Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

“Captain, I must go on record opposing this,” Felix said.

  “Of course you must. But I’d rather know what kind of pilot I’ve got sooner than later.”

  At least it’ll make good drama, Felix thought. “Eleven hundred meters. Eleven fifty. Twelve hundred. Locking the window.”

  “Com, ship-wide,” Maximus said. The com officer pushed a button and nodded to him.

  “Attention, crew. This is the captain. We’re about to make transition. Hold on to something or, if you prefer, someone.” He made a chopping motion, and the mic was cut. “All right, helm. Time to earn that bottle.”

  Felix gripped his console hard enough to leave marks. The helmsman’s hands moved with the practiced precision of a surgeon. Directly ahead, a point of pure blackness blotted out the stars behind as it grew.

  Felix counted down the last handful of seconds. “Transition in five, four, three, two … one.”

  The endless field of stars was swept away as darkness enveloped the space outside the ship.

  As Felix had anticipated, there were a few unexpected effects from the slight incongruity between the window and the hyperspace beyond. For the barest millisecond, internal sensors falsely reported that the Bucephalus’s hydrogen fuel tanks were filled with frozen lemon custard, but that problem fixed itself after a moment.

  The physiological effects on the crew were more pronounced. At the moment they made the transition between universes, the inner ears of each crew member suddenly believed that up was down, down was left, left was a note in F-sharp, and that right had split clean down the middle.

  This isn’t what the brain wants to hear, so, at a loss for how to interpret the data, the entire crew lost their lunch. The unholy mess hit Bucephalus’s decks, bulkheads, and ceilings with a splat.

  “What the hell was that?” Maximus reached up a sleeve to wipe his mouth and nose.

  “I told you,” Felix said. “There wasn’t time to finish calibrations before launch.”

  “Tell me harder next time. Com, call the mess hall. Tell Cookie to bring ten liters of 7Up and a case of Pepto-Bismol, stat. Oh, and napkins. Lots of napkins.”

  Then Maximus looked down to his suddenly less-than-white pants. “And somebody get me a fresh uniform!”

  Lost in the maelstrom of prior meals, the helmsman had driven Bucephalus through the window six meters from dead center.

  CHAPTER 24

  FROM: EUGENE GRAHAM, ADMINISTRATOR, AESA

  TO: CAPTAIN ALLISON RIDGEWAY, CO, AEUS MAGELLAN

  MESSAGE TEXT:

  TIDY UP. COMPANY’S COMING.

  END.

  Allison leaned back in her chair and rubbed a temple. “You know, Administrator Graham must have had the shortest lectures in academic history. When I was in college, you couldn’t get the professors to shut up if you paid them.”

  “What did he say, ma’am?”

  Allison pulled the message from her personal screen and sent it to the bridge’s main holo.

  Prescott read it in an instant. “So they survived the transition.”

  “It would appear so, but they still have to come out the other side. How’s the link setup going?”

  “We’re just waiting for the authentication codes from Earth. Then we can bucket-brigade QER messages to Earth, to Bucephalus, and back.”

  “Excellent.” Allison spun her chair a quarter turn. “Wheeler, give me a course back to our original target, then bring us about.”

  “I’m already laying it in, Captain.”

  “Thank you. Does anyone else feel like a yo-yo?”

  Three hands went up. Magellan flashed a picture of a hand on the main holo.

  Allison giggled at the display. “Maggie, since you were listening anyway, go ahead and start thawing out the rest of the crew. We only have three weeks before our guests arrive.”

  * * *

  The darkness outside the cutter’s command cave was almost total. Noticeably absent from the view was Buoy #4258743-E. D’armic had surveyed more than three thousand buoys in the last six farlems. A few had required maintenance, but never had he found one out of its proper place.

  He searched for its signal, but found only silence. Further, buoys returned an exaggerated signature on active sensors, but his cutter saw nothing larger than dust specs within three larims.

  There was a hole in the fence.

  The mystery of the absent buoy tugged at him. Buoys were designed to last for centuries between maintenance intervals. Had it been destroyed? Perhaps, but where was the wreckage? Pirates or scavengers could have taken it, but the components weren’t very valuable. They would need to steal them by the shipload to make it profitable. So why only one?

  D’armic pushed the thoughts lower in his mind. The hole needed to be closed before anything snuck into human space, and it would take the better part of a farlem to retask the surrounding buoys. By then, he would be overdue for his checkup on the anthropological experiment the Bureau of Frontier Resources was overseeing on Culpus-Alam.

  He swung the nose of his cutter toward the nearest buoy and opened a portal to high-space. He didn’t spare a thought for what might be sneaking out of human space.

  * * *

  “Okay, time to crash the gate. Transition in ten, nine, eight, seven…” The crew of AEUS Bucephalus listened to Felix’s countdown apprehensively. Many of them held space-sickness bags at the ready. Several had opted to spend transition in the head. “Three, two, one!”

  At a wholly unremarkable point in space, something punctured the universe. Light from distant stars twisted and contorted to accommodate the expanding aperture. Without warning, a giant, one-legged end table flashed out of the breach. The stars appeared to snap back into position as the hole collapsed behind the advancing ship.

  A pregnant calm gripped the Bucephalus’s bridge. Everyone waited several heartbeats for the other boot to drop, but the waves of nausea didn’t come.

  Maximus tucked his space-sickness bag under his seat cushion and removed his 3-D glasses. “Excellent work, Mr. Fletcher. Much improved.”

  “Thank you, Captain, but there were fewer variables to account for. There’s no local gravity wells, solar wind, or Van Allen…” Felix spotted the now-familiar blank expression on Maximus’s face. “I’ll just stop there.”

  “Good man. Com, send a QER burst back to Earth. Let them know we’re intact and give them our coordinates and heading. Helm, let’s see how close we came. Start searching for the Magell—”

  Collision alarms cut him off. Maximus looked up to the main holo, only to see a gleaming white hull growing exponentially in the space ahead of Bucephalus. His years commanding a carrier sub took hold.

  “Dive!”

  The helmsman was already a step ahead of his captain. His hands darted between floating icons as he killed the gravity well ahead of the ship. Reaction control thrusters flared to life, working feverishly against Newton as the mighty ship lurched away from its previous course, but the unidentified ship continued to grow.

  “Impact in four seconds.” Felix’s voice cracked under the rising panic.

  “Helm, full emergency blow.” Maximus’s voice filled every cubic centimeter of the bridge with urgency tempered by confidence.

  “I’ve already done that, sir.”

  Hotel bedsheets would envy how white some of the faces turned as the final seconds ticked away. The bleached-bone-white hull of the unknown ship seemed to fill the universe.

  “Brace for impact!” Maximus cried as the vessels converged.

  Then, nothing. No sudden hammer blow. No fires erupted from the bulkheads. The air didn’t rush out into space. The view ahead was filled with black and pinpricks of light. Maximus bolted up from his chair and threw his hands on his helmsman’s shoulders.

  “Did we miss them?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re clear of the bogey.”

  “How close did we come?”

  The helmsman glanced at his instruments. “Um, I’d rather not talk about it, sir.”
/>   Maximus leaned over his shoulder to peek at the numbers for himself. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a fishing float hooked to a sperm whale as he gulped down the sobering knowledge of how close they’d just come to annihilation.

  “Right, then. I take it that bogey is Magellan?”

  The com officer spun around in his chair. “Judging by the irate woman claiming to be the Magellan’s CO on the line, I’d say that’s a safe bet, Captain.”

  “Great. This should be pleasant.” Maximus rubbed his forehead for a moment before forcing his jovial poker face back into place. “Com, put her through.”

  The center display switched from the empty space outside Bucephalus to another, older bridge. Even through the holo’s soft light, Allison’s face looked hard as granite.

  Maximus held his arms wide, oozing charisma like a blown head gasket. “Captain Ridgeway, how wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.”

  “Cut the crap, Tiberius. What the hell were you thinking? You almost killed both of our crews with that stunt.”

  “I’m afraid that, much as I’d like to, I can’t take the credit for our dramatic entrance. That noble distinction falls on our hyperspace tech.” Maximus swept a hand toward the hyperspace station, while Felix sank as far into his seat as his spine would permit.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Ridgeway.”

  “Felix? Is that you?”

  He had to force a smile, but it was genuine. “Yes, ma’am. This isn’t exactly how I expected this to work.”

  “What happened?”

  “I wanted the exit to be as precise as possible. Even the smallest margin of error would have put us days or weeks away from your position. I guess I overdid it.”

  “I guess so.” A shiver ran through Allison’s shoulders. “Well, we’re all still here. I don’t have to say this very often, Felix, but next time, try not to do such a good job. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Allison’s face turned back to the center of the bridge. “Captain Tiberius, I … jumped to conclusions, and I apologize.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You’re hardly the first.”

  “Thank you. How long will it take you to fall back and match our velocity?”

  “One moment.”

  Maximus swiveled his head down to the helmsman’s station. He was already busy crunching the numbers. The young man looked to Maximus when he’d finished and pointed at his screen.

  “An hour and a half at max normal deceleration, Captain.”

  Maximus nodded. “We’ll be back with you at 1700 hours, Captain Ridgeway.”

  “Very good. We have a lot to discuss. Would you care to have dinner aboard Magellan once we rendezvous to discuss preparations?”

  “Why, Ridgeway, I’d be delighted to have dinner at your place.”

  Allison’s face froze for a moment before continuing. “The invitation is for your entire command staff.”

  “If you insist. How’s 1800 strike you?”

  “That should be fine.”

  “Wonderful. It’s a date.”

  Allison’s smile faded. “No, it’s not.”

  * * *

  After their last dinner guest departed for the shuttle bay, Allison let out a long, exasperated sigh. She looked around the table, into the faces of her senior staff, and at the few morsels of food that had survived the onslaught.

  “Is there any wine left?”

  “Whoa, slow down there, mon capitaine. You’ve got a duty shift in the mornin’.”

  “So do you, Chief, and you haven’t exactly been a model of moderation tonight.”

  “Well, o’ course not. Somebody had to drink up all the merlot before you got to it. I’m just tryin’ to protect you.”

  “Steven, your selflessness is truly inspiring.”

  Chief Billings raised the bottle in silent toast and then relieved it of its contents with a mighty gulp.

  Allison shook her head. “So what does everyone think of our new partners?”

  Commander Gruber’s shoulders perked up at the question. “Good people, very capable. Captain Tiberius is certainly a vibrant personality.”

  “Vibrant?” Allison’s eyebrow arched. “That’s putting a polite spin on it. He acts like an action vid hero, not a real naval officer.”

  “Well, his accomplishments are real enough. His service record is as long as my … arm.”

  Allison wrinkled her nose. “For a moment, Marcel, I thought you were going to use another part of your anatomy for comparison.”

  “His record isn’t that long, ma’am.”

  Allison’s eyes rolled like Sisyphus’s boulder. “Ugh, men. You’re all obsessed.”

  “Just playing the role, ma’am. And I suspect that’s what Tiberius is doing as well. He’s probably been cultivating the persona of an übermasculine loose cannon for years.”

  “Why on earth would he do that?”

  “To be memorable, like a hero from another time. It pays to stand out in any competitive environment, and the military is no exception.”

  “That doesn’t explain why he’d act so pompous and grating. As my mother used to say, ‘You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’”

  Chief Billings rejoined the conversation. “Maybe so, but as my daddy said, ‘You’ll catch even more flies with bullshit.’”

  “Your father sounds like a colorful man, but I think this conversation needs a dash more female input. Jackie, what do you think?”

  Jacqueline’s eyes stared dreamily at the ceiling. A full second passed before her ears bothered to report that someone had spoken her name. “Hmm? What did you say, ma’am?”

  “I was just asking what you thought about our guests.”

  “Oh, Felix was nice.”

  Chief Billings adjusted in his chair. “Fletcher? How’d you come to that conclusion? He didn’t say three words in the last two hours.”

  Jacqueline crossed her arms. “He’s probably just shy and a little bit sensitive. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Billings and Allison shared a knowing smile.

  “What?” Jacqueline protested.

  “Nothin’, kiddo. It’s nice to have Fletcher out here in case anythin’ goes wrong with the new tech. After all, he’s responsible for at least half of it.”

  “Very true.” Commander Gruber laced his fingers and leaned forward. “I was also impressed by Lieutenant Harris. I’ll be glad for his marine detachment when we start making planet-falls.”

  Allison didn’t bother trying to hide her antipathy. “We’re supposed to be explorers and diplomats, not conquerors. They may as well have sent a battalion of hairdressers for all the good those marines will do.”

  “Frankly, ma’am, that’s the field researcher in you talking. Think about the message coming out of the buoy. We’ve been unwittingly living inside a wildlife park. Now, imagine you’re an African gamekeeper when some elephants break through the fence. Do you try to negotiate with them, or do you grab a really big gun?”

  “So you think a confrontation is inevitable?”

  Gruber shrugged. “I think that a diplomat needs juicy carrots and a thick stick. The Bucephalus’s tactical capabilities fit the bill. I, for one, am glad she’s out here.”

  Allison leaned back. “I’d be happier if Tiberius would tell us exactly what those ‘tactical capabilities’ are. What’s that ship armed with that’s so terrible that he won’t even share it with his own task group?”

  “Don’t rightly know, ma’am. A ship as big as Bucephalus could hide darn near anythin’.”

  “Not even an educated guess, Steven?”

  “Weapons ain’t really my specialty.”

  “What about you, Marcel? You came up through the AEU Navy, after all.”

  “That’s true, but anything I know is sixty years out of date. Whatever our neighbors are carrying is going to be brand-new, space-based tech.”

  Allison sighed. “Point taken. I guess we’ll have to wait until the fireworks st
art. Prescott, how much time will you need to get the new QERs online?”

  “A few hours, Captain. They’re basically plug-and-play.”

  “Good. Wheeler, what’s our ETA to the first system on our list?”

  “We still have to distribute the glasses to the crew. Maggie has to piggyback through the Bucephalus’s hyper window. We’re a little slower than they are, so they’ll have to hang back a little. Still, even at Maggie’s maximum, we should be there in just under a day and a half.”

  Allison shook her head. “Twenty-two light-months in less than thirty-six hours. That’s going to take getting used to.”

  She pushed back from the table and stood. “We’re a couple of years behind schedule, and we’ve picked up a shipload of people whose scientific expertise is limited to things that go boom, but in two days, we reach the system this expedition was launched to explore. It’s our limelight. Let’s be ready to shine.”

  CHAPTER 25

  A blue-green jewel hung in the endless black, illuminated by ten-minute-old light from the system’s lone sun. A thunderstorm raged just across the terminator into night. The shape of the continents was the only clue reminding the observers that this wasn’t Earth, but Solonis B.

  Twin shuttles burned through Solonis B’s upper atmosphere like comets riding streams of superheated plasma. Magellan’s shuttle was svelter, intended for carrying researchers and surveying equipment. By comparison, Bucephalus’s shuttle was a brute. It was designed to carry a rifle team of a dozen marines, who tend to be larger than your average researchers, along with all their armor, weapons, and equipment.

  Lieutenant Harris studied the shuttle’s displays and then looked to his pilot. “Simmons, how are we looking?”

  “We’re about to start our braking S-turns, sir. Hull temp is holding steady at 80 percent of maximum.”

  “Good, alert our friends in the other shuttle, then start your turns. Let me know when our altitude falls to ten thousand meters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Harris turned to face the shuttle’s passenger compartment. “How you holding up back there, Felix?”

  “Swell, Thomas. Just peachy.”

  Judging by Felix’s pallid face, Harris knew he was lying. He wasn’t exactly sure why Felix had insisted on tagging along, but he suspected the presence of a certain brunette flight ops officer on the other shuttle was related in some way. The deck under Harris’s feet shifted as Simmons threw the shuttle into the first high-banking turn. Harris turned to the cockpit and the shuttle’s electronic warfare officer.