Dark Beneath the Moon (30 page)

Hirin asked, “What about the moon—what the Protectorate was calling the ‘operant’ moon? The Chron apparently built it, but what was it for?”

Fha nodded gravely. “This is technology that the Chron appropriated from us. I shall try to explain.” She went silent for a moment, then continued. “It is a way to temporarily direct a wormhole to exit in a new location.”

Viss blew out a long, low whistle
from the bridge engineering board, where he’d claimed one of the skimchairs
. “That’s—incredible!”

The Corvid shook her head slightly. “It is a highly limited effect. But very useful, yes.”

“Limited how?” Yuskeya asked. She was probably running military applications through her mind already.

“There are two parts to the technology,” Fha explained. “An—operant is a good word, actually—and an activator. The operant is constructed near a wormhole entrance, while the activator is essentially a drive, installed on a ship. The operant and the activator act in concert to allow the replication of a—” Fha paused. She seemed to be searching for a word. “The replication of a ‘ghost’ wormhole. It has the same entry point as the original wormhole, but diverges along a new path to a different exit point.”

“Anywhere?” Baden leaned forward and breathed the word, his eyes shining like a true techdog in the presence of new and exciting technology.

Fha’s beak snapped open and shut in that alien approximation of laughter again. “Not quite anywhere. Sufficient data is required about the star system or region where the new exit point is to appear. And the ghosted wormhole path collapses after a period of time, or if the activator drive strays too far from the new exit.”

Viss asked the next question as it was forming in my own mind. “So, these operants and ghosted wormholes? Is it possible for us to use that technology? Wouldn’t it get us home faster?”

Fha cocked her head. “It might be possible to install an activator drive on board your vessel, although it would be of limited use. There are no operant installations along this route. And we do not have enough specific data to safely ghost a wormhole for you to follow home, or I would have simply suggested that. Given enough time, your own navigational data could be converted to use with the activator, I think. And . . .” Her voice trailed off as she seemed to think about the question. Finally she said, “When you emerge in your Nearspace system, there is an operant installation there. If the data conversion is complete by then, you could conceivably use it to reach your medical facility more quickly.”

“An operant installation
inside
Nearspace? Are you sure?” Hirin asked, frowning. “I was thinking the Chron must have used the one we found outside Delta Pavonis to move around during the war.”

“Absolutely,” the Corvid assured him. “Although they could also have used this one you speak of. The Chron installed and used one within Nearspace during the war, to access the various systems as they acquired data for them. It has not been used in a very long time. We positioned a station to restrict them from that system.”

“How could they do that without it being noticed?” Maja protested.

“Tau Ceti,” Yuskeya said, snapping her fingers. “Remember yesterday, I thought we would come out in Tau Ceti? I ran a full cross-reference last night, and that confirmed it. G8 star, huge debris disk, five planets with one in the habitable zone—it fits.”

“So the debris disk could mask the presence of the operant installation,” Rei mused. “You know, they could get away with it.”

“And with an operant installation there, they could ghost the wormhole to other places in Nearspace—making it seem like they appeared out of nowhere,” Baden added. “Sneaky
bastardos.
”

“What we thought was timeslipping wasn’t that at all,” Rei said.

“But, wait,” I protested. “If there was never such a thing as timeslipping, what delayed our initial message through the wormhole to the Domtaw?”

“Was it a wormhole that had been ghosted?” Fha asked.

“How would we know?”

“Did you observe unusual streaks or patterns inside the wormhole path? Fluctuations in other readings?”

Rei nodded. “Both those things.”

“This is one of the reasons we use the technology sparingly,” Fha said, “although the Chron show no such compunction. We discovered that wormholes which have been ghosted can suffer random aftereffects—time anomalies, excessive turbulence, increased radiation, and others—so that they are never again as fully stable as they once were.” The Corvid’s face remained impassive, but I thought her eyes seemed to harden. “We would like to find a way to stop the Chron using the technology on previously unghosted wormholes, but for the most part they are beyond our reach.”

I wondered suddenly if the Protectorate knew about any of this. They knew about the wormhole into the artifact moon system, after all, and wanted to keep it a secret. Lanar made it sound like that was a temporary thing, but what was to stop them from trying to keep the secret indefinitely? Now this wormhole into Tau Ceti. Were they in the dark . . . or had they been keeping the citizens of Nearspace in the dark? I would have to ask Lanar the next time I saw him. I hoped I wouldn’t be angry at his answer.

Viss said, “May I ask another question?”

“Of course.” The Corvid turned her holographic gaze in Viss’s direction.

“What happened to the Chron ship that tried to make it through the wormhole into Delta Pavonis? The skip into Nearspace, when they got past your asteroids and you had to pursue them?”

The Corvid shrugged. “They were caught inside the wormhole when our ship fired on them, and destroyed when the wormhole collapsed. We would have preferred to catch them sooner, naturally.”

“So would it be possible to set up weapons to guard wormholes, in addition to the asteroids to deter them? And if a Chron ship managed to get past the asteroids and into the wormhole . . .” Viss mimed an explosion, bursting his hands apart. “You said the wormhole will right itself in time, and be replaced in the meantime.”

The Corvid hesitated a moment before answering. “It is plausible, but risky. What about other ships near the wormhole? They could also be destroyed. The disruptions to commerce and travel? Not to mention that we have no data on the long-term effects of such a thing. We know what happens to the few wormholes that have been accidentally or experimentally collapsed, but widespread destruction could cause problems we can’t even imagine.”

It was Viss’s turn to shrug. “Okay, just a thought.”

“How long would it take to install an activator drive, and upgrade the propulsion system for us?” I asked. Time to get the conversation back on track. My head was pounding harder again, and I was ready for another nap.

“Two days, perhaps,” the Corvid said. “And if you can possibly afford to wait that long, I would advise it. It could substantially improve your chances of traversing the Chron system safely—or escaping pursuit if need be.”

“All right, two days,” I said. “Thank you for all your help. My crew will assist you in whatever you need to make this happen.”

The Corvid nodded and winked out.

And we had two days to prepare for Chron space.

“
I’VE COME UP
with a method to chart these previously unknown systems,” Yuskeya said as she returned the injector to the cupboard in First Aid. “You want to hear about it?”

I dangled my legs cautiously over the side of the gurney, hoping the meds wouldn’t take long to kick in. I had new sympathy for everyone I’d ever known who suffered from migraine headaches. Before this, I couldn’t have imagined what they were like. Now I had a new, very vivid, appreciation. I still hadn’t told Yuskeya about any other symptoms, though. What would be the point, if she couldn’t treat them anyway?

“Sure,” I said. “Good idea. We’ll want to give the Protectorate all the data we can.”

Yuskeya nodded. “We’ve only been in two new systems so far, and I don’t know how the Protectorate might have already designated the first one out of Delta Pavonis. It doesn’t matter, though.”

She crossed to the First Aid computer console and pulled up a personal file from her navigation charts, pointing to the entries she’d made so far. “I’m using a modified spectral classification system, simple identifiers. Maybe someday we’ll learn what the folks who live here actually call these stars,” she said with a smile.

“You’re optimistic,” I said.

“I’m prefacing all the stars since we left Nearspace with ‘OS’—for ‘Otherspace’,” she explained. “So the first system, out of Delta Pav, was OS-B8VI-01. Otherspace, then the spectral information, and 01 since it was the first one we skipped to. I logged the wormhole coordinates when we came through, too. So this system is OS-K0V-02.”

I grinned. “‘Otherspace’. I like it.”

“I was going for descriptive,” she said, “not necessarily scientific.”

“It works.”

“Great. I’ll keep an updated file with open access in the main computer.” She turned to leave the First Aid station.

Part of me hated to bring it up, but this seemed like as good a chance as any to talk to her about the ongoing tension between her and my engineer. “Yuskeya,” I said, “how are things between you and Viss?”

She turned to face me slowly, and leaned against the door, crossing her arms. Her dark eyes were wary. She’d taken to wearing her Protectorate uniform constantly, instead of her usual shipsuits or casual clothing. I wondered if she needed the comfort and familiarity of it, or if the choice spoke to something else. Perhaps the presence of Gerazan, a subordinate officer, on board? As some kind of a rebuke to Viss? Or did she simply want to be wearing it if things went . . . badly?

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

Her face had changed, shifting into that calm, expressionless poker-face I think they teach at the Protectorate
akademio
. Goodness knows, I’ve seen it enough times on Lanar, particularly when there’s something he can’t—or doesn’t want to—discuss with me. That spoke volumes all by itself.

I smiled. “Nice try. You think I haven’t noticed a little chill in the air between you two? More like an iceberg. It’s almost big enough to trip over.”

She sighed and shrugged. “We . . . have some things to work out.”

“Like the fact that you’re a Protectorate officer and didn’t tell anybody?” She opened her mouth, and I held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me; I’m fine with it. But I get the feeling Viss isn’t.”

“I wasn’t too thrilled to find out he was doing . . . questionable . . . work for the Protectorate without my knowledge, either,” she said. “Smuggling cargo on
your
ship? I’m also not entirely pleased with your brother on that one, but he’s my commanding officer. He can get away with doing things I don’t like and not telling me everything.”

I slid off the gurney. Pain lanced behind my eyes, but I tried to hide the flinch. The room swam around me, and my vision blurred as if I was about to start crying, then everything righted itself. “So, the way I see it, you’re mad at each other for being on the same side. It doesn’t make much sense.”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s a trust issue, then,” I said, and she bit her lip and nodded.

“I know Viss has an . . . interesting past,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I don’t want—or need—to know everything he’s done. But he should trust me enough to tell me what he’s doing
now.
”

“Even if his bosses tell him not to? Doesn’t that put what he did in the same category as what you did?”

She flushed, one corner of her mouth twisting. “I know what you’re saying, Luta. And I know it makes sense. But I don’t seem to feel it—here.” She closed a fist and tapped it lightly over her heart. “You know?”

I sighed. “I guess I do. Just . . . don’t stop trying,
okej
? I’d rather see my crew happy than miserable, and things are—uncertain.”

“What, because we’re stranded in unknown space, surrounded by enemies?”

“Well, I meant because I don’t know how long this headache will last, but sure, that too,” I said with a smile. “We need everyone working together to get through this, right?”

She stood to her full height. “You don’t need to worry about that aspect of it, Captain. You have my word on it.”

I patted her on the shoulder. “I know I do. Now let’s go see what else needs doing before we leave here and start the really dangerous part of the journey.”

WE SAW OUR
first real Corvids when they came to deliver the activator drive. Well, I say we “saw” them, but we didn’t, really. We saw two tall figures who arrived at the engineering deck airlock with an array of items on gravsled-type carriers. Fha had assured us that the Corvid technicians would be able to do their work wearing environment suits, so that the bay holding the
Tane Ikai
could remain configured for human habitation.

If they wore robes like Fha’s, they were hidden by the enviro-suits, which were, unsurprisingly, black. The material held a sheen similar to the ships and the station, which was explained once you got close enough. The surface was coated with a layer of tiny, flat, hexagonal discs. These slid and shifted as the Corvids moved, apparently reconfiguring themselves to suit some unknown parameters or purposes. As the light caught their movements, it created the shimmery effect.