Spindrift (22 page)

“Weird, huh?” Harker uncapped the container, peered inside: a couple of grams of cured and crumbled cannabis leaves, light brown and resinous. “Thought this sort of thing went out with rock and roll.” She gave him a confused look, not understanding the historical reference, and he shook his head. “Never mind. Who's next?”

“Haven't seen Cole or Sinclair. Guess we'd better check on them, too.” She turned to head down the corridor, and Harker followed her. They made their way around the bend until, just past the captain's quarters, they reached Cole's cabin.

The door was shut; Harker knocked on it and waited a moment. Receiving no answer, he pushed the button. “Sir Peter?” he asked as the door slid open. “Pardon me, sir, but…”

“What do you want?” Lawrence demanded.

Startled, Harker stepped back. The captain's back was turned to the door; he looked over his shoulder to glare at him. Past him, Harker spotted Cole, seated on the edge of his bunk. The Astronomer Royal seemed more surprised than angry, yet it was clear that he didn't welcome the interruption either.

“My apologies, Captain,” Harker said. “I only meant to check on…”

“We're doing fine,” Lawrence snapped. “Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…sorry, sir.” Harker hastily backed away. Lawrence was still glowering at him as he pushed the button; the door slid shut, and he let out his breath. “Damn,” he murmured. “Wasn't expecting that.”

“Why should you? If he's not in sickbay, then he ought to be on Deck A.” Emily regarded the cabin with suspicion. “What's he doing here, anyway?”

“Damned if I know, but it's none of my business.” Harker turned away to continue down the corridor. “We'd better get lost. Right now, he's angry enough to…”

Realizing that she was no longer with him, Harker looked back around. Emily had quietly moved close enough to the door that she could place an ear against it. Shocked by what she was doing, he started to say something—
Are you insane? Get away from there!
—but she held a finger to her lips, then urgently gestured for him to come closer.

Eavesdropping on the captain. Beneath the proper conduct of a first officer. Yet curiosity got the better of him; Harker quietly moved back toward Cole's cabin and, lightly grasping Emily's shoulder, laid his left ear against the door.

“
…nothing of this.
” Lawrence's voice, just barely intelligible. “
He hasn't been briefed, nor shall he, unless there's an emergency.
”

Cole said something. Exactly what, Harker couldn't tell; his voice came to him as little more than a murmur.

“
If it comes to that, certainly.
” Lawrence again. “
But I'd just as soon that he not be aware of its existence. Or anyone else, to tell the truth, other than my crewman. It was installed just before we left, and only we have the activation codes. If we need to…
”

Cole interrupted him to say something. This time, Harker made out a single, midsentence word: “
…Spindrift…
”

“
Then the responsibility will be mine,
” Lawrence replied. “
But the risk is more than acceptable, I think, even if…
”

Emily glanced past him just then; her eyes widened, and she suddenly pulled herself from the door. Harker turned to see Sinclair only five meters away. Apparently he'd just come around the bend in the passageway; now he stood nearby, quietly observing them.

Mortified, Harker backed away from the cabin. No point in denying what they'd been doing; the political officer had seen everything. To make matters worse, the hatch leading to the access shaft was a few meters down the corridor past him; they would have to go around Sinclair in order to leave Deck C.

Harker touched Emily's shoulder, a mute signal for her to follow him, then he walked toward the hatch. His face burned as he approached Sinclair; for a moment, he thought the other man might say something to him, but instead Sinclair quietly moved aside, making room for them to pass. They'd almost reached the shaft when Sinclair spoke up.

“Commander…?”

Harker stopped, looked back at him. “Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”

“If there's something you think I should know, I hope you'll give me the benefit of the doubt and tell me.” Sinclair's expression was stoical, his voice quiet, yet there was no doubting the sincerity of his words.

Harker nodded. “I'll keep that in mind, sir,” he said softly.

“Please do.” He hesitated. “And Mr. Harker? Please keep in mind that I leave my door cracked open. That way, I always know when someone”—a pause, followed by a wry smile—“wants to drop in for a visit.”

Harker swallowed. “I'll try to remember that.”

 

Galileo
's wardroom was located on Deck D, one level down. Although the adjacent library was intended to serve as the lounge, the ship's architects had apparently realized that crew and passengers needed a place in which they could simply sit and gaze out at the stars. The ship, after all, had been designed with long-term scientific exploration in mind. So the wardroom doubled as an observation area; a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows, larger than even those in the command center, had been installed in the hull, its multiple-pane glass equipped with a virtual telescope capable of zooming in upon anything that could be see seen with the naked eye and identifying it upon the windows themselves.

The wardroom was dark when Harker and Collins entered, its chairs still strapped in place beneath long, faux-oak dining tables. Harker started to turn on the lights, but Emily stopped him; instead, she moved across the room, guided by the amber glow of the emergency lamps, until she reached the windows. She pressed a button, and the outside louvers rolled upward to reveal the ghostly grey orb of Eris, its tiny satellite Dysnomia just coming into view beyond its limb.

Harker could have activated the virtual telescope, but instead he took a moment to let himself identify the planets and constellations by memory. Above the bright star that was the Sun, he made out Perseus, with Jupiter a bright orange orb just to the left of Algol. Saturn lay between Triangulum and Ares. And there, rising beyond Eris, the lower legs of Andromeda. Or at least he thought it was Andromeda; from this perspective, it was hard to be sure. A beautiful sight, one that might have inspired a poet to compose a sonnet. If Emily had romance in mind when she'd suggested that they go to the wardroom, though, that notion soon vanished.

“What do you think he meant?” she asked, once they were sure they were alone.

“I think he meant for us to stay the hell away from his cabin.” Still practicing astronomy, Harker slowly let out his breath. “Christ, I've never been so embarrassed…”

“Not Sinclair…Ian.” She glanced at him sharply. “What, you didn't hear what he said?”

“I heard as much as you did…not much.” He frowned, trying to recall the one-sided snatch of conversation. “Something was installed aboard ship just before we left, without my knowledge. Whatever it is, Ian has access to it. Or at least that's what I assume he meant when he said that he was the one person who had the codes…”

“No.” Emily shook her head. “That's not what he said. He referred to someone as ‘my crewman,' then he said that only ‘we' have the codes.” She hesitated. “If there's something you're keeping from me…”

“No.” He took her hand. “I swear to you, I have no idea what's going on. And I have no idea who Ian was referring to, either.”

“I didn't think you would.” Her hand absently traveled up his arm to his elbow. “Let that be for now. If activation relies on a code sequence, then it must be computer-controlled. All right, then, that's easy enough. All we have to do is search the AI…”

“Emcee, do you have any idea…?” Harker shook his head. “What's the size of the main AI memory? Seven-hundred-point-seven terabytes. How many major subsystems does it control? Twenty-eight. How many comps are in that network? Sixty-five, not counting twenty-four backups. Even if you knew what you were looking for…and we don't…it could take days, even weeks, to find it. And we're scheduled to go into biostasis in…”

“Two days.” She hissed between her teeth. “Damn. You're right.” Then her eyes narrowed. “But look…if it's that important, then something like this couldn't have been installed without someone else knowing. That must be what Lawrence meant. Toni, perhaps, or Arkady…”

“Oh, c'mon…” Irritated, he shook off her hand. “We know those guys. We've been working with them for nearly a year now. I can't believe either of them would allow that to happen without letting me know.” Harker gazed out the window. “No, this must have been something that was put in place while
Galileo
was still in dry dock. Perhaps at the last minute, after we'd come aboard but before we launched.” He glanced at her again. “When you did your flyby, did you see anything unusual?”

“No. Nothing.” She shrugged. “But we were in dry dock for five hours after that, and cargo was being loaded right up until T-minus one hour. Anything could have been slipped aboard during that time.”

“Well, I could check the cargo hold, but I doubt it's going to be there. The word Ian used was
installed
, remember?” Another thought occurred to him just then. “What if it's not inside the ship, but outside? Attached to the hull, I mean.”

“Possible.” Emily slowly nodded. “The auxiliary ports along the service module are meant for that sort of thing. Two were used for Larry and Jerry, but there's room for one more. If it's there…”

“Then we might be able to find it.” Harker didn't respond for a moment. “Whatever it may be, that is,” he added. “That's what bothers me. Ian said he'd only tell me about it in case of an emergency. What sort of emergency, do you reckon?”

“Enough of one that he considered having this thing aboard to be an acceptable risk.” She frowned. “Or a precaution, rather. And of sufficient magnitude that Sir Peter knows about it, yet not tell…”

From behind them, the sound of the door sliding open. They looked around to see a pair of figures captured in silhouette within the doorway. For an instant, he thought they were Lawrence and Cole. Then the ceiling lights flickered to life. Dazzled by the abrupt glare, Harker raised a hand to his eyes. “Who…?”

“Oh, no…not you two again.” Arkady stepped into the compartment, a lecherous grin on his face. Simone was right behind him, looking vaguely amused. “C'mon, you kids, find a room. Some of us would like to eat.”

“Like food was all you had in mind.” Emily quickly slipped her hand into Harker's. “Or are you really that eager to sample the freeze-dried lasagna?”

Arkady's eyes rolled upward, and Simone blushed; it was no secret that the two of them were carrying on an affair of their own. “We won't tell if you won't.”

“Fine with me.” Harker glanced at Emily. “I think we all have something to hide.”

JUNE 2, 2288—EASS
GALILEO

W
hatever Ramirez expected the ship's library to be like, that wasn't what he found when he got there.

He stood in the doorway, staring at a drawing room that wouldn't have been out of place within a Victorian manor of the nineteenth century. Brass-caged bookshelves containing dozens of leather-bound volumes lined mahogany-paneled walls, their moldings carved to resemble oak leaves and acorn clusters. A vaulted ceiling rose above him, its bowstring beams forming a star pattern from which a crystal chandelier was suspended. The floor was covered with a thick Persian carpet woven with a rose motif; the furniture consisted of brown-leather armchairs and love seats upholstered with soft purple velvet, separated by round study tables draped with braided silk cloths. A gilded pendulum clock, ticking ever so quietly, stood near a marble fireplace in which a couple of logs slowly burned. An oil portrait of a woman, buxom and yet demure, hung within a gilded frame above the mantel, upon which rested a pewter miniature of the
Galileo
.

This can't be real
, Ramirez thought.
It must be a hologram.
Yet when he stepped closer to one of the walls and touched it, his fingertips felt only polished wood, right down to the subtle imperfections in the grain. The carpet was soft beneath the soles of his shoes; exploring it with his left toe, he noted that the fibers moved as he prodded them. The fire burning within the hearth, of course, wasn't really there, yet it was only after he stared at it for a while that he noticed a slight, nonrandom repetition of the flames and the smoke. That part was an illusion, at least, but the rest…

“Spared no expense, did they?” Sir Peter asked. “Personally, I think they should have included a billiards table, but I suppose you can't have everything.”

It took a moment for Ramirez to locate Cole. He was seated in an armchair within a cozy little alcove near the fireplace, a book in his lap and his feet crossed together on an ottoman. The country squire at home and hearth; all he needed to make the scene complete was a pipe, a glass of brandy, and a terrier curled up by his side.

“Perhaps, but they might have also…” Ramirez stopped as he caught sight of the casement window behind Cole. Through thick mullioned panes, he saw what looked like a small English town, the gothic spire of an old church rising among the rooftops, the afternoon sun casting shadows upon the distant hills. A pigeon alighted upon the windowsill; it nervously glanced through the window, cocked its head, then fluttered away.

“Arundel, England. In case you're wondering.” Sir Peter followed Ramirez's gaze through the window. “The view from the library of Arundel Castle, although the actual room is considerably larger. Of course, if you'd like to be reminded where you really are…”

Turning away from Ramirez, he leaned over to push a button on a small panel half-hidden beneath the window. The town vanished, suddenly replaced by the endless night of space, with Eris floating in the distance. The bottom quarter of the view was eclipsed by a long, outward-curving structure; the torus of
Galileo
's diametric drive, deployed from its housing a few hours earlier and rapidly gaining size as millions of micro-assemblers worked tirelessly to erect it into its doughnut-shaped cruise configuration.

“I like the other view a bit more, don't you?” Sir Peter touched the panel again. Deep space disappeared, and Arundel returned. The pigeon came back; again it peeped through the window, nodded in satisfaction, and flew away. Illusion destroyed.

“Nice trick.” Ramirez nodded toward the book in Cole's lap. “Anything good?”

“This?” Cole lifted the volume. “Shakespeare.
The Tempest
. Seemed appropriate. But it can be anything you'd like.” He offered the book to Ramirez. “Here. See for yourself…just ask. Operates by voice command, of course.”

“Of course.” Ramirez took the book from him, opened it to a random page. Sure enough, he found it to be a folio of Shakespeare's plays. He closed the cover, thought for a moment. “Alexandre Dumas,
The Count of Monte Cristo
,” he said, then opened it to the first page:
On February 24, 1815, the watchtower at Marseilles signaled the arrival of the three-master
Pharon,
coming from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples…

“They're all like that.” Cole pointed to the shelves surrounding them. “Remote links to the library subsystem. Open any volume at random, you'll find only this.” Taking the book back from Ramirez, he closed the cover and said, “Neutral.” He opened it again. Blank pages. “But request something in particular, such as…oh, say, H. G. Wells,
The War of the Worlds
.” He drummed his fingertips upon the cover, as if performing a magic trick, then opened the book once more. “See?”

“Impressive.” Ramirez didn't bother to look. “But I prefer Dumas.”

“Hmm…I suppose you would.” Looking down at the book, Cole began to read aloud. “‘No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's…'”

“Thank you, but I've never much enjoyed fantasy.”

“Oh?” Cole seemed mildly disappointed. “And I'd have sworn that would be one of your favorites. Perhaps something that you'd read as a boy, thereby inspiring you to search for Martians.”

“No. Only a belief that the galaxy is too vast for only one intelligent race.” Taking a seat across from Sir Peter, he reached over to touch the panel beneath the window. The quaint English town vanished again, and once more they looked out at the stars. “Reality is much more interesting.”

“Yes, well…that's why I requested this meeting. Thought we'd have a chat about that very thing.” Cole closed the book and put it aside, then settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “What do you think Spindrift is?”

“I told you what I thought at Wilton Park. You sat next to me, remember?”

“Yes, yes, of course, but…” A cunning smile. “What do you
really
think it is? Or don't you have any theories?”

“Oh, I have dozens of theories.” Ramirez toyed with a braided tassel at the end of the armrest's embroidered coverlet. “But until we have more evidence, they're nothing more than idle conjecture.” He paused. “Nothing I'd deem worth the attention of the Astronomer Royal.”

Sir Peter said nothing for a moment. Instead, he regarded Ramirez with languid eyes, like a tenured professor sizing up a promising yet insolent student. “You still resent me,” he said at last. “After all these years, still you're jealous.”

“No…and no.” Ramirez stared back at him. “Whatever was once between us is long in the past. Prison tends to help put things like that in their proper perspective. As for jealousy…” He shrugged. “So far as I'm concerned, you got what you deserved.”

Cole's eyelids fluttered, and Ramirez suppressed a grin. Some things, at least, never changed: Peter had always done that when he was irritated but trying not to show it. “I don't know whether I should feel complimented or insulted.”

“You tell me.” Ramirez crossed his legs. “Why did you volunteer for this expedition? Your chair at Cambridge getting a little too soft for you? Or did you think there might be a book out of this?”

The smile disappeared. Cole sat up a little straighter, laying his hands upon the armrests. “I took a leave of absence because my government requested me to do so,” he said evenly, “and I'll thank you not to speculate otherwise.” Realizing that his temper threatened to get the better of him, he forced himself to relax. “Look, I didn't mean to get off on the wrong track here…”

“Naturally. Just banter among old friends, that's all.”

“Quite.” A tentative nod. “What I'm trying to get at, really, is…if this is an alien artifact of some sort, do you think it could be hostile?”

Ramirez looked at him sharply. Something in Cole's face told him that this was the true focus of this conversation. Sir Peter was worried but trying not to show it. “Anything's possible,” he said tentatively, “although I couldn't say for sure either way. Why do you ask?”

Again, Cole didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he leaned forward, cupping his hands between his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I had a conversation with Captain Lawrence yesterday, and he expressed certain…reservations, shall we say?…about the potential for a dangerous encounter.”

“Did he now? I'm surprised he has that much imagination.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “I take it that your opinion of the captain is less than favorable.”

“My opinion is that he's a fine example of how far wealth and power can take you even when you're a moron.” Cole's brow furrowed; he started to say something, but Ramirez didn't let him interrupt. “I stand by what I said before, but I'll also add that I think the possibility of meeting up with hostile aliens is rather remote.”

“Why not?”

“The correct question is ‘why?'” He nodded toward the book. “That's why stories like that have never appealed to me. It assumes that aliens would think as we do…that they'd be just as bloodthirsty as humanity.”

“You have a low opinion of your own kind.” Cole peered at him. “Perhaps that's why you ended up in Dolland, hmm?”

Ramirez felt his face grow warm. He let his gaze shift toward the window. “Think what you will,” he said quietly, contemplating the stars. “I just prefer to believe that, somewhere in the galaxy, there must be a race better than our own.” He glanced back at Cole. “You can tell the captain that, if you think it'll calm his nerves.”

“If he asks again, I shall.” Cole shook his head. “But your philosophy isn't the issue. What I'm trying to ask you is…if they're indeed hostile, then how do we know?”

Ramirez searched Cole's face, looking for signs of subterfuge. It was an honest question, to be sure, perhaps even an obvious one…and yet, he couldn't help but feel that Sir Peter was holding something back from him. Something that worried the Astronomer Royal so much that he'd taken a colleague whom he disliked as much as Ramirez into his confidence. Perhaps he had his own doubts about Lawrence's competence.

“I couldn't say,” he said warily. “I suppose we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Hmm…” Cole slowly nodded. “I expect you're right. We'll probably just have to play this by ear, no matter what happens.” Then he inched a little closer, lowering his voice even more. “However, when the time comes,” he said softly, “I'd like for you to be with me in the command center, as close at hand as possible. So that I can consult with you as quickly as possible.”

“Not in the OC?” The other half of Deck A, adjacent to the command center, served as the ship's observation center. That was where the science team would monitor
Galileo
's encounter with Spindrift.

“No. I'd like to have you on the bridge as much as possible. Until we're sure there's nothing to worry about, at least.” Cole hesitated. “The captain needs to be reassured that he doesn't have to take…well, certain emergency measures…if there's no reason for him to do so. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”
Like hell!

“Excellent.” Sir Peter patted his knee. “Thanks, Jared. Glad you decided to come around. Always knew you'd be an asset to this mission.”

“Thank you, Peter. Appreciate your confidence…”

“And you'll say nothing of this to anyone, will you?” Again, Cole's eyelids fluttered. “I can trust you to keep your mouth shut? To keep this strictly between you and me?”

“Of course.” And that, too, was a lie.

 

Ramirez located Collins on Deck C just as she was about to enter the access shaft. She looked around when he called her name, and waited as he jogged the toward her. “Lieutenant Collins…just the person I want to see,” he said, coming to a breathless halt. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

“I'm rather busy.” For some reason, she wore a fleece-lined jacket over her jumpsuit; various tools and instruments swung from a utility belt. “Can this wait till later?”

“It's rather important, actually.” He glanced back and forth to see if anyone else was in the corridor. A door shut somewhere around the bend; he heard footsteps, going the other way. “If we could speak in private,” he added, softening his voice, “I think it would be for the best.”

Collins was visibly reluctant. That didn't surprise him; he'd become used to the suspicion in her eyes. Ever since he'd joined the expedition, no one aboard
Galileo
had been willing to trust him…save perhaps Cole, and clearly he had his own agenda. Yet among the members of the flight crew, Collins was the only person willing to talk to him. She might only be the shuttle pilot, but she had Harker's ear, and Harker was not only second-in-command, but obviously no friend of the captain. If he could persuade her to listen…