farther from home than Pluto was from the sun, they had gone farther than any human ever. Their speed, still climbing, verged on nineteen thousand klicks per second.

  And yet they had gone only a small fraction of one percent of their way.

  “Marvin,” Blake whispered. “What time is it?”

  “Twenty minutes before eight,” the AI said.

  Twenty minutes then until Blake was due for another cross-training session with Carlos. Today’s lessons: more on DED diagnostic modes in exchange for more tricks of nanotech-fabricator programming.

  Twenty minutes was more than ample for a homeward look. No one had ever before seen Sol system from so far beneath the ecliptic. And though Blake tried not to dwell on it, his parents and sister, nephew and nieces, aunts and uncles and cousins lived on that pale blue dot.

  Where, a few months hence, along with many old friends, all would die.

  The next time his vertical excursion brought him to the top of the shaft, he went through the open hatch onto the bridge deck.

  From the copilot’s seat Antonio stared at the main bridge display, toward an amorphous black cloud that all but vanquished a big chunk of the star field.

  The Coalsack Dark Nebula. This was the view ahead, not the view toward home.

  Blake did not see any centaur among the stars, but even had their target not been straight ahead, there could be no overlooking Alpha Centauri. It was the fourth-brightest star in the sky.

  “You know what just struck me?” Blake said, and Antonio turned. “Our old sun will be as bright in our new night sky.”

  “Bright enough. Not as bright as we see Alpha Centauri. It’s a triple star.”

  “Is Alpha Cen what you’re looking at?” Blake asked.

  “Watch.” Antonio pointed into the scene.

  “I see stars.”

  “No, watch.” Antonio pointed again.

  Nothing happened. “
What am I looking for?”

  “You’ll know.” Antonio leaned closer, poking a finger into the holo. “Here. Now watch.”

  Nothing happened. As Blake pondered what he would have for breakfast—a star flashed.

  “Did you see?” Antonio demanded.

  “The flash? Yes. What was that?”

  “Microlensing.”

  Blake had a vague notion of a massive object bending light, gravity functioning as a lens. But what massive object could be between a star and Endeavour? “A rogue planet?” he guessed.

  “Marvin, did you register…it, too?”

  “I did,” the AI said.

  “Show me the current data set.”

  Red, blinking dots appeared in the holo, in a cluster of three.

  Blake said, “You can’t make me believe you found three rogue planets.”

  “I didn’t.” Antonio stretched to engage the intercom. “Captain to the bridge.”

  Blake sidled to his left for another perspective on the data. Though the blinking dots did not quite fall into a line, together they suggested a direction only a few degrees off Endeavour’s course. “How long have you been watching?”

  “Five days.” Antonio yawned. “I think.”

  Dana appeared in the hatchway. “What’s up, guys?”

  “You’re seeing…ancient history.”

  Rikki, her hair sleep-tousled, opened the hatch from the crew cabin. “The blinking dots are?”

  “Microlensing events,” Blake told her, sorry that their chattering had wakened her.

  Rikki’s eyes went round. “A cosmic string?”

  “I believe…so.”

  Dana said, “Less mystery, more explanation please.”

  “You’ll…explain quicker, Rikki.”

  “It has to do with the very early universe,” Rikki said. “Here’s the twitter version. Big Bang fireball. Everything’s super-hot and expanding. Expansion cools things, like expanding water vapor can condense to liquid water.”

  Blake thought, I love you dearly, but this is the quick version?

  “Vapor to water is a phase transition,” Rikki continued. “Cool further, and the next big change is from water to ice. Ever see an ice patch form on the inside surface of a dome when the outside temperature plummets?”