A Sword Into Darkness

9: “CATHEDRALS IN AIR”

The Promise fulfilled its name with unemotional efficiency. From the moment of its launch, the probe continually modified and refined the approach, attempting to arrange a meeting with an unknown alien presence traveling toward Earth at nearly one fifth the speed of light. To a person, this might be a daunting task, dogged by doubt, uncertainty, and trepidation. To the expert systems of the probe, it was merely a matter of numbers.

The Deltans, at the time of launch, were 1.69 light-years away, traveling at 0.18 c toward Earth, and decelerating at a hundredth of a standard Earth gravity, or approximately 0.01 c per year. The Promise, presumably far smaller and less refined than the approaching alien, was nonetheless capable of greater accelerations.

The probe set out from Earth at a third of a gravity of acceleration, more than thirty times the rate of the Deltans. Angled down out of the ecliptic, that rough plane in which the planets revolved around the sun, and to one side of the blue spark which defined the approaching alien, Promise’s course allowed it to direct its drive corona away from Earth and all the inquisitive amateur astronomers who might ask too many hard questions about the secretive probe. It also allowed the probe to make an oblique approach upon the alien—covert, ostensibly non-threatening, and as stealthy as one could get while radiating at a high temperature.

Promise stacked up a list of accomplishments, all unacknowledged. Only hours from its launch, it surpassed Voyager 1 as the fastest man-made object, despite never going through the complicated rigmarole of planetary gravity assists. The probe’s enhanced photonic drive allowed it to brute-force itself past the record, to speeds which boggled the imagination. It rocketed across the orbits of each of the outer planets in turn, skirted by the wide expanse of the Kuiper belt and punched through the heliopause, where the pervasive solar wind was ground to a halt by the all-encompassing gasses of the interstellar medium. More than a hundred times the distance of Earth from the Sun, Promise entered true interstellar space, surpassing all previous probes.

But Gordon, Nathan, and Kris’s modest creation paid little attention. Its journey had only just begun.

The drive kept up a continuous massless thrust, using unimaginable photon pressure to muscle the probe to nearly relativistic velocities. At the speeds it traveled, a single grain of dust impacting the probe would be disastrous, so it protected itself by, once more, brute force methods. A laser continuously scanned the space immediately preceding the probe, lighting up and ionizing any particle massive enough to do Promise harm. The burning, ionized particle was then pushed out of the way by the strong electromagnetic field set up in the bow like a battering ram. Even with this defense, though, the probe could do nothing to stop the resulting radiation and cosmic rays that inundated it. For that, Promise relied upon thick layers of shielding and redundant, self-repairing electronics.

For twenty months, Promise kept up its uninterrupted course. Then, when it had built up a staggering velocity of nearly half the speed of light, the drive shut down, more than 10,000 astronomical units from Earth, halfway to the inner edge of the Oort Cloud. It turned, centering the Deltans in its sensors, and re-evaluated its approach. It made some minor adjustments, turned to point its drive at a nearly right angle to the target, and lit off again.

By starting out its journey driving at an angle to the Deltans, the probe had built up a significant velocity away from both the aliens and the Solar System. Now, after turnaround, it had to negate both that lateral velocity and the relativistic approach speed it had built up. The practical upshot was that the drive corona was now pointed away from the Deltans versus directly at them, allowing the probe to close relatively unannounced. It was wasteful in terms of energy expended, but the chosen route was as much of a defensive measure as the sandwiches of shield material blanketing the probe.

The days continued to add up. Promise reached the Oort Cloud, that diffuse spherical grouping of icy rocks from which Halley’s comet was born, and burned its way through the Cloud’s nearly 30,000 AU expanse. Two and a half years after its launch, the probe exited the last structure of the Solar System, over three quarters of a light-year from home. Months later, the probe flew past the arbitrary but significant milestone of one light-year from its origin, but it paid no attention.

At 1.08 light-years distant, the probe was nearly at rest to the Solar System and still accelerating. Promise’s motion reversed and it began to close then, building up speed in the approaching direction in order to match speeds with the Deltans. The Deltans themselves were no longer just a blur of blue light, but began to take on definition to the diminutive sensor package mounted on the probe.

The processors aboard the Promise woke up, commencing the endgame of its journey. At 1.05 light-years from Earth, at a speed of 0.14 c, the probe turned again and reduced its drive to only a fraction of its earlier intensity, matching the nearby Deltans. The shielded side panels of the probe came free and the Promise blossomed, extending sensors, auxiliary probes, and twin communication dishes—one pointed at the objective, and the larger one pointed back toward Earth.

Promise scanned and photographed the mysterious alien presence, so long unknown and now revealed. The probe launched smaller measuring devices in order to increase the scope of its investigation and retransmitted the reams of data it produced back to Earth, though the information would take just over a year to be received. The Deltans endured this scrutiny without reacting, seemingly inert.

Then Promise said hello.

February 18, 2045; Lee Estate; Santa Cruz, California

Gordon sprawled lazily in his chair, leaning as far back as the soft leather seat would go, his feet propped up on the desk in his home office. The door stood closed, with Melinda Graciola, his personal assistant, holding all distractions at bay from her place just outside the office. Gordon was free to lay back and just think, something which he rarely had time to do these days despite the dividends such uninterrupted concentration usually paid.

In each hand, Gordon held a glossy print, slowly bringing them together again and again, not really noticing the soft crashing noise he made every time the pictures touched. In his right hand, he held a picture of all they had worked to achieve—the ship, lying on its side in its floating hangar. It was a nameless, gunmetal gray monstrosity, a plated hexagonal pyramid covered in hatches, domes, sensors, and cables as workers crawled over it with last-minute labors, readying it for its rapidly approaching launch date. Nathan would be there now, overseeing the final outfitting, worrying over it like a mother hen. But that was good. It was his job to worry over such things.

Gordon Lee had other things to worry about.

In his left hand, he held the mystery—the clearest, most recent processed photo of the Deltans from the SSBA. For all of the array’s vaunted resolution and capability, though, this picture was little improvement over the one Lydia and Sykes had shown him years before. The glare from the Deltans’ photon drive simply blocked out all but the grossest of detail, and what was left behind looked like no ship Gordon could imagine. It was a false-color image of the central drive corona in brilliant blue-white, surrounded by four reddish shadows on the periphery of the drive’s circle.

The spacing of the shadows always seemed to suggest something to Gordon, but he had never put his finger on it. The three largest shadows formed the vertices of an equilateral triangle around the drive, with the smaller shadow nestled on the perimeter halfway between two of the vertices. And, as subsequent exposures showed, the four shadows rotated about the drive, always keeping their relative positions to one another, but rotating rigidly around nonetheless.

He softly crashed the pictures into one another again and then arched an eyebrow as a thought occurred to him. “Lagrange?” he asked to the empty room.

Before he could pursue that line of thought any further, there was a rapid knock upon the door and Melinda opened it without prompting. She had been a knockout when he hired her thirty years ago, primarily as eye-candy for jaded bureaucrats he tried to sell to, but she had proven to be capable beyond just her looks, a true asset to the company. In the intervening decades, she had traded gorgeous and voluptuous for glamorous and regal. Gordon was usually pleased to see her, but not when she interrupted him on the verge of something so big. “Damn it, Melinda—”

“Gordon, Castelworth’s duty monitor is on the line. She says she has an encrypted stream for your authorization.”

Gordon scowled. Castelworth was his Australian telemetry station, tracking and monitoring all the constellations of satellites Windward Tech maintained for both government and corporate clients. Why the hell would they need him to personally decrypt a transmission? “Can you ask—”

“Sir, it’s the Promise.”

Gordon shut his open mouth and nodded. He carefully laid his two photos down on his desk, one atop the other. He squared them precisely and then moved them off to the side, and tried to appear calm. Calm was not a good descriptor, though. Now, without anything to occupy his hands, his fingers drummed a rapid, complicated rhythm on the desk, a counterpoint to the numerous disparate trains of thought that tried to traverse his mind at the same time.

He looked up at Melinda and cleared his throat. Softly, he said. “Oh. Well, could you do me a favor and get in touch with Nathan for me. He should be here when we decrypt it. And Lydia Russ. Yeah, Lydia will never let me forget it if I leave her out. And Kris Muñoz and the Contact Evaluation Team, and the Physics Group, and the Astronomy Group, and, oh, and the Promise team, and—”

She smiled at his nervous fumbling. “How about I just follow your preplanned response? All those and more are already listed in the contact section. Remember? You wrote it before going senile a couple of minutes ago.”

“That would probably be for the best.” He tried to return her smile, but only got half of a crooked grin out.

Melinda shook her head and came up to the desk, reaching out to put one hand over his in reassurance. “You did it, Gordon. That’s what this means. The Promise is a success.” She squeezed his hand and then left, off to inform the company and the world that first contact had been made.

Shocked, Gordon continued to just sit there. He looked at his desk as if it might explode. Accessible within its active electronic surface was everything he had hoped for, prayed for, and feared for the last 22 years. He was a few keystrokes away from answers to questions that had consumed his life, but now at the critical moment, he was frozen in trepidation.

Besides, he reasoned, he really should wait for the others. It would mean more, experiencing it all with that highly elite crowd. That was the right thing to do.

He would not allow himself to be turned into some petulant child the night before Christmas. There would be no shaking of presents on his watch.

Gordon refused to spoil this.

No way.

Then his half grin broadened and lifted into an uncomfortably feral smile. “Yeah, right. Screw ‘em if they can’t handle being second.”

He tapped a capacitive control flush with surface of his desk and an integral keyboard and touchpad swelled out of the desktop, while a large expanse of the black lacquered surface became a wide monitor. Gordon logged on to Windward’s secure global network and clicked around until he was into Castelworth station’s server. There he performed a second login, scrolled over to the active and waiting telemetry streams and found a single icon that caused his heart to beat noticeably within his chest: the Promise.

Gordon held a breath for a moment and selected the icon. Streams of memorized pseudorandom digits tumbled forth from his fingertips and the decryption algorithm began to un-spool the compressed, jumbled data into several channels, all transmitted more than a year before.

One was a telemetry stream, which would help evaluate the health of the probe and the details of its encounter, but which would be completely unintelligible until processed by systems mirroring the probe itself. Then there was a communications log and a recording of all transmissions sent and received, the robotic equivalent of a cockpit voice recorder. Gordon hovered his cursor above this stream, anxious to hear what exchange there might have been with the aliens, but he did not select it. One of the other streams held an even greater allure.

The video log was an overview of all visual data and telemetry. He could see the encounter with the Deltans from the very moment Promise turned on its cameras. Though not as detailed as what would be found in the telemetry stream, it was immediately accessible.

Gordon selected it and saw that 43 minutes of video had been received, with more streaming in. He laughed. Due to the limits of relativity, from his perspective, Promise’s encounter was still “live”. Even though it had been transmitted a year before, to Earth it was as fresh as breaking news. To him, first contact was still going on. No one on the planet was as close to the Deltans as he was now.

Gordon started the video stream and leaned in, getting as close to the log and its various inset cameras as his in-desk monitor would allow. His eyes grew wide and he gasped in awe when the object of all his speculation swung into view. “It’s not a ship at all. Good god . . . .”

The probe grew closer to its quarry and he sighed, the only sound he made for minutes as history unfolded before him. Ten minutes later, he said to the empty room, “So that’s it. I was right—Lagrange points. Huh.”

Nothing happened after that, and Gordon grew impatient. He fast-forwarded the stream a bit, watching the encounter happen at four times the normal speed. Then, in minutes, he slowed again. “Here we go. Enough of this timid crap. Transmitting. Our first official words to the galaxy.”

After that, he froze, unable and unwilling to speed it up anymore as events unfurled faster and faster. His heart began to beat harder, growing from a noticeable thumping in his chest to a pounding pulsation in his ears, and then a burning agony that failed to subside. Sweat rolled from his face and Gordon clutched his chest as if to contain a heart that threatened to burst from him, but he refused to look away.

On the screen, the video stream ended with the abruptness of a filmstrip ripped from the projector. Gordon saw nothing but static, but the last images would be burned into his mind for the rest of his days, not that he really had any of those left.

Nathan pulled up to the house with a spray of displaced gravel flying out from his truck’s tires. He noted with a wince that Kris’s motorcycle was already there, but then smiled when he saw her rushing up the front steps. He jumped out the door and ran across the driveway, pushed by the twin drives of future history and the need to not let Kristene beat him inside.

He was up the steps and standing next to her before she had even finished knocking. He gave her his most dazzling smile, and she responded with a shake of her head and a half-smile of her own. “I still won,” she said.

Nathan shook his head. “Noooooo. I believe the taunt was, last one inside’s a rotten egg. No inside-eee, no win-eee.”

“You cheated. You started out twice as close as me. I had to get over here from the shipyard, through worse traffic.”

“While no doubt doing about Mach seven. It all evens out. I drive a truck bound to the laws of physics, while your little turbine-cycle follows rules no one’s ever thought about defining. Tell me, do you outrun the police or just teleport out of their jurisdiction?”

Kris smiled. “Neither. I’m invisible to radar when I’m up to speed.”

“Ah, that explains it.” She reached forward and knocked again. “Besides, it’s not as if one of us will actually see the video before the other. Gordon’s probably going to wait until we all get here so he can make a grand event out of it—the Great Unveiling of my Mad Endeavour.”

Nathan laughed. “Of course, he’s probably watched the whole first transmission himself by now.”

“And marked all the good parts,” Kris added.

They both nodded and said together, “That’s Gordon for you.” That made them both laugh, and Nathan took a half-step closer to her, to which she responded with a half-step of her own to keep the space between them. It was a subtle little dance they shared but never acknowledged, the legacy of Nathan’s rejection.

For a month after their confrontation in his hospital room, Kristene had avoided any and all contact with him, and he despaired that not only was their friendship doomed, but the project was as well. She could not stay mad forever, though. It was anathema to her nature.

What had begun then was a gentle return to the status quo. They were friendly, but it was work-friendly, not the exciting and playful friendship of a pair of acquaintances on the verge of becoming something more. She resumed her bright, joking effervescence, but now without any hint of flirtation.

And Nathan missed it terribly.

The project was on track, their interaction was pleasant, and there was little to no awkwardness, but where before the future had lain significantly before them, now there was only the present and the memory of a discarded past. He knew he had perhaps made his life’s biggest error.

Nathan opened his mouth to say something, anything to her, but the door finally opened and Melinda waved them inside, a cell suite tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She said into the phone, “Thank you. Yes, we’re all assembling at the estate, and we’ll review the files when everyone arrives. No, you don’t all have to be here—just a representative, though Mr. Lee is quite anxious for everyone to view it and give their opinion. Yes. Thank you, Dr. Chen. We’ll see you soon.” She took down the suite from its perch atop her shoulder and smiled at Kris and Nathan. “It’s so good to see you two. What I just said only applies to the riffraff. You can both go in and take a look now, if he hasn’t seen it all a couple of times by this point.”

Nathan smiled. “Thanks, Melinda. I think we’d both like to get a look at the telemetry before the huddled masses begin arriving. Is he in his office?”

She nodded. “Just knock and go in. I’ve got a few dozen more calls and e-mails to make, and I haven’t even gotten to the official government contacts yet.”

They nodded to her and both began walking through the house. As they made their way through the rooms and corridors, they shared a glance and a nervous smile. Kristene began walking faster, edging ahead of him. “Big day, don’t wanna be late.”

“You’re going to be the late Ms. Muñoz if you make me run through Gordon’s pretty house.” Nathan took longer strides and kept pace, causing Kris to jog forward a few steps as preface to a run, but then she bumped a table and rebounded limping and cursing. Nathan shook his head and slowed his walk to match her now much slower gait.

They reached the estate’s home office together. Nathan knocked and held the door open for Kristene. He opened his mouth to say something, but it died away unsaid when he heard Kristene’s cry and saw for himself the scene in Gordon’s office.

Gordon lay on the floor in a pile of papers, face up and gasping, trying to raise himself up by pulling on the desk. His cheeks were sunken and a gray pallor covered his face. Static played on the surface of his pill-strewn desktop, and his chair was knocked over on its side.

Nathan rushed in, knelt at his side, and immediately felt the old man’s neck. The pulse was so rapid and light it was nigh indiscernible. He turned to capture Kristene in his gaze and commanded, “Call 911! Then get Melinda in here with the defibrillator. Go!”

She rushed out the doorway without a word, and Nathan laid Gordon flat on the floor, grasping his hand firmly, and catching the suffering man’s panicked gaze with his own eyes. “Gordon, lay still, we’re getting help.” He glanced at the top of the desk and saw all the little white pills scattered over its surface. “Your medication? Did you take your pills, Gordon?”

It took a moment for Lee to get control of his pained, gasping breath, but eventually he said in a harsh, broken whisper, “—es … took ‘em … no good.”

“Okay. Just lay back and rest. Melinda’s getting your AED and Kris is calling for an ambulance. You just stay still and concentrate on not dying, all right? The last thing you want is me giving you CPR, you know?”

Gordon grinned behind a mask of pain. “Ugliest … damn nurse … ever had.” He winced, arched his back and clutched his chest and left arm as another attack hit him.

Nathan looked desperately to the doorway as he held Gordon still, but no one appeared there. “Melinda! Hurry up!”

Lee reached up, grabbed Nathan’s arm and dragged him down close. He seethed through his clenched teeth, hissing, “Listen … saw it … bad. All bad … worse than I feared.”

“Gordon, lay still and calm down. Don’t worry about that now.”

“Not a ship … worse … cathedrals … burning stars for engines … Nathan … you have to go … soonest … have to test them … must start now.”

“We will, boss. The ship’s ready, and the crew’s ready, but don’t worry about that now! You’ll be there to see us launch and you’ll be there when we get back.”

“Don’t understand … government … wasn’t real before … is now … they’ll take it … from us … can’t let them … our ship … not theirs.”

Nathan felt Gordon’s grip slacking off. His eyes took on a faraway look as he lay back down. Nathan followed him to the floor, straining to catch every increasingly softer word.

Melinda and Kris ran into the room, frantic, eyes lined in red, but working together in quiet confidence. Melinda broke open the large orange case of a portable Automatic External Defibrillator and began to lay out the unit next to Nathan and Gordon, ripping off plastic wrapping and peeling the paper off a pair of sticky panel electrodes while the unit charged up. She pushed Nathan to one side and ripped open Gordon’s oxford shirt, exposing a smooth chest with unnaturally yellow and grayish skin. Melinda attached the electrodes as Nathan moved out of her way, still keeping his ear close to Gordon’s mouth.

The old man’s words were little more than breathy whispers. “Take up my sword … you must … take up my sword … save us … how’s it go … liberty … or death.”

With that, his pupils dilated and the last hint of rosy vitality faded from his skin. He seemed to deflate slightly and the AED, which had been giving Melinda verbal instructions unnoticed by Nathan, spoke out again in a calm, female contralto, “No cardiac rhythm detected. Unable to regulate rhythm. Perform CPR until rhythm re-established.”

Melinda and Kris cried openly. Nathan moved the secretary over and then settled his hands over a point an inch or so above the base of Gordon’s sternum. He locked his elbows and then pushed down and released, pushed down and released. He kept it up for a count of thirty and then sat back, looking to Melinda, who was still fiddling with the AED, trying to get it to magically bring their employer and friend back to life, instead of just repeating the same unhelpful statement over and over again.

“Melinda!” Nathan said sharply. “Breath for him. Two breaths.”

She nodded and wiped pendulous tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. She tilted Gordon’s head back, lowered her lips to his, and breathed for him, twice. Nathan rose up to begin chest progressions again, and paid no attention to the tears that coursed down his own cheeks. He and Melinda alternated back and forth, listening to the AED repeat itself and watching Gordon’s unchanging body without hope.

Kristene looked from one to the other, shaking her head and moving gently in to relieve either Nathan or Melinda if their will began to flag. The three of them kept it up for ten minutes, silent for the most part, until the ambulance and EMT’s arrived, ready to do all that was possible to hold Gordon to the corporeal realm.

But Gordon Elliot Lee, who had cast such a large shadow for such a slight man over the course of his 68 years, had already left this world for the next, surpassing even the Promise in the scope of his final journey.

Hours later, Nathan re-entered the house and shut the door numbly behind him. He stood still and listened. No one was there. Melinda had gone home from the hospital with Kris in tow, both of them discussing funeral arrangements in somber, quiet tones. The paramedics, police, and a baker’s dozen of reporters were gone, their questions asked and answered with quiet respect and understanding, for the most part. The house staff, who always tried to be pretty much invisible, were indeed gone, the object of their labors no longer having the need for such care.

Nathan was alone.

He listened deeply, trying to block out the sound of his own breathing and the movement of his clothes. All was silent. There was nothing left. Gordon Lee could fill a room with his presence, and his spirit could keep it brimming with excitement even after he left, but none of that lingered now. Gordon was gone and not even a ghost remained to shepherd them through what lay ahead.

He shook his head, returned Gordon’s keys to his pockets and walked over to the immense terracotta warrior that dominated the foyer. Nathan looked up at it, bowed his head slightly in respect, and then proceeded on through the darkened, quiet interior of Gordon’s former home. He moved with a purpose, for he had one, but nostalgia and grief gave him a halting gait as he passed objects which had been merely part of the background, but now took on the significance of a thousand memories.

After the pain of losing his place in the Navy, this place had become his life and his home. It was not where he lived, but it was where his life had regained meaning. Gordon had given him something beyond any mere job or project. Gordon had given him purpose, had made Nathan matter again to the world, and made the world matter to Nathan. It was a debt he had not even realized he owed before, and now it was too late to ever repay it.

Nathan reached the home office, lit only by the frozen static on the desk screen. The stream was still logged in. He knew that the telemetry stream had already been viewed by almost everyone on the short list with access to the server, but he himself had not had a chance to review it yet. Nathan stepped carefully around the desk, self consciously avoiding the spot where Gordon had died, and sat down. He shook his head and scrolled the cursor around, clicking to begin the video log again.

The static cleared and a video divided into four images began. First was a visible spectrum, light-enhanced view out of the main camera. Next to it was the same scene, but in a false color, multi-spectrum view. Below the first images was the video from the sub-probes Promise had launched, switching from one unit to another every few seconds. The last image was a view of the Promise itself, taken from a spar extended from the main hull.

The probe looked to be in decent shape—discolored slightly, with multicolored burns and pockmarks around the shielded nosecone, but nothing appeared to be broken or missing. The other images showed nothing but stars and space. Then the main views rotated and the Deltans were revealed for the first time.

They filled the images. Either the probe was extremely close, the magnification was all the way up, or the approaching aliens were really, really big. Nathan’s jaw fell slack and he forgot to breathe for a moment. The “ship” was unlike anything he had expected. And it was not really a ship at all.

The most immediate feature was the Deltan drive. It was not a photonic drive or rocket as they had surmised, though it might ultimately produce a similar effect. This was, for all intents and purposes, a sun.

It appeared as if someone had lassoed a star and forced it to radiate in only a single direction. Blue white light blasted forth from one pole of a distended ball of plasma. The tortured sphere of the drive had its own roiling purple white and golden red radiance, but it was far outshone by the thrust of the drive. Where the “star” was constrained, brilliant ropes of silvery light bound it, forcing it out of its natural form and putting it to work for the ornate bodies orbiting it.

Surrounding the drive, but unconnected to it by any visible means, were four shapes. The configuration of those shapes had perplexed Gordon for years. He had never figured out what significance they had, but it all seemed obvious to Nathan upon seeing it now. The bodies orbiting the Deltan drive were positioned directly upon the classic Lagrange points—three of the shapes in an equilateral triangle around the drive, with the fourth shape stuck in the middle of one of the sides.

For any two bodies in a gravitationally bound system, where one body is much more massive than another, there were points of gravitational minima and maxima, where another body so placed would be in equilibrium with the first two bodies and the whole system could exist in stable harmony. These were known as the Lagrange points, designated L1 through L5, and these were the points that the four constructs surrounding the drive were configured around.

The drive obviously filled the role of the central, massive body. The other body of the “two body problem” was the smallest of the constructs. Illuminated by a brilliant violet-red glow from the equator of the drive, this vessel was the most starship-like of the four. It appeared as a dully metallic, plated ovoid, with various projections and hatches of unknown purpose adorning its hull. The vessel had none of the comforting normalities of a human construct—no recognizable docking points, solar panels, thrusters, or view ports. Nathan could hardly even tell the front from the back. The overlapping rings of plates which formed the hull gave it a vaguely arthropod-like appearance, but Nathan was probably more closely related to a lobster than these things were. Below this vessel, all of the silver-white bands of energy around the drive sphere came together, though for what purpose, Nathan was not ready to guess.

At the L3 point, directly opposite the first vessel across the drive, was an irregular sphere of plated metal. It looked … incomplete. The coloring was not uniform, and there appeared to be nothing purposeful or special about it. There was no reason to believe he could tell anything from first appearances, but to him it looked like nothing so much as a junk heap. It was easily twice the size of the first vessel, but if this really was a Lagrangian configuration, it would have to be much less massive.

At the L4 and L5 points, 60 degrees ahead and 60 degrees behind the first vessel in its orbit about the drive, were the last two constructs. Similar in size and basic shape to the junk pile at the L3 point, these appeared in no way incomplete. These were nothing less than the cathedrals Gordon had spoken of in his last words.

The one orbiting at L5 was somewhat spherical or polyhedral, and was covered with long, curving chambers defined by angular ribs, adorned with almost gothic arches. The structure appeared to be made of dark gray, polished stone blocks, accentuated by copper and silver edgework and statuary. There were no lights to reveal its darkly shadowed alcoves, but half of the structure was illuminated by the deep carmine glow from the drive. Nothing about it seemed practical or spaceship-like. Instead, it appeared to be the illegitimate offspring of Notre Dame and Westminster Abbey as interpreted by Salvador Dali or M. C. Escher.

L4 sported a construct similar in purpose to the gothic structure at L5 (in so far as it bore no relation to either of the two main bodies or the junk heap at L3), but completely different in style and appearance. It was also somewhat spherical, but appeared lumpy and organic. Domes, spires, and hollows adorned the structure, configured in a pleasant, orderly fashion, but which seemed to have been extruded naturally rather than built. It looked to be made of an off-white plastic or polyp, lit on one side by the drive’s reddish-purple glow, while complex geometric designs of intersecting whorls of color and dark, looping lines broke up the uniform surface coloring. By the way the light played over the designs, they appeared to be cut into the surface of the construct vice merely drawn upon it.

The four structures of the Deltan “system” revolved slowly around the equator of the drive, rotating about their common polar axes so that no one side was tidally locked toward the star-like sphere of plasma. Whether this system was indeed gravitationally bound like a planetary or solar system, or whether there were other forces at play, Nathan would have to wait for the telemetry analysis, but he felt himself making his own assumptions about the system regardless.

The drive seemed to be an enormously powerful and skilled manipulation of several forces, well beyond Earth’s own capability, but it did not feel magical or beyond all understanding. The drive was apparently controlled by the lobster-like ship, and produced a massive thrust in order to slowly accelerate its immense bulk from star system to star system. The other constructs were then dragged along behind, bound to it by gravity, electromagnetism, or some other force unknown to humanity. The constructs themselves inspired a number of different interpretations, none of which had any validity other than the feeling in Nathan’s gut.

For the junk heap at L3, Nathan felt nothing. It was a non-entity, neither alluring nor threatening. For the ornate structures, gothic and organic at L5 and L4, Nathan felt a sense of wonder and enticement. They practically invited exploration as works of art and design—design along two completely different aesthetic frameworks. The whole system was alien, and every part of it seemed alien to every other part.

Only the lobster-like control ship carried with it any negative connotation. It looked menacing, though not one element of it could be pointed out as threatening, and it did nothing but revolve about the drive, same as the others. Staring at it, though, he could not help but feel a sense of dread. Perhaps he attributed too much to it because of what happened to Gordon, but the plated vessel appeared to be vaguely threatening.

The view devoted to the sub-probes came to life as one or another made a close flyby of each structure. More detail was seen of the individual vessels, but nothing indicated any life aboard. The vessels cruised on, dragged by the forces of the drive to an eventual rendezvous with the solar system, but they did so without change or response. They appeared to be either dead or asleep. Nathan wondered what the telemetry would show.

Getting nowhere with the sub-probes, Promise would move to the next step. Lights came on around the probe—with flashing indicators above the auxiliary communication disk and the lidar transceiver, declaring its presence for all to see in case any potential viewers had missed it. He could not tell from the video, but he knew the probe would now begin transmitting to the four vessels, attempting to make contact.

Nathan began to tap a rhythm on the desk—one, two … one, two, three … one through five … one through seven, and so on. It was the classic “first contact” transmission, the first thirty-three prime numbers, from 2 to 137, the inverse of physic’s fine structure constant. It was a decidedly nonrandom set that would communicate a variety of things to any potential extraterrestrial visitors. Namely, that humanity knew what a prime number was, and its significance, that we were a mathematical, reasoning species, and could thus be seen as potential peers to the advanced race dropping by for a visit. Whether or not this implied message would get across to these particular aliens, Nathan had no idea, but it always seemed to work in the movies.

Promise would broadcast the prime transmission at a number of different frequencies and rates, from long wavelength radio, to microwaves, visible light, and ultraviolet, hoping to come across something the Deltans would notice. It would keep this up for 24 hours, repeating the sequence over and over again until some response was received. If a response came in, it would reply in kind and then broadcast the greeting message on the appropriate frequency, thus beginning the long process of forming a primer for common communication. If no response was received during that first 24 hours, Promise would release additional adjunct probes, this time attempting a physical touchdown and contact with one of the alien structures.

Nathan tapped out the twelfth prime (37) when the Deltan system stopped revolving.

He sat up straight in Gordon’s chair. There had been no other change in radiance or activity, but the four structures suddenly ceased their ponderous orbits about the drive. They stood still, frozen in their positions, belying the necessities of orbital mechanics. Obviously, there were other forces involved than mere gravity and inertia. He wondered how it worked, how much sheer energy it must have taken to stop the motion of those enormous masses.

Then, even more rapidly than they had come to a stop, the system spun in the reverse direction until the main, arthropod-like vessel was aligned closest to Promise, whereupon it stopped again. Nathan shook his head, in awe of this moment. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ear. Was this sudden activity what had led to Gordon’s attack?

Promise would have noticed this change in motion and likely taken it as a response. The prime transmission would have ended and the welcome message would go out, a robotic probe acting as mankind’s first ambassador to the stars. In his head, Nathan heard the words in Gordon’s own voice, “Greetings to you, our unknown visitors from a nearby star. We welcome you to our solar system in the name of all the free inhabitants of Earth. Please allow this probe to exchange data with you in our stead, such that we might form some bridge for open and enlightening communication between our two species.” Whereupon, the probe would begin a math lesson, graduating from there to sounds, letters, and pictures, and from there to concepts and actual negotiations.

Mankind had come far from the days of a golden record slapped onto a beeping probe. Not that it mattered in the least.

Before Gordon’s message would even have had a chance to finish, the Deltan system responded. Threads of silvery light lanced out from each of the structures to the adjunct probes Promise had fired near them. Telemetry on the third screen turned to static. The silvery light flared about each mini-probe until they were all supplanted by spherical clouds of sparkling dust. The dust clouds then began to break up and stream toward the articulated plate hull of the be-shelled vessel.

Each stream of dust was drawn up into the main ship through unseen vents, soon vanishing completely. Nathan let loose a ragged breath, unaware he had been holding it. Some of its capability and intent now revealed, the ship appeared even more menacing than it had before.

A silvery beam, either larger and brighter than the others or merely closer, shot out from the primary vessel and struck the Promise mid-frame. Where the beam made contact, the surface of the probe wavered and became indistinct. The effect slowly spread out from the point of impact, and static began to show up in the remaining camera views.

Promise had been programmed for hostility, though.

The photon drive fired at full thrust, forcing the probe out of the beam’s path at several g’s of acceleration. The spar holding the probe’s self-camera bent down under the thrust, pulling the probe out of the central view. Despite that and the vibration from the engine, Promise was still visible and still transmitting.

The beam moved to re-engage the probe, causing Promise to shift and redirect or reverse thrust each few seconds. Every time the beam skated by with another glancing blow, the new hit began to waver and become indistinct like the first. The effect was not reliant upon the beam either. Damage from the first strike and every subsequent one still spread further, albeit at a slower pace than when the beam had been feeding it. Sparkling dust streamed away from the probe, crumbs left behind by whatever invisible forces were eating the hull.

Promise made a valiant effort, but it was doomed from the start. Whoever it was that controlled the silver beam soon grew tired of the probe’s attempt at being elusive. An invisible beam, its presence revealed only by its devastating effect, stabbed out from the ship. A brightly shining cut opened up the reactor and the drive chamber, appearing almost at once. Chunks of molten debris exploded from the photon drive and the thrust cut out, leaving the probe adrift and twisting.

Static filled the screen and faded away, cycling in and out as the transmission dish was pulled past the limits of its gimbals and it lost the lock on Earth. The laser did not bother making a second pass, its operator content with only crippling the agile probe.

Maneuvers at an end, the silver beam returned, locking on to a single spot on the probe’s hull. The disintegrating effect continued on, hull plates, framework and components swiftly transmuting into so much scintillating dust, all of which streamed away to be collected by the ship.

There was a flicker, a flare, and then static. Nathan watched the static until it froze at the end of the video stream, and then continued to sit there. His heart pounded at the confirmation of everything they had worried about, and a vision of Gordon gasping upon the floor returned to him, unbidden.

If he was absolutely honest with himself, he had to admit that he had never really, truly believed in the Deltans. Seeing them disintegrate something you had built with your own hands had a way of convincing even the harshest skeptics, though.

It all came crashing in upon him: the invasion, Gordon, the ship, Kris, the government, his failure aboard the Rivero. Nathan was one man, caught up in events that had already battered him about, but this was huge, bigger than himself, bigger than anything he had ever been prepared for.

What the hell am I going to do?

He stood and rubbed his face vigorously, trying to banish the chills he felt through sheer manual effort. He wandered about the office, thoughts wild and unfocused, veering between reasonable worries and irrational, unreasonable terror.

Eventually he stopped, unsure whether his misery would be better dispelled by crying for his lot or laughing at the utter futility of all they had done. He settled for shaking his head and just looked down. He found himself standing in the spot where Gordon died.

Nathan resisted the urge to sidestep. He stood his ground and looked down at the carpet that had been Gordon Lee’s deathbed. Slowly, but with a noticeable salutary effect, some of the wild emotion dropped away, supplanted by clear, orderly purpose.

Gordon had faith in him. Gordon had chosen him to do this, and Gordon had invested everything in Nathan, sure that he could indeed handle whatever might happen. Nathan felt that he himself was a lesser man than his mentor had been, so how could he possibly have the audacity to doubt him?

The fear fell away. The worries fell into a hierarchy of concerns, none of which was insoluble. The misery faded. In their place rose a new emotion, an emotion that could be just as debilitating, but which also was key to striving and succeeding.

Anger.

Nathan knelt, placing one hand on the carpet where Gordon’s head had lain and one hand on the frozen static of the desk screen. The Deltans had claimed their first victim, the one man who had risen up to defend humanity against an unknown threat, and if Nathan had anything to say about it, he would be the last victim they would ever claim.