Rob raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "We'll both know, soon enough," he said. "And if I'm right, Hing and I will have a good laugh at your expense, when we all get together."
The archaeologist smiled. "Then I shall hope that you are right, and I am wrong."
"Forty-seven seconds, forty-six seconds, forty-five seconds . . ."
This is it, Serge thought, fighting panic, wanting to die with dignity. He realized that Rob was still gripping his hand.
"Thirty seconds, twenty-nine seconds, twenty-eight seconds . . ."
"Oh, dear God," Rob whispered, and then, by mutual unspoken instinct, the two men grabbed each other, holding hard as though the feel of another living person could stave off the inevitable. Serge could hear the doctor rapidly whispering a prayer.
"Nineteen seconds, eighteen seconds, seventeen seconds . .."
Hugging Rob against him with all his strength, Serge closed his eyes. Would he see Hing again? Was Rob right? If only he could believe . .. but he couldn't.
"Nine seconds, eight seconds, seven seconds--"
If only I could have finished the Starburst Symphony . . .
"Four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second ..."
Serge heard a click, then an unmistakable giggle. A sweet, high-pitched voice cried, "Boom! Fooled you, Mr. Morrow!"
Completely bewildered, Serge raised his head, only to realize that he was still in a tight embrace with Rob Gable, and that their faces were only centimeters apart. Embarrassed, both men hastily stepped back just as the airlock door slid aside.
A diminutive figure stood within the small cubicle. It removed its helmet, and a mane of curls blazed forth. "Hi, Dr. Rob. Hi, Serge!" Heather said breezily.
"I got him good, didn't I?"
Serge was just beginning to realize that he wasn't going to die. "You stopped the countdown?" he demanded.
"I sure did," she said proudly. "Morrow entered his password, and that gave me the opening I needed. I had to go inside," she grimaced with distaste,
"but if I hadn't, we'd all be dead now, so I guess that's okay, huh, Dr. Rob?"
"I suppose so," Gable said feebly. "But don't do it again."
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"Don't worry, wild horses couldn't drag me," she said, then looked around curiously at the cavern. "What happened to Lynch?" she asked, suddenly uneasy.
"Jeff killed her, I'm afraid," Rob said. "Heather, tell me one thing ... how did you get the countdown to keep going, but not blow up the asteroid?"
"Oh, I stopped the real countdown a couple of minutes ago," she said with pardonable pride. "That was just the voice recording talking. I thought Morrow might get suspicious if that stopped, and come looking for me."
"Morrow ..." Serge whispered as memories suddenly rushed back. "What Lynch said. He was the one--"
Before Rob realized what he was doing, Serge was across the cavern to the bound engineer. Quickly he unsealed his helmet, then viciously yanked it off.
"What are you doing?" Morrow gabbled. "No, no, I didn't, it was the computer, I didn't--"
His words stopped as Serge's inhumanly strong hands fastened around his throat, not exerting much pressure, but enough to keep Jeff from speaking.
"You killed Hing," the archaeologist said softly, between his teeth. A crimson haze seemed to be drifting across his vision-- or was it his mind? It felt wonderful, more potent than any drug. "You killed her, and I will never see her again," he snarled into Morrow's pale, sweating face. "And now," Serge said, his voice calm once more, "I am going to kill you. One crunch"--he gave an experimental squeeze that made Jeff gag--"and you will be dead. How do you like it?"
Rob stepped forward, one hand held out. "No, Serge!" he said. "Don't! It won't help! It won't bring her back!"
Serge hesitated. "But he killed Hing," he said after a moment. The red haze was thickening, and Morrow's flesh felt very fragile in his grasp.
"I know he did, but this won't help, Serge!"
Suddenly, Heather was before Serge, her small stubby hand going out to rest on the archaeologist's shoulder. "Serge," she whispered, and he saw tears in her eyes. "Don't. Please. Because Hing ... Hing wouldn't like it."
And then Heather Farley began to cry.
Serge was never sure exactly what happened over the course of the next few minutes. He realized dimly that he had let go of Morrow, and that Rob, gun in hand, was shoving the stumbling engineer over to the terminal, then thrusting him hard into the
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chair. Looking down, he saw Heather in his arms, sobbing against his shoulder. His own face was wet.. . were they her tears, or his own?
Later, he was aware with some faraway portion of his mind that the airlock had opened again, admitting the security force from StarBridge Station . . .
but mostly he was aware of Heather, still burrowed against him, weeping.
Cautiously he stroked the carroty hair, murmuring to her softly in his own language.
Serge realized that he could now think of Hing without wanting to kill himself from the pain. It still hurt, it would hurt for as long as he lived, but he would live, he knew that now. The terrible, devouring void inside him was gone.
Much later, when he raised his head, he found Rob standing beside him.
Lynch's body was gone, and so was Jeff Morrow. "You okay?" the doctor whispered.
Silently, Serge nodded.
In his arms, Heather, who had been quiet for some time, suddenly wriggled free. "What's that!" she asked, still hiccuping and gulping a little. She pointed at the back wall.
Something was glowing inside the small chamber.
With a soft exclamation, Serge got to his feet and walked across the cavern floor, with Heather and Rob in his wake. Reaching the hole that Morrow's stray shot had made, he knelt down and peered through.
"Oh, my God," he heard Rob Gable say softly. "How long has it been there?"
Serge did a quick calculation. "It must date back from the time when this was part of a planet," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Roughly two hundred and fifty million years ago. At least."
"Wow," Heather whispered. "Holy shit!"
"Watch your language, young lady," Rob admonished. "I think this place was sacred ground, at one time."
The thing within the chamber most closely resembled a dais, with steps leading up to it, but it was obvious in a single glance that humans had never made it. The colors and angles were all wrong, the steps not shaped to accommodate a human foot. Colors cascaded off it in gentle sheets like rippling water. Atop the dais was a glowing field that obscured what lay inside, but Serge thought he could make out a long, shrouded shape there.
"A burial?" Rob guessed.
"It must be," Serge said. "But of whom? The planet must have been inhabited by intelligent life before the comet destroyed it."
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He gazed reverently at the artifact. "All these years, that terrible cataclysm, and it is still functioning," he breathed. "What kind of people build things to last for two hundred and fifty million years?"
"Wait until Professor Greyshine sees this," Rob said.
Serge, awed in the presence of such ancient death, could only nod. He was tired, yet somehow an aura of peace reached him from the shrouded figure.
Peace and inner calm.
Finally, Rob threw an arm around each of his companions. "Hey, let's go,"
he said softly. "It's time to go home."
"Dr. Rob?" Heather said, leaning back against Serge to look at the psychologist. "Do I really have a home?"
"You sure do, honey," Rob said. "For as long as you want to stay, you sure do."
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Epilogue
Rob Gable sat alone in his office, brooding. He'd just received a call from Angela Morrow. Jeff was now in a hospital, the best money could buy, but his doctors, so far, were not hopeful. Rob knew they were right to be cautious. Borderline personalities seldom recovered on a permanent basis.
The engineer would pr
obably never stand trial for his crimes.
The doctor wished he could care more about whether Jeff got well or not, but he still felt so bruised from his friend's betrayal that it was hard to summon up genuine sympathy. One part of him still cared a great deal, but whenever Rob remembered Hing, the rest of his mind quenched those warm feelings in a flood of cold anger.
Maybe time would heal this wound, too, but it would have to be a long time.
Not two hundred and fifty million years, of course ... but close.
Serge and Greyshine were back at work out at their dig, examining the artifact, measuring it from every angle, recording it, and doing all the other things archaeologists did to strange burial sites. They'd discovered that each
"step" leading up to the dais was equipped with visual and mental images.
So far, they hadn't been able to make much sense of it, though Heather had been able to help them "translate" to a small degree. No doubt the team that was coming out from Shassiszs next month would be a big help.
m*'
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Heather went out to the dig nearly every day with Serge, after they'd both finished class. Serge had announced his intention to Rob of finishing up all his schooling, then asking to be reevaluated on his fitness as a potential interrelator. Rob had a feeling he'd make it, this time.
But he also frankly wondered whether Serge would ever have time to take on a diplomatic job. Between his work at the site and his composing, Serge was an extremely busy young man. In addition to his "big-brother" role with Heather, and his archaeological work, he'd finished the Starburst Symphony three weeks ago. The second movement, based in part on his tone-poem, was now an unforgettable threnody in memory of Hing.
Serge's symphony was due to be performed for the first time at the end of this week. The New York Philharmonic, under the direction of Maestro Antonia Zelinksi, was currently on tour. When Zelinksi, an old admirer of Serge's, had heard that the young musician was again composing, she'd arranged a special stop at StarBridge Academy. The Starburst Symphony would be performed for the first time in the newly dedicated Hing Own Memorial Theater. Serge would be joining the performance as the pianist in the percussion section.
Rob sighed as he thought of Hing. He still missed his Little Friend of All the World, missed her every day. But he thought she'd have been pleased about the theater dedication.
His intercom signaled. Rob flipped it on. "Yes?"
It was Resharkk'. "Honored Healer Gable, there is a ship coming in at the hangar dome, and Honored Serge, who is piloting, requests that you be present to greet its passengers in person. He says they are distinguished visitors."
"Really?" Rob hadn't heard that any were due, but the school did have occasional drop-ins, mostly when eminent diplomats or leaders had a layover at the Station and wanted to kill a few hours. "Okay, I'll be right down."
Quickly he went over to his closet, combed his hair (should I do something about this gray?), and put on a jacket.
On his way through the corridors to the hangar dock, he couldn't help glancing around him with preternaturally aware eyes. He couldn't forget that he'd almost lost this place forever. I'll never take you for granted again, he thought, trailing his fingers along the wall. No how, no way.
When he reached the observation deck, he found Ssoriszs waiting there, too. "Esteemed One!" Rob exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
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"I was summoned by young Serge," the Mizari said. "He said important visitors were arriving, and I should be here to welcome them personally. So here I am."
"He sent me the same message. I wonder who it is?"
They spent the moments waiting for the ship to glide in and dock chatting about the genuine archaeological discovery. Although Ssoriszs was understandably disappointed that he had not found his ancestors, his faith that someday the Lost Colony would be found was undaunted.
"Here it comes," Rob said, and together they watched the ship come in, then settle down into its bay. A perfect landing.
Serge and Heather came out first, and the girl's red hair was even more unruly than usual. She waved excitedly, started to yell something. Serge abruptly clamped a hand over her mouth. Unruffled, she plucked it off, then stood back to make way for the first passenger to disembark, a slender young woman with a long brown braid of hair and a wide grin.
Before she was halfway down the ramp, Rob had bolted down the stairs, vaulted the railing, and was running down the length of the docking bay.
"Mahree!"
When the ecstatic hugging and kissing finally died down, ("Yuck" had been Heather's comment), Rob gasped, "Why are you here? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted to surprise you," she said, smiling at him, stroking back his hair.
"Oh, no you don't," he said, reaching up to grab her hand. "Don't you go on about my gray, too."
"I wasn't going to!"
"Yes, you were."
"Was not!"
"Were too!"
The argument continued back and forth until it was halted by another round of kisses, this time of a more intense variety. Heather gazed wide-eyed.
"Holy shit," she whispered to Serge. "I didn't know old people kissed like that."
Serge gave her a mock-stern glance. "Your language, Heather, remember?
And what, no 'yuck'?"
"They've gone far past a 'yuck.' That one's a 'yeuchhh'!"
Ssoriszs flowed down the ramp toward the next passenger. "Grandson!" he greeted Zarshezz. "What in the name of the Star-Spirits are you doing here?"
The young Mizari affectionately entwined tentacles with his grandsire. "I wanted to talk with you, to say how sorry I was
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about that day," he said. "Then, when I heard about the sabotage, I was worried for you, so I came to see that you were all right." Zarshezz peered into the old Mizari's face. "Are you all right, Grandfather?"
Slowly, the elderly Liaison inclined his head. "I am now," he said simply. "I missed you, too, Grandson."
Rob, his arm around Mahree, turned to leave the docking area, heading for his quarters. He had so much to tell her!
"Hey, Gable!" It was Janet's voice. She was up in Traffic Control, he saw, waving down at him. "Wait! Look!" She pointed.
Following the direction of her finger, he turned, then let out a glad whoop.
"Shrys! "
The Drnian student was undoubtedly vastly surprised to be violently hugged by a human, but since he had learned tolerance at his school for other species' strange customs, he did not draw back. "Dr. Rob, I am glad to see you, too, of course," he said when the psychologist finally released him, "but your welcome ... is it not a bit extreme?"
"Not for someone returned from the dead," Rob said fervently. "Why didn't you call?"
"You never told me to," Shrys said with a Drnian's typical literalism.
Mahree stepped to his side. "Are you going to introduce me to your friends?"
she prompted.
"I certainly am," Rob said, and hastily presented her to the Drnian. Then, as they once more headed for the ramp, he added, "But, darling, I have to warn you ... everyone in this whole school is my friend, so if you want to meet all of them, you'll have to stay for a long, long visit."
She smiled at him. "I've cleared my schedule for the next two months," she said. "By that time, you'll be sick of us."
"Us?"
"Shirazz and Claire are coming next week."
Rob glanced over at Heather, who was chattering animatedly to Serge, and thought of his own chestnut-haired, extremely bright, telepathically adept daughter. He paled slightly. "I just hope the old place can stand the strain,"
he mumbled as they started up the ramp again, hands entwined. "Claire doesn't still love messing around with computers, does she? Tell me she doesn't!"
"You know she does," Mahree told him. "She takes after me."
Rob groaned theatrically. "See that redheaded kid over there?" he asked, nudging Mahree and
pointing with his chin.
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She nodded. "Nobody could ever miss that hair! Why? What about her?"
Rob kissed Mahree again, then smiled wickedly. "I'll tell you the whole story of how I was privileged to visit the innards of our computer, the time Blanket and I had to rescue that little redhead from the monsters in the AI," he promised with a gleam in his eye. "But it's a long story, my love. It'll take me all night. . ."
She grinned back. "I can live with that."
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Afterword
Sometimes I think I must be part Avernian. No, I don't appear particularly fungal (except before I've had my morning coffee), but sometimes I seem to be on a shared mental wavelength with my readers. For example, just about the time I took a deep breath and launched into the final rewrite of this book, I received letters from a number of StarBridge readers asking me when I was going to feature Rob Gable as a character again. They also wanted to know when I was going to write an entire book set on the StarBridge asteroid so they could see more of the day-today life at the school! So, as Mahree Burroughs would caution, "Be careful what you wish for--you might get it."
As to future books--after helping me out in a pinch by writing seventy or so pages of (can you guess which ones?), Kathy is only a chapter or two away from completing the first draft of Silent Songs (yes, it's Songs, plural); we're excited about this story and hope you will be too.
Many people have asked me if I'd consider doing a novel about the legendary "Sorrow Sector." If the series goes beyond five books, that will definitely be a theme I'd like to tackle in future--I'm curious myself about what it's like!
Thanks again to my readers for all the warmth and encouragement you've shown in support of the StarBridge series. You make all the hassles and hard work worthwhile.
--Ann C. Crispin October 1991
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demy was a second chance for Se
loche, a gifted musician. Until a fn
accident took away his hands.
r young Heather Farley, brilliant I
ndisciplined, StarBridge was a fir
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had been without all her life. it now an incredible archaeologic ind beneath the cold surface of th ihool's asteroid base threatens the sams for the future--and the futun StarBridge itself...
Serpent's Gift Page 37
