Spindrift

by Allen Steele

  As Lawrence’s ghost spoke, a cylindrical shaft of light glowed to life within the circle formed by their chairs. Translucent, tinted a pale shade of blue, it quickly took shape and form, until Harker found himself gazing at a three-dimensional image of the Milky Way. As it slowly rotated, small sparks flashed here and there among its billions of stars, glowing more brightly than the countless suns around them.

  “And yet, despite the odds, a spacefaring race will sometimes take the next step, and reinvent that which only a small handful of like-minded races have invented before…the ability to construct what you call starbridges, devices that allow their vessels to leap through hyperspace from one portal to another.”

  “Did you say, ‘reinvent?’” Now it was Harker’s turn to interrupt. “Does that mean…?”

  “The way by which this is accomplished is always the same, yes.” Lawrence nodded. “A wheel is always a wheel, no matter who makes it…and every tool-making society eventually finds a reason to do this, even if its initial purpose isn’t always identical. By much the same token, hyperspace travel by means of artificial wormholes is something that has been accomplished time and again.”

  He pointed to the sparks floating within the holo of the galaxy. “These star systems are those whose dominant species have developed starbridges. Because they have done so, their chances of encountering other intelligent species greatly increased…and when they do, they eventually meet the Talus.”

  Lawrence glided forward, stepping into the light shaft until its image melded with that of the galaxy. “Again, there is no literal translation for this word into Anglo or any other human language. Association, union, society, federation, conglomerate…none of them adequately describe that which we…”

  “The galactic club,” Ramirez said softly.

  “Hush.” Once again, Harker found himself annoyed by Ramirez’s presumptuous attitude. “Let him…”

  “No.” Lawrence turned toward Ramirez; as it did, the galaxy faded from view. “Let him speak. You know of this, Dr. Ramirez?”

  For a moment, Ramirez seemed mildly surprised, like a lazy student whose lucky guess was the correct answer to a professor’s question. “There’s a theory,” he said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, “that goes back a couple of centuries, when our kind began to speculate whether intelligent life existed in the galaxy. The hypothesis was that alien races, once they became aware of one another, would eventually form a loose alliance…a club, really…into which they’d invite other races if they met certain criteria. Ability to communicate with one another, ability to travel, so on and so forth.” He hesitated. “Is that was the Talus is? The galactic club?”

  “More or less, yes.” As before, Lawrence’s image displayed no emotion, yet its voice seemed to express approval. “The Talus is a…club, if you wish to call it that…of starfaring races that have chosen to associate with one another. We engage in trade, cultural exchanges, the sharing of information, and so forth, all for peaceful purposes. Otherwise, we leave one another alone. We do not interfere with each other’s internal politics or waste energy on conquest. By much the same token, neither do we attempt to bring new starfaring races into our fold.”

  “You don’t find us,” Harker said. “We find you.”

  “This is one way of expressing it…but yes, that is frequently how it happens.”

  Emily shifted in her chair. “So when we discovered Spindrift,” she said, speaking up for the first time, “that’s when we found you. The hjadd, I mean…and also the Talus.”

  Once more, Lawrence became silent. Harker glanced over at Emily, raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged; she didn’t know what she’d said either. He looked at Ramirez, but he seemed at a loss as well; his left knee jiggled nervously as he waited for a response.

  “No,” the holo said at last, “you still don’t understand.”

  “Understand what?” Harker asked. “Come on, now. You’ve brought us this far…what is it about you that you don’t want us to know?” Despite his intent to remain calm, he found himself becoming annoyed. “Look, we’ve seen the inside of Spindrift or Shaq…Shaq-whatever…so there’s not much more you can’t tell us about you that we haven’t already seen for ourselves.”

  “You proceed from a false assumption.” Lawrence stared back at him. “You believe we’re the ones who built Shaq-Taaraq.”

  “But…” Baffled, Harker shook his head. “If you didn’t, then who…?”

  “Listen, and understand.”

  Again, the iridescent column appeared. As they watched, another image materialized within it: a spiral-shaped object floating in space, with distant stars visible in the background.

  At first, Harker couldn’t tell what it was. He thought it might be a globular cluster, perhaps a protostar, until he realized that it was far more complex than either. A brilliant white orb, vaguely resembling a dwarf star, lay within the center of a dense, nebula-like whorl of cosmic dust—magenta, purple, burnt orange—that encircled the nucleus as if it were a vast whirlpool. Yet at the center of the nucleus, barely visible from this angle, was a small black spot, out of which vertical plumes of dense plasma rose from both top and bottom. A thing of great beauty, yet also strangely menacing.

  “What is it?” Standing up from her chair, Emily stepped closer to examine the projection. “It’s incredible.”

  “Yes, it is. Many have doubtless thought so, in their last moments of existence.” The dead captain slowly walked around the hologram, gazing into its depths. “The races of the Talus have many names for it. Hu’Mok…Twarog…Kasimasta…others that you couldn’t easily pronounce. Yet they all mean the same thing…the Annihilator.”

  “A black hole.” At last, Harker realized what it was. “It’s a black hole.” An unimpressed shrug. “So? We’ve known about them for quite a while, although”—he gestured toward the projection—“this is the best image of one I’ve ever seen.”

  Lawrence turned to regard him with what might have been condescension. “As much as your kind believes it knows about the universe, believe us when we tell you that your ignorance is far greater than your knowledge. Yes, this is a black hole…in much the same way that you are a highly advanced simian.”

  “Touché,” Ramirez murmured, mildly amused.

  Harker felt his face burn, yet Lawrence ignored the remark. “The Annihilator is not an ordinary cosmic event. When this image was resolved, it was little more than twice the diameter of the planet you know as Jupiter. That was nearly three hundred years ago, by your reckoning. No doubt it has grown even larger since then, as it makes its way through the galaxy.”

  “‘As it makes its way…?’” Harker s topped. “You mean, this thing moves?”

  “At a rate of nearly two hundred kilometers per second. Judging from its present course, it appears to be gradually moving toward the galactic center. It has already passed through the outer rim, and it is currently traveling through the spiral arms.”

  As Lawrence spoke, the image of the galaxy reappeared. The Annihilator swiftly diminished in size until it became a brilliant point of light suspended three-quarters of the way out from the center of the galaxy. Trailing a luminescent line behind it, it traced a winding course that led from the outermost reaches of the Milky Way, into and through the Perseus Arm, until it finally ended at the spinward edge of the Orion Arm. Harker felt something cold creep down his neck when he realized that the thing was presently traveling through their own sector of the galaxy.

  “The Annihilator has been in existence as long as even the oldest starfaring races can remember,” Lawrence continued. “We believe that it originated beyond our own galaxy, the result of two globular clusters, or perhaps even a pair of dwarf galaxies, coming into collision. Under normal circumstances, the black holes at their cores would coalesce, become as one…yet on rare occasion, their opposite spins cause one of the holes to be ejected and thus become a rogue singularity, moving through intergalactic space until it is inevitably drawn toward
another galaxy.”

  Lawrence pointed to the Annihilator’s track. “This is what has happened here. Countless billions of years ago, the Annihilator entered our own galaxy. It takes millions of years to move from one arm to another, and only lately has it entered our part of the galaxy…perhaps as recently as ten thousand years ago. Nonetheless it is unstoppable. It is a force of nature, the most lethal ever discovered.”

  Lawrence turned toward Harker. “The result is always the same. If it happens to pass through a star system, any planet in its path is destroyed. Over time, its accretion belt has grown so large that even a close pass is sufficient to exterminate all life upon a world unfortunate enough to be in its way.” The image of the Annihilator expanded once more, and the ghost pointed to its swirling bands of color. “What you see here are the remains of worlds…perhaps countless in number…that have been reduced to little more than dust and rubble. And, yes, some of these have been inhabited.”

  “And the survivors?” Harker stared at the image. “What have they…?”

  “No world, no race, has ever survived an encounter with the Annihilator. Save for one, and only one.”

  The Annihilator dissolved, to be replaced by a graphic representation of a solar system: six planets orbiting a small yellow star. “Approximately four hundred years ago, by your reckoning, the Annihilator passed through the Lambda Aurigae system, little more than forty-one light-years from Earth. You should consider yourselves fortunate that your own system was not in its path. Otherwise, you would not be here today. Instead, it came upon the homeworld of another race, known in their own language as the taaraq.”

  The holo zoomed in upon the second planet orbiting Lambda Aurigae. “At the time, the taaraq had recently achieved the ability to travel from one world to another, and only then within their own system. Interstellar travel was beyond their means. Yet they were an industrious and resourceful race, capable of making great technological strides within a short amount of time, and when they detected the Annihilator and realized what it meant for them, they took measures to ensure the survival of their species.”

  The view expanded slightly to encompass an asteroid belt near the taaraq homeworld. “Devoting all their energies to the effort, they transformed a nearby asteroid into a starship…Shaq-Taaraq, or ship of the taaraq—and transported as many of their people as they could to the vessel, where they entered a state of long-term hibernation not unlike your own.”

  “So that’s what it was,” Harker murmured. “An ark.”

  “A goddamn big ark.” Judging from the sound of his voice, Ramirez was similarly humbled. “There must be millions of them aboard.”

  “Two million five hundred thousand.” The ghost raised a hand, and the holo changed again, this time to display an image they had all seen before: Spindrift, Shaq-Taaraq, as a dark and lightless asteroid wandering between the stars. “At the time of the coming of the Annihilator, there were nearly five billion taaraq…a race that, until doomsday came upon them, had lived in peace. The majority of their race willfully sacrificed their lives so that only a relative handful would survive. The rest stayed behind and became little more than dust.”

  “They fired Spindrift’s engines and made their escape.” Emily’s voice was choked with sadness. “Oh, God…”

  Harker stepped closer to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Five billion dead so that only two and a half million could survive. He knew nothing of the taaraq save for what little he’d seen of them within the catacombs of Spindrift, yet he was suddenly ashamed of himself for having thought of them as monsters. Far from that; when doomsday had come to their world, they’d mustered the courage to save some of their kind, even if it meant that the rest would perish, their lives snuffed out by a true horror.

  “Where did they intend to go?” Ramirez asked. “If they’ve been traveling for four centuries…”

  “So far as we’ve been able to determine, their destination is a star system elsewhere in our local arm, one that contains an uninhabited planet suitable for their biological requirements. The Talus has decided to keep secret the location of this planet, in order to prevent another race from colonizing it before Shaq-Taaraq arrives.”

  “Then you’ve known about Shaq-Taaraq for quite some time.” Even as he spoke, Harker realized that he was stating the obvious. “If that’s so, why haven’t you helped them?”

  “Shaq-Taaraq was discovered by a hjadd ship about two centuries ago. Like yourselves, its crew decided to explore it. During that time, they were able to access the memory systems, and in time we were able to decipher the taaraq language, much as we deciphered your own, and learned the history of their race. When we realized what we’d found, the hjadd reported the matter to the Talus, where the issue was discussed by the High Councils. In the end, it was decided that the Talus should treat the taaraq much as they would any intelligent race whom they had discovered that had not yet developed hyperspace technology…we would not interfere with their history but allow nature to take its own course.”

  Once more, Lawrence turned toward the light shaft. The image changed again, this time to reveal the starbridge orbiting Spindrift. “However, because the taaraq are helpless…the Shaq-Taaraq has no defensive capabilities, because the race is pacifist by nature and its builders believed there were no other intelligent species in the galaxy…the Talus decided that it do what it could to protect the taaraq for the duration of their voyage. So a starbridge was established near the asteroid, one equipped with sensors that would alert us to any incursion by an unauthorized vessel…”

  “And a beacon that was supposed to warn them away.” Harker nodded. “But what you didn’t count on was an alien race…us, that is…discovering Shaq-Taaraq and sending out an expedition before the message could be translated.”

  “That is correct…and the consequences were unfortunate.” Lawrence gestured toward the light shaft. Now they saw, from an omniscient point of view, the Galileo approaching the Talus starbridge; Harker suddenly realized that they were viewing video images taken by Jerry, the probe that had been parked in orbit near the starbridge.

  An instant later, there was a bright flash of light, then a strange craft hurtled through the ring. “That was a hjadd ship,” Lawrence said, “dispatched by the Talus to investigate the presence of an alien vessel. An attempt was made to communicate with your ship. However…”

  As they watched, a small object was launched from Galileo. That goddamn torpedo, Harker thought. Ian, you bloody idiot…

  Emily turned away, burying her face against his chest, as the torpedo silently detonated. A white-hot sphere quickly enveloped the Galileo, tearing it apart like a plastic toy and scattering debris in all directions, merely buffeting the hjadd ship. “An unfortunate misunderstanding,” Lawrence’s specter intoned. “Had we known better…”

  “Right.” Despite an instinctive surge of anger, Harker found himself feeling ashamed. Paranoia, distrust, ignorance: all these things had led to the destruction of his ship and its crew. “If I’d known…if I could have stopped this…”

  “The situation was beyond your control.” The light shaft disappeared, and Lawrence stood before them. “You are not to blame, nor are any of your companions. As we now understand the circumstances, from our interviews with each of you, it’s apparent that you made your best efforts to prevent this incident in the first place.”

  For the first time, Harker realized how ironic it was that the hjadd had chosen Ian Lawrence’s image and voice. “I’m sorry that it happened this way, too, but…”

  “Not so fast.” Ramirez stood up. “We’ve been asleep for fifty-three years. That’s a long time, especially if…”

  “Yes. I’d like to know that, too.” Pulling herself away from Harker, Emily turned to confront Lawrence’s ghost. “Why keep us asleep for so long? If you found us on Spindrift…”

  “We discovered your shuttle on Shaq-Taaraq shortly after you went into biostasis,” Lawrence said. “It was recovered by o
ur ship and transported to Talus qua’spah, where its memory was probed while your bodies remained in hibernation. As with the taaraq, it took many years for us to decipher your language. That is the reason why we’re able to communicate with you in your own tongue.”

  “Fifty-three years?” Ramirez was skeptical. “Weren’t in any sort of rush, were you?”

  Harker realized that he had a point. “He’s right. There’s something else going on here.” A new thought occurred to him. “Why are you still hiding? Aren’t you willing to show yourselves?”

  Once more, Lawrence went silent for a moment. Emily moved closer to Harker. “You think you might have pushed it a little?” she murmured. “I mean…”

  “What are they afraid of?” Harker didn’t bother to lower his voice. “They’re holding all the cards, aren’t they? If they want us to trust them, then…”

  “Quite correct, Commander.” Lawrence’s image became active again. “Perhaps the time has come for us to discard the mask.”

  And then Ian Lawrence dissolved, to be replaced by their first sight of a hjadd.

  The being that materialized before them wasn’t as grotesque as a taaraq, but it was no less bizarre. A little shorter than Harker, the hjadd faintly resembled what he imagined a Galapagos tortoise might look like if it didn’t have a shell. Standing erect on two short, thick legs, most of its broad body was concealed beneath a flowing, togalike garment; only its hands, oddly delicate yet covered by leathery skin the color of dark mud, could be seen, clasped together within the robe’s flowing bell sleeves.

  Its head, mounted at the end of an elongated neck, was narrow and hairless, its most notable feature a pair of protuberant, heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to move independently of one another. Below a stubby snout was a broad, lipless mouth that seemed to be cast in a perpetual frown. The skin around its face was mottled with colored patterns of stripes and blotches; when it spoke, small membranes on either side of its skull gently pulsed. On occasion a narrow fin, running from the top of its head down the back of its neck, rose ever so slightly.