Spindrift

by Allen Steele

  “My god.” Ramirez’s voice came as a whisper. “Oh, my god…”

  Although the ring wasn’t perfectly identical to the one they’d left behind in the Kuiper Belt, no one had any doubt what they were seeing.

  A starbridge.

  PART THREE:

  Dark Star

  NINE

  JANUARY 8, 2291—EASS GALILEO

  Spindrift lay before them like a hole in space, a circular patch of darkness where no stars shone. As Galileo swung around its nightside from an orbital altitude of eight hundred kilometers, it looked less like an asteroid than some vast, dark form that seemed to absorb all light around it. Ramirez reminded himself that this was because of its low albedo; according to Cruz, the high ferrocarbon content of the regolith rendered its surface even less reflective than the average transient body. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but think of it as a dark star, cold and mysterious. A wildly inaccurate description, to be sure, yet he could find no other words to describe his impression of this world.

  Sitting in a leather armchair in the library, mug of hot chocolate nestled in his hands, he gazed out at the rogue through the alcove window. As mysterious as Spindrift was, it was the unexpected presence of the alien starbridge that immediately captured everyone’s attention. There was no question of what it was; although larger than KX-1—sixty meters in diameter, as opposed to forty meters for its human-made replica—Galileo’s instruments nonetheless registered a field of low-level radiation identical to that emitted by a zero-point energy generator in standby mode. And its close vicinity to Spindrift left no doubt that it had been deliberately positioned in orbit above the asteroid.

  But by whom, and for what purpose? Ramirez could only frown as he took a sip from the mug. If he had answers to those questions, he’d be assured a seat of honor at the next Nobel prize ceremony in Stockholm. Or at least the return of his fellowship in the International Astronomical Union. For the time being, though, he’d have to content himself with the fact that his stock had lately risen among the expedition’s science team.

  His newfound value manifested itself shortly after the captain hurried back to the command center. Lawrence listened to the report given to him by Rauchle—predictably, the pompous ass tried to take full credit for the discovery—while doing his best to ignore Harker, who listened quietly from his station. Then Lawrence did the unexpected; he turned to Ramirez and asked his opinion.

  “Captain Lawrence,” he said, consciously assuming a formal tone, “I strongly recommend that we divide our efforts equally between Spindrift and the artifact. That is, instead of concentrating upon one or the other, we treat them as two parts of the same puzzle and conduct our investigation on that basis.”

  “That should be obvious,” Rauchle grumbled. Arms folded across his chest, the team leader was nonplussed to find himself no longer the center of attention.

  “It should be, yes…but frankly, it hasn’t been.” Ramirez pointed to a screen displaying the respective positions of Spindrift, the starbridge, and Galileo. “Since we’ve discovered the ring, it’s been our main focus…and no wonder, because whatever else we expected to find out here, that isn’t it. But I think it’d be a mistake to regard the ring as if it’s something that just happened to be here.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort.” Rauchle’s voice rose in irritation. “I only think that we should prioritize our efforts. Granted, Spindrift exhibits some intriguing qualities, but the ring…”

  “Yes, of course. Because the ring is clearly artificial in origin, it’s probably the source of the signal that got our attention in the first place.” Ramirez pointed to a close-up of Spindrift on another screen. “Nonetheless, there must be a reason why it’s here. Jorge, show him what else we’ve found.”

  So Cruz reiterated the results of radiometric and ultraviolet spectrometer surveys, wisely simplifying complex data into layman’s terms so that the captain could understand them; by then, it had become clear that Lawrence was uninterested in the finer points of astrophysics. At first glance, Spindrift appeared to be little more than a transient body—a rogue asteroid, perhaps even a moon that once orbited some faraway planet until some cataclysmic event sent it careening into interstellar space—yet there were surface anomalies that defied natural explanation. The deposits of frozen carbon dioxide, doubtless the result of interior outgassing, stretched from north pole to south pole; eight in all, each circular in shape, they were separated by almost exactly 150 kilometers from one another, and lay upon an almost exact line of longitude. Natural vents wouldn’t be so symmetrically aligned.

  And then there was the massive crater, nearly 100 kilometers in diameter, that lay precisely at Spindrift’s equator. At first, they thought it was the result of a meteor impact, yet closer examination revealed no visible floor, nor any ejecta rays surrounding its perimeter. The lack of a raised caldera, on the other hand, ruled out the alternate explanation that it might be a volcano, extinct or otherwise. It was simply a bottomless pit, its interior walls forming an enormous funnel that plunged deep within the asteroid’s crust, perhaps to its outer mantle.

  But the real surprise came from the results of the mass-spectrometer survey. Cruz guarded his words carefully, often resorting to raw numbers as if the data could save him, but the facts were inarguable. Judging from perturbations in its rotation, coupled with spectral analysis of its surface, it was evident Spindrift lacked the necessary mass for an asteroid its size. Indeed, despite the amounts of carbon and ferrous compounds in its crust, the lack of a magnetic field indicated that Spindrift lacked an iron core, strange for a transient body that otherwise showed all indications of being a class-M asteroid. In short, although Spindrift appeared to be solid, at least from the outside, there were strong indications that vast, hollow pockets lay within its interior.

  I know what you are. Ramirez stared at Spindrift through the library window, its terminator line becoming visible as a slender curve catching the dim radiance of faraway Sol. They wouldn’t believe me even if I told them, but it doesn’t matter, Soon enough, you’ll reveal yourself to me…

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Startled, Ramirez looked around to find Donald Sinclair standing just outside the alcove. He hadn’t spoken with Sinclair since they’d emerged from biostasis; as neither a scientist nor a member of the flight crew, the political officer tended to fade into the background, seen but not heard. Which was probably Sinclair’s intent; the less noticed he was, the more he’d be able to observe.

  “I was, yes…good place to get away from everyone.” He hoped that Sinclair would take the hint and leave him alone.

  “I’m sure it is. But I think we need to have a chat.” Sinclair sauntered over to the couch. “You should remember that if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

  “Come again?” Ramirez raised an eyebrow as Sinclair sat down. “As I recall, the ESA asked me to…”

  “But if I hadn’t made my recommendation to the Proletariat, you’d still be cutting cannabis in Dolland.” A smile, callous and without humor. “A stroke of the pen, and you’ll be back there again as soon as we’re home.”

  Ramirez stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare. Once we make our final report…”

  “Need I remind you that you’re still a convicted criminal? Your opportunities for defection are rather limited…and believe me, the European Alliance won’t risk a political incident on your behalf.” Sinclair crossed his legs. “But if you cooperate…”

  “What do you want?” Ramirez’s voice was cold.

  “Information.” Sinclair folded his arms together. “There’s something going on aboard ship. Something between you and Harker, and also between Harker and the captain…”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Sinclair stared at him long and hard. “Don’t lie to me, Jared,” he said at last. “If you know something, and I find out about it…”

  “All right, then.” Ramirez shrugged. At
this point, there was no sense in hiding anything. “There’s a nuke aboard…a nuclear-tipped torpedo, to be precise. It’s to be used in case we run into anything hostile. Bug-eyed monsters from another galaxy, if you go in for that sort of thing.”

  “Jared…”

  “You wanted the truth. So here it is. The ESA placed the nuke on ship without anyone knowing about it except Lawrence and Cole, but then Collins and I stumbled upon it, and now Harker is pissed off about the whole thing.” Glancing up at the ceiling, he snapped his fingers. “Oh, yes…and we’ve lost contact with Earth, if you haven’t heard. My guess is that this is the captain’s misguided way of covering his ass, but I could be wrong. I have a hard time understanding stupid people.” He paused, relishing the look on Sinclair’s face. “Any more questions? Or would you like for me to repeat what I just said, slowly?”

  Sinclair blinked several times, as if trying to digest everything Ramirez had just told him, obviously indecisive about whether it was the straight truth. “About the bomb…the nuke, I mean…is it?…that is, do you know if…?”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there. You know as much as I do…which isn’t much.” Ramirez picked up his mug of hot chocolate. Finding that it had gone cold, he put it back down, then checked his watch. “’Fraid that’s all the time I have for this. Need to go upstairs, see to the launch of the probes. We should be in proper position about now.” Standing up, he stepped past Sinclair. “You’ll keep this under your hat, won’t you? After all, it wouldn’t do for the captain to know that you know all this. Right?”

  “Of course. Whatever you say…” Sinclair struggled to recover his earlier poise. “You’ve done the right thing, Dr. Ramirez. Your government appreciates your cooperation.”

  That remark stopped Ramirez. Halfway to the library door, he paused to gaze at the fake fire burning in the hearth. “Mr. Sinclair,” he said quietly, not looking at him, “the last time I thought I was doing the right thing, my government…your government…sent me to prison for the rest of my life. Do you really think I’m doing this for them?”

  “No. I don’t suppose you are.” Sinclair hesitated. “But tell me…when you go to bed, do thirty-five thousand ghosts keep you awake?”

  Ramirez had an answer for this, but not one that he was willing to share with anyone. Stiff-legged, he marched out of the library. Even after the hatch shut behind him, he felt the political officer’s eyes upon his back.

  “I know all about the dead,” he whispered. “When I get to Hell, I’m sure they’ll be waiting for me.”

  As it turned out, Larry and Jerry raised more questions than they answered.

  Jerry went first. Once Galileo was maneuvered within sixteen hundred kilometers of the starbridge, the probe—faintly resembling an oversize bowling ball with a high-impulse ion engine mounted at its aft end—was launched from the service module. While Simone maintained safe distance from the alien construct, Antonia controlled Jerry via telepresence. Wearing a head-mounted display, her face covered by an opaque visor upon which a stereoscopic view was assimilated from images sent by the probe’s twin cameras, she pantomimed a pilot flying a small craft, her gloved hands gliding back and forth in midair, while the science team monitored the flatscreen displays within the observation center.

  Yet Jerry revealed little they hadn’t already known. As the probe approached the starbridge, no one was surprised to find that it wasn’t completely identical to KX-1. Although it was also ring-shaped, closer inspection showed that it was comprised of a series of inward-curved segments, triangular in cross section, that were joined together at regular intervals. This led Kaufmann to speculate that the starbridge had been brought here in sections by a relativistic-speed craft, much the same way KX-1 had been assembled. Yet the surfaces of each segment were seamlessly smooth, with no visible plates or junctures. Indeed, the entire structure had an almost biomimetic appearance, more organic than mechanical. The product of advanced nanotech? Again, the team could only speculate.

  At Ramirez’s suggestion, Antonia maneuvered Jerry to a parking position only a hundred meters from the center of the starbridge. Once the probe was looking straight down the ring’s bull’s-eye, Ramirez asked Arkady to retransmit the recognition signal sent by Raziel, again at a frequency of 1,420 megahertz. For five seconds, nothing happened…then Jerry received the very same response received by Mare Muscoviense. As before, the science team had no way to interpret the numerical sequence that appeared on their screens; a second attempt to communicate yielded the same results. It was as if the starbridge were some sort of lighthouse, programmed to respond automatically the exact same way time and again.

  Frustrated, Lawrence ordered Antonia to fly Jerry through the ring, even though Ramirez cautioned him against this. Although the starbridge seemed inert, the fact that it reacted to radio transmissions clearly showed that it wasn’t a derelict. Yet the captain was impatient; damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead. So Jerry flew through the starbridge, and came out the other side as if it were nothing more than a trained dog who’d jumped through a hoop. Red-faced, Lawrence instructed Antonia to return Jerry to its previous position, then issued the order for Larry to be launched.

  Larry was designed for atmospheric entry, so its aeroshell was unnecessary. Once the probe was three hundred meters above the ground, it jettisoned its curvilinear outer casing and parachute pack and continued the descent upon liquid-fuel thrusters that brought its payload module to a featherlight touchdown. Once its petal-shaped flanges unfolded, and with Antonia once again guiding the probe via telepresence, Larry crawled out onto Spindrift’s dusty surface, an arachnid robot whose antenna-mounted lights prowled the coal black terrain.

  Since Larry was incapable of returning to Galileo and had a maximum range of only twenty kilometers, its landing site had been selected only after long argument among the members of the science team. In the end, the majority voted in favor of Ramirez’s proposal that they investigate one of the CO2 “cold spots” surrounding Spindrift’s central meridian. Although the massive equatorial crater was just as intriguing, the fact that the meridian features were so equidistant aroused their curiosity. As Cruz had pointed out, it wasn’t Spindrift’s exterior that was interesting so much as its interior, and the cold spots had greater potential to answer their questions.

  In the end, though, Larry told them no more than Jerry had. After scuttling across rough, dusty ground pockmarked by countless micrometeorite strikes, the probe finally made its way to a small crater about thirty meters in diameter. Standing at the edge of its rim, Larry peered down upon an expanse of frozen carbon dioxide that scintillated beneath the probe’s lights, eerily resembling a snow-covered pasture on a moonless night.

  The infrared sensor picked up a heat source from the center of the crater, so Antonia carefully maneuvered Larry down its slope and sent it in that direction. Yet the dry-ice layer turned out to be deeper than expected; Larry got no farther than seven meters before its six legs disappeared within the fine white powder, and it was all Antonia could do just to keep Larry from being immobilized. Ignoring Rauchle’s protests, she backed the probe out of the crater and returned Larry to its earlier position at the top of the rim.

  The trip wasn’t a total loss, though. Larry’s ultraviolet imaging spectrometer picked up a plume of gaseous CO2 rising from the heat source at the crater’s center, almost as if it was a natural geyser. As the team watched, the carbon-dioxide emission immediately froze out, descending to the ground as a haze of snowlike crystals. No question about it: something deep within Spindrift was venting gas, apparently at regular intervals. And there were at least seven other sites just like this one, equidistantly spaced along Spindrift’s central meridian.

  Antonia returned Larry to its lander and put it in recharge mode; just as when she’d parked Jerry in orbit near the starbridge, she kept its transponder active so that the probe’s cameras and sensor package could be accessed at any time. Then, at Kaufmann’s suggestion, the science team went d
own to the library to discuss their next move. Lawrence showed up as well; so did Harker, although Ramirez wasn’t surprised that he kept his distance from the captain. Galileo’s commander and his first officer had apparently reached an impasse; Ramirez wondered if they’d be able to work together for the rest of the mission.

  “We should reposition Larry,” Rauchle began, once everyone had coffee and had found seats near the fireplace. “If we can send it to another vent, we might be able to get it closer so tha t…”

  “That won’t work.” Harker leaned against the mantel, studying the pewter miniature of the Galileo. “Larry’s designed for only short-range excursions, and the next vent is too far away. Sure, it might be able to get there, but the cold will kill the batteries. It’ll make it to the crater and”—he snapped his fingers—“out go the lights. Dead ’bot.”

  “Besides, there’s no guarantee that the same thing won’t happen again.” Kaufmann nibbled on a slice of dried apple from the snack plate Emily had put together in the galley before returning to the command center. “The snowpack was at least a half meter thick when the probe bogged down the first time…and that was eight meters or so from the vent. No telling how deep it is closer in.”

  “But if…” Rauchle began.

  “I think we’re dodging the main issue here.” Cruz gazed out the window as if quietly contemplating the dark world that lay below them. “We’ve tried using probes, but they’ve only given us limited results. Like it or not, we’re going to have to get our feet dirty. We need to go down there.”

  No one said anything for a moment. Everyone glanced at each other, wary of what Cruz was suggesting. Ramirez knew what was going through their minds. Rauchle, Kaufmann, Cole…they’d spent their careers in labs and lecture halls, analyzing data others had gathered for them, then telling students and colleagues what they’d found. It had been a long time since any of them had done serious fieldwork, and that was when they were quite a few years younger, and even then in the relatively benign conditions of the Moon or Mars. None relished the idea of leaving Galileo’s safe and warm confines to set foot upon a place where the slightest mistake could be fatal.