Starplex

Chapter XVII

The bridge was calm, the six workstations floating serenely against the holographic night. It was 0500 ship’s time; delta shift was in the final hour of its watch.

In the director’s position was an Ib named Wineglass; other Ibs were at the Internal-Ops and Helm stations. Physical sciences was slaved to a dolphin named Melondent, a Waldahud was at life sciences, and a human named Denna Van Hausen was at External Ops.

A grid of force screens radiated down from the invisible ceiling, creating millimeter-wide vacuum gaps between each workstation, preventing transmission of noise between them. The Ib at Internal Ops was engaged in a holographic conference with three miniature floating Ibs and three disembodied Waldahud heads. The human at External was reading a novel on one of her monitor screens.

Suddenly, the silencing force fields snapped off and an alarm began to sound. “Unidentified ship approaching,” announced PHANTOM.

“There!” said Van Hausen, pointing to the image of the nearby star. “It’s just passing from behind the photosphere.” PHANTOM was showing the unknown ship as a small red triangle; the actual vessel was far too small to be visible at this distance.

“Any chance that it’s just a watson?” asked Wineglass, his British accent carrying a hint of Cockney.

“None,” said Van Hausen. “It’s at least as big as one of our probeships.”

Lights moved across Wineglass’s web. “Let’s get a look at it,” he said. The Ib at the helm station rotated the ship slightly so that the deck-seventy optical array was aimed at the intruder. A square frame appeared around part of the star, and within it a magnified view appeared. The approaching ship was illuminated on one side by the green star. The other side was a black silhouette, visible only because it eclipsed the background stars.

Wineglass spoke to Kreet, the Waldahud on his right. “That looks like a Waldahud design. The central engine pod, no?”

Waldahudin believed each ship—or building or vehicle—should be unique; they did not mass-produce from the same design. Kreet lifted all four of his shoulders. “Maybe,” he said.

“Any transponder signal, Denna?” asked Wineglass.

“If there is one,” the human said, “it’s lost in the noise from the star.”

“Please try to contact the ship.”

“Transmitting,” said Denna. “But they’re still over fifty million klicks away; it’ll take almost six minutes for any reply, and—God!”

A second ship was coming around the limb of the green star. It was similar in size to the first, but had a different, more blocky design. Still, the trademark Waldahud central engine pod was visible.

“Better get Keith down here,” said Wineglass.

Lights rippled across the Ib at InOps. “Director Lansing to the bridge!”

“Try to contact the second ship, too,” Wineglass said.

“Doing so,” said Van Hausen… “And—Jesus, I’ll try to contact that third one, as well.” Another ship, half emerald fire glinting off polished metal, half black nothingness, was emerging from behind the star. A moment later a fourth and then a fifth appeared.

“It’s a bloody armada,” said Van Hausen.

“They Waldahud ships clearly are,” said Melondent from his open pool to the left of the physics workstation. “Thruster exhaust signatures most characteristic.”

“But what would five—six, eight—eight Waldahud craft want here?” asked Wineglass. “Denna, where are they heading?”

“They’re doing parabolic paths around the star,” the human woman said. “Hard to say exactly where they’re planning to end up, but Starplex’s current position is within eight degrees of the most likely projected course.”

“They after us are coming,” said Melondent. “We should—”

A door appeared in the hologram. Keith Lansing strode onto the bridge, unshaven, hair matted down from sleep.

“Sorry to wake you early,” said Wineglass, rolling away from the director’s workstation, “but we have company.”

Keith nodded at the Ib, and waited for a polychair to emerge from the trapdoor in front of his console. It was already morphing into human configuration as it rose up from the floor. Keith seated himself. “You’ve tried contacting them?”

“Yes,” said Denna. “Earliest possible response is in forty-eight seconds, though.”

“They’re Waldahud ships, aren’t they?” said Keith, his workstation rising to the height he preferred.

“Very likely so,” said Wineglass, “although, of course, Waldahud ships are sold all over the Commonwealth. They could be crewed by somebody else.”

Keith rubbed sleep from his eyes. “How did so many ships arrive without our knowing it?”

“They must have emerged one at a time from the shortcut while it was shielded from our view by the green star,” Wineglass said.

“Christ, of course,” said Keith. He consulted the readout of who was operating which station. “Double-Dot, get Jag down here.”

The Ib at Internal Ops slapped his control panel with ropes, then, a moment later, said, “Jag has his communications routed to a voice mailbox. It’s his normal sleep period.”

“Override,” said Keith. “Get him down here right now. Denna, any reply to our messages?”

“Nothing.”

Keith glanced up at the glowing digital clocks floating against the starfield. “It’s almost shift change anyway,” he said. “Let’s get the full alpha-shift staff down here.”

“Alpha shift, report immediately to the bridge,” said Double-Dot. “Lianne Karendaughter, Thorald Magnor, Rhombus, Jag, and Clatissa Cervantes to the bridge, please.”

“Thank you,” said Keith. “Denna, open a channel to all the approaching ships.”

“Open.”

“This is G. K. Lansing, Director of the Commonwealth research vessel Starplex. State your business, please.”

“Transmitting,” said Denna. “They’ve closed the distance between us and them considerably. If they care to respond to your latest message, we should have an answer in under three minutes.”

A door opened up in the part of the hologram displaying the framed close-up of the approaching craft. Jag walked through, his fur not yet brushed. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“Maybe nothing,” said Keith “but eight Waldahud ships are approaching Starplex. Do you know why?”

All four shoulders moved up and down. “I have no idea.”

“They are refusing to respond to hails, and—”

“I said I have no idea.” Jag turned around and faced the hologram where the door had been. All his eyes began tracking independently, each one watching a different approaching ship.

“What kind of ships are those?” asked Keith. “Scouts?”

“They are the right size for that,” said Jag.

“How many crew members aboard each?”

“Starships are not my field,” said Jag.

Keith looked at the Waldahud at life sciences. “You, there—Kreet, is it? How many people aboard such a ship?”

“Perhaps six,” said Kreet. “No more than that.”

Two of the four bridge doors opened simultaneously. Thorald Magnor walked in through one, and Rissa Cervantes came in through the other. The Ib and the Waldahud vacated the helm and life-sciences stations to make room for them.

“Eight ships are approaching Starplex,” said Keith, to Rissa and Thor.

Rissa nodded. “PHANTOM briefed us en route. But no additional ships should have come through the shortcut until we gave the okay.” She stood by her console, waiting for the chair to configure itself.

“Maybe they’re here by accident,” said Thor, tapping some keys on his console while his chair rose from beneath the deck. “When a new shortcut comes on-line, the acceptable approach angles to select a desired destination grow narrower. They could have been sloppy in their calculations. Maybe they meant to go somewhere else.”

“One pilot might make a mistake,” said Keith. “But eight?”

“The communications-lag time is up,” said Denna. “If they’d wanted to reply to your latest message, they could have done so by now.” Rhombus had entered a moment earlier, but was content to wheel up to a position next to the ExOps workstation without getting Denna to vacate.

“Thor, if I give the order to get out of here,” asked Keith, “can we escape those ships?”

Thor shrugged. “I doubt it. They’re blocking the shortcut, so we can’t go that way. And see those medial rings around their engine pods? Those are associated with Waldahud Gatob-class hyperdrives. Of course, no one can use a hyperdrive this close to the green star, but if we tried to get away, eventually we would be out in space that was flat enough for hyperdrives to be engaged, and then they’d be on us in a second.”

Keith frowned.

“The ships are fanning out,” said Thor. “I’d call it an attack formation.”

“Attack?” said Rhombus, lights strobing incredulously.

“Incoming message,” said Denna.

Another part of the sky hologram was blocked off by a glowing border. Inside it a Waldahud face appeared, framed by brown fur streaked with copper. “Lansing commanding Starplex,” said the translated voice, “I am Gawst. Mark that name well: Gawst.” Keith nodded; to a Waldahud male, credit was everything. “We have come to escort Starplex back through the shortcut. You will surrender—”

“How long for a reply to reach them?” asked Keith.

“—your ship to us.”

Denna consulted a readout. “Forty-three seconds.”

“Cooperate,” continued Gawst, “and no harm will come to your vessel or crew.”

“Thor, can we dive toward the shortcut apparently on one trajectory, but at the last moment change direction so that we’ll exit somewhere other than where they’d expect?”

The helm officer shook his head. “Those little scouts might pull it off, but Starplex’s volume is three million cubic meters. I can’t make it tap-dance.”

“How long until those ships reach us?”

“They’re moving at point-one-c,” said Thor. “They’ll be on us in less than twenty minutes.”

“Lansing to Gawst: Starplex is Commonwealth property. Request denied. Off. Rhombus, let me know when they’ve received that message.” Lianne Karendaughter strode onto the bridge. “I want some options, folks,” said Keith.

“Option number one,” said Lianne, taking her seat. “Retreat. The farther we are from the shortcut, the less likely they will be able to coerce us through it.”

“Right. Thor, let’s—”

“Forgive the interruption, Keith,” said Rhombus. “Your message has been received.”

“Good. Thor, let’s get out of here. Full thruster power.”

“I’ll take us away at an angle,” said Thor. “We don’t want to move into the dark-matter field. It’s an obstacle course, and small ships will be better able to handle it than we will.”

“Fine,” said Keith. “Rhombus, see if you can get a watson with today’s mission logs through to Tau Ceti. I want to alert Premier Kenyatta.”

“Doing so. But it will take over an hour to reach the shortcut from here, and—excuse me: incoming message from Gawst.”

“Lansing,” said Gawst, “Starplex was built at the Rehbollo shipyards and is of Rehbollo registry, and therefore is Waldahud property. Let us avoid as much unpleasantness as possible. Once the ship is returned to Rehbollo, we will release all crew members for immediate repatriation to their home systems.”

“Reply,” snapped Lansing. “Starplex’s construction was funded by all the Commonwealth worlds, and its registration is just a formality; all ships require a homeworld of record. Your claim is rejected. If necessary, this ship will defend itself against unlawful seizure. Off.”

“Defend itself?” said Thor, shaking his head. “Keith, this ship has no armament.”

“I’m well aware of that,” snapped Keith. “Lianne, give me a full inventory of all shipboard equipment that can be used as weapons. If anything aboard can discharge an energy beam, or throw an object, or can be made to blow up, I want to know about it.”

“Working on it,” said Lianne, hands dancing over her console.

“Starplex wasn’t designed for fancy flying,” said Thor, speaking to a Keith hologram above the rim of his console. “We’ll wallow like a hippopotamus in heat compared to small fighters.”

“Then we’ll fight them on their terms,” said Keith. “We’ll defend Starplex with our probeships.” He glanced at the list Lianne was feeding through to his number-three monitor: geological digging lasers, mining explosives, mass drivers used for launching probes. “Lianne, coordinate with Rhombus on getting as much of that equipment as possible loaded into our five fastest probeships. I want everything aboard in fifteen minutes; I don’t care what you have to rip apart to accomplish that.”

Denna Van Hausen finally moved away from the ExOps console and Rhombus rolled into place. Manipulator ropes darted across the controls, and Rhombus’s sensor web flowed half onto the panel to better interface with the equipment.

“Even with a slapped-together armament,” said Thor, “our probeships aren’t going to be able to outgun real fighting craft.”

“I’m not planning to outgun them,” said Keith. “Starplex may be of Waldahud construction, but our probeships aren’t.”

“Granted they may be reluctant to fire on Ibese craft,” said Thor, “but—”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” said Keith. “Unlike the approaching craft, our probeships weren’t designed by Waldahud engineers.”

“Ah—and we have dolphins to pilot them!” crowed Thor.

“Precisely,” said Keith. “PHANTOM, intercom with direct holo links: Longbottle, Thinfin, Nickedfluke, Squint, Sidestripe, respond.” Drawn-out dolphin heads began to pop into existence above Keith’s console.

“Here.”

“What happening is?”

“Thinfin, acknowledging.”

“Yes, Keith?”

“Hello.”

“We are about to be attacked by Waldahud craft,” said Keith. “Our probeships are more maneuverable—if dolphins pilot them. It will be dangerous, but so will staying here and doing nothing. Are you willing to—”

“Ship is home ocean now—we protect!”

“If necessary, help will I.”

“Ready to assist.”

“Okay.”

“I—yes, will do it.”

“Excellent,” said Keith. “Proceed to launch bays. Rhombus will give you your ship assignments.”

Thor looked at his Keith hologram. “There’s no doubt that our ships are more responsive—but dolphins have no experience with weapons. They should each have someone else on board to act as gunner.”

Rhombus’s web flashed. “Sentients will die if weapons are used.”

“We can’t stand by and not defend ourselves,” declared Thor.

“To surrender our ship is better,” said Rhombus.

“No,” said Keith. “I refuse to do that.”

“But to kill—”

“No one need be killed,” said Keith. “We can shoot for the engine units, try to disable the Waldahud ships without breaching their habitats. As for gunners—we’re all just scientists and diplomats.” He considered for a moment. “PHANTOM, consult personnel records. Who would make the five most proficient gunners?”

“Calculating. Done: Wong, Wai-Jeng. Smith-Tate, Helena. Leed Jelisko em-Layth. Cervantes, Clarissa. Dask Honibo em-Kalch.”

“Rissa…?” said Keith under his breath.

“If the object is to fire geological lasers,” said Thor, “then why not use Snowflake? She’s senior geologist.”

“We Ibs have lousy aim,” replied Rhombus. “Targeting works better when you have a single point of view.”

“PHANTOM,” said Keith, “find replacements from other species for the two Waldahudin, and set up an immediate intercom between all of them and me.”

“Done. Intercom open.”

“This is Director Lansing. PHANTOM has determined that each of you has the training and skill to best operate makeshift weapon systems aboard our five dolphin-piloted probeships. I can’t order you, but we need volunteers. Are you up for it?”

A second row of holographic heads appeared above the dolphin faces.

“Good God, I—yes, I’ll do it.”

“Count me in.”

“I’m not sure that I’m the right person, but… yes, okay.”

“On my way.”

Rissa had moved over to stand next to her husband. “I’ll do what I can,” she said.

Keith looked at her. “Rissa…”

“Don’t worry, honey. I gotta make sure you get to live all those billions of years.”

Keith touched her arm. “Rhombus, assign each of them to a ship. PHANTOM, convey them there as fast as possible.”

“Doing so.”

“Good work, everyone,” said Keith, leaning forward in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face.

“Jesus!” shouted Thor. A tiny explosion was blossoming in the display. “They’ve shot our watson out of the sky.”

“Jag, analyze the weapon used,” said Keith. “At least we can figure out what their armament is.”

Jag glanced at a square monitor screen. “Standard Waldahud police lasers,” he said. But then he rose from his station and gestured toward Melondent, who had been serving as physics officer during delta shift. Jag touched a few keys. “Transferring physical sciences to dolphin station one,” he said. He turned to Keith. “Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if I did not further participate. Gawst did not invoke the name of Queen Trath, so I assume that he and his associates are acting without royal approval—an attempt to garner considerable glory. Still, they are Waldahudin. Perhaps I should return to my apartment.”

“Not so bloody fast, Jag,” Keith said, rising to his feet. He glanced at Lianne. “Time to launch?”

“Ten, maybe eleven minutes.”

Keith turned back to Jag. “You had me move Starplex so that we wouldn’t be able to see the Waldahud forces massing on the green star’s far side.”

“I deny that,” said Jag, both sets of arms crossed behind his back.

“Your loyalties don’t lie with the Waldahudin?”

“My loyalty is to Queen Trath, but there is no evidence that she authorized the attempt to seize this ship…”

“Lianne, how many watsons did Jag receive in the last two days?”

“Checking. Three. Two were from CHAT—”

“Which is located just outside the Waldahud home system—” said Keith.

“And the third was a commercial unit from a telecommunications utility on Rehbollo.”

“It contained personal news,” said Jag, “related to an illness in my family.”

“Examine those watsons, Lianne,” said Keith. “I want to check the messages that they carried.”

“Once I had downloaded the data that I wanted,” said Jag, “I released the watsons for reuse—wiping the data first, of course.”

“We should be able to recover something,” Keith said. “Lianne?”

“Checking,” she said, then a moment later. “Okay, the watsons that came for Jag are still on board. We carry over a hundred of them, and those three are still in the queue for reuse.” She pressed some keys. “I’ve interfaced with all three; they’re blank.”

“Nothing at all to unerase?”

“No. The data area has been wiped, then filled with a random pattern. There’s nothing left.”

“I routinely use a level-seven wipe,” said Jag.

“That’s two levels above Earth military standards,” said Keith.

“It leaves things more tidy,” said Jag. “You have often remarked on my predilection for neatness.”

“This is all crap,” said Keith. “I don’t believe that it was coincidence that you asked me to move the ship; the Waldahudin couldn’t have attacked en masse if we’d been there to see them popping out of the shortcut one by one.”

“I tell you, it is coincidence,” said Jag.

Keith turned to face the InOps station. “Lianne, immediately delist all command authorities for Jag Kandaro em-Pelsh. And terminate all jobs he has running.”

Bleeps as keys were touched. “Doing so,” said Lianne.

“You do not have the authority to do this,” said Jag.

“So sue me,” said Keith. He looked at the Waldahud. “I was one of those who argued against basing any part of Starplex on human military structures, but if we had done so, at least we’d have a brig to throw you in.” He faced a set of glowing camera eyes floating above the seating gallery behind the workstations. “PHANTOM, record new protocol. Name: ‘house arrest.’ Authorizing authority, Lansing, G. K. Parameters: Individuals under house arrest are denied access to all work areas; PHANTOM will not open doors for them to such areas. They are also forbidden to use external communication equipment and to give PHANTOM commands above level-four housekeeping. Understand?”

“Yes. Protocol established.”

“Record the following: As of this moment—0752 hours—and effective until terminated personally by me, Jag Kanclaro em-Pelsh is under house arrest.”

“Acknowledged.”

Keith’s voice was controlled. “Now you may leave the bridge.”

Jag folded both sets of arms behind his back again. “I don’t believe you have the right to bar me from this room.”

“A moment ago, you wanted to leave,” said Keith. “Of course, that was back when you had the authority to launch a shuttle, and escape to the armada.”

Rhombus had left the External-Ops station and had rolled near to the director’s console. Lights played over his sensor web, and the web’s strands had turned yellow, the color of rage. “I support Keith,” said the cool British voice. “You have undermined everything we have worked for. Leave the bridge voluntarily, Jag, or I will eject you.”

“You can’t do that. It is against the operating code to assault a fellow sentient.”

Rhombus began rolling toward Jag, a living steamroller. “Just watch me,” he said.

Jag stood defiant a moment longer. Rhombus closed more of the distance between them, his quartz-rimmed wheels glinting in the starlight of the all-encompassing hologram. The Ib’s ropelike tentacles were lifted from their usual bundle, darting in the air like angry snakes. Jag finally turned on his heel. The starfield in front of him split open, and he marched out. The door closed.

Keith nodded thanks to Rhombus, then: “Thor, status of the Waldahud ships?”

Thorald Magnor looked over his shoulder at Keith. “Assuming they’ve got nothing better than standard police lasers, they will be within effective range in three minutes.”

“How long until our own ships are ready for launch?”

Rhombus’s lights blinked out a reply as he rolled back to his workstation. “Two are ready to go now; the other three—grant me another four minutes.”

“I want to launch all five at once. Everything goes out the door in two hundred and forty seconds.”

“Will do.”

“We’ll still be outnumbered, eight to five,” said Thor.

Keith frowned. “I know that, but it’s only our five fastest ships that are set up for dolphin pilots. Rhombus, as soon as our ships are clear of our docking bays, I want full power to our force screens. Cut the engines; divert everything to the screens.”

“Will do.”

“Lianne,” said Keith, “I want to put a message for Tau Ceti in another watson. Shoot this one out a mass-driver tube. Send it on a transfer orbit that’ll take it to the shortcut under momentum only; I want it to fly all the way there without using power.”

“It’ll take a watson three days to get to the shortcut that way;” Lianne said.

“I’m aware of that. Calculate the trajectory. How long do I have until our ships launch?”

“Two-point-five minutes,” said Rhombus.

Keith nodded, and touched the privacy button that erected four double force-screen walls around his workstation, creating a sound-killing vacuum gap.

“PHANTOM,” he said, “search all computer records for research done by Gaf Kandaro em-Weel and his associates, especially for material that’s never been translated from Waldahudar.”

“Searching. Found.”

“Display titles and abstracts in English.”

Keith scanned the screen in front of him. “Download into a watson articles two, nineteen, and—let’s see, better add twenty-one, as well. Encrypt everything under the password ‘Kassabian’: K-A-S-S-A-B-I-A-N. Record the following, and add it to the watson as an unencrypted message:

“Keith Lansing to Valentina Ilianov, Provost, New Beijing.

Val, we’re under attack by Waldahud ships, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re under attack soon, too. I have learned that there is a theoretical way to destroy a shortcut, by flattening spacetime around it, preventing it from anchoring in normal space. If a Waldahud invasion force seems likely to overwhelm your fleet, perhaps you will want to consider destroying your shortcut exit. Doing so will, of course, effectively isolate Sol/Epsilon Indi/Tau Ceti from the rest of the galaxy, and give the Waldahudin forces no way to retreat. Think long and hard before you do this, old end. The procedure can be gleaned from the articles appended to this message. I’ve encrypted them. The key is the last name of that woman we both fancied on New New York all those years ago. End.”

“Done,” said PHANTOM.

Keith tapped a key. The privacy force screens vanished.

“Launch the watson, Lianne,” he said.

“Doing so.”

Keith watched the tiny canister drift away from Starplex. His heart was pounding. If Val decided to use the technique, there was one other consequence that Keith hadn’t spelled out: he and Rissa and the rest of those from Earth aboard Starplex would never see home again.

“Here we go,” said Rhombus. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Launching PDQ. Three. Two. One. Launching Rumrunner. Three. Two. One. Launching Marc Garneau. Three. Two. One. Launching Dakterth. Three. Two. One. Launching Long March.”

The fusion flares of ten twin engines lit up the holographic sky as the five probeships shot away from Starplex’s central disk. The approaching Waldahud ships were now close enough that they could be seen directly, rather than as colored triangles.

“Force screens to maximum,” said Rhombus.

“Open windows in the force screens and send the following via scrambled comm laser direct to each of our ships,” said Keith. “No one is to fire unless the Waldahudin shoot at us first. Maybe a show of strength will be enough to get them to back down.”

“They already creamed one of our watsons,” said Thor.

Keith nodded. “But if shots are going to be taken at sentient beings, the Waldahudin are going to have to start it.”

“Incoming message,” said Lianne.

“Let’s see it.”

Gawst’s face appeared. “Last chance, Lansing. Surrender Starplex.”

“No reply,” said Keith. He glanced at one of his monitors. Starplex was still oriented with its lower telescope array facing the green star, and toward the approaching fighters.

“Gawst’s ship is coming toward us fast,” said Thor. “The other seven are holding position about nine thousand klicks away.”

“Steady, everyone,” said Keith. “Steady.”

“He’s firing!” said Thor. “Direct hit on our force screens. No damage.”

“How long can we keep deflecting his lasers?” asked Keith.

“Four, maybe five more shots,” said Lianne.

“The other Waldahud ships are moving in, trying to surround us,” said Thor.

“Do you want our probeships to engage them?” asked Rhombus. Keith said nothing. “Director, do you want our probeships to engage them?”

“I—I didn’t think Gawst would really fire,” said Keith.

“They’re taking up equidistant geodesic positions around us,” said Thor. “If all eight ships shoot at us simultaneously and at the same wavelength, it will overload our shields. There will be nowhere to shunt the energy.”

Holograms of the dolphin pilots and their gunners were floating above Keith’s console. “Let me take out the ship nearest us,” said Rissa, flying with Longbottle aboard the Rumrunner.

Keith closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he had found his resolve. “Do it.”

“Shooting for the engine pod,” said Rissa.

PHANTOM drew a red line in the holo sphere to represent the invisible output of the geological laser, lancing from the bow of the Rumrunner to the Waldahud craft. The beam sliced along the length of the engine pod, and a plasma tongue shot away from the ship.

“Hey,” said Rissa, with a triumphant smile. “Guess all that time playing darts was good for something after all.”

“Gawst is firing on Starplex again,” said Thor. “And one of the other ships is going after the Rumrunner.”

“Get out of there, Longbottle,” said Keith. The Rumrunner did an arcing maneuver, exactly like a dolphin doing a backflip. It completed the move with its laser firing in the direction of the incoming ship, which swerved to avoid contact with the beam.

“Gawst’s ship has two lasers, one port and one starboard,” said Thor. “He’s firing them both at our lower radio telescope—man, he’s good. He’s letting our antenna’s parabolic dish focus his beams onto the instrument cluster.”

“Rock Starplex,” said Keith. “Lose him.”

The stars in holographic display danced left and right.

“He’s still on us,” said Thor. “I bet—yup, he’s done it. Even with full shields, enough of his laser leaked through, and the dish antenna focused it. He’s taken out the deck-seventy sensor array, and—”

Starplex shook. Keith was startled; he had never felt the ship shake before. “The seven remaining Waldahud craft are firing on us in sequence,” said Thor.

“Keith to probeships: engage the Waldahudin. Get them to stop their attack on us.”

“They’ll overload our shields in sixteen seconds,” said Lianne.

In the holo display, Keith could see the PDQ and the Long March firing on two of the Waldahud ships. The Waldahudin were trying to keep a single force screen to their attackers while continuing to fire on Starplex, but the probeships were maneuvering wildly, making it hard for the Waldahudin to keep the screen positioned. Glancing blows were making it through.

An alarm started sounding. “Force-screen failure imminent,” said PHANTOM’s voice.

Suddenly one of the Waldahudin ships exploded silently; the Marc Garneau had wheeled from firing on one ship to firing on the same one that the PDQ had engaged. The target ship had had no force screens deployed along its bow. Keith lowered his head. The first casualties of the battle—and, with hand-aimed lasers, no one would ever know if gunner Helena Smith-Tate had aimed for the habitat, or had simply missed when shooting at the engine pod.

“Two down, six to go,” said Thor.

“Force-screen failure,” announced Lianne.

The five dolphin-piloted ships began swooping wildly, their weapons firing at random. The holographic display was crisscrossed with animated laser beams, red for the Commonwealth forces, blue for the attackers.

Suddenly Gawst’s vessel began revolving around its bow-stern axis, spinning like a corkscrew. “What the hell’s he doing?” asked Keith.

It became apparent as PHANTOM drew in the two beams from Gawst’s twin laser canons. With the ship rotating, the beams were forming a cylinder of coherent light—turning twin pinpoint weapons into effectively a wide-beam device. Gawst was aiming up, toward the underside of Starplex’s central disk, beneath one of the ship’s four main generators.

“If he does it right,” said Thor, impressed despite himself, “he’ll be able to carve out the number-two generator, like a geologist taking a core sample.”

“Move the ship!” snapped Keith.

The starfield wheeled. “Doing so—but he’s got a tractor beam locked on us. We—”

The ship rocked again, and a new alarm started wailing. Lianne swung around to face Keith. “There’s an internal hull breach on deck forty, where the bottom of the ocean deck joins the central shaft. Water is pouring down the shaft into the lower decks.”

“Christ!” said Keith. “Did the Ibs screw up when they installed the replacement lower habitats?”

Rhombus’s web turned yellow with rage again, and the dots on it flared brightly. “Excuse me?” he said sharply.

Keith raised his hands. “It’s just that—”

“The work was done perfectly,” said Rhombus, “but this ship’s designers never thought we would be in a battle.”

“Sorry,” said Keith. “Lianne, what’s the procedure in a situation like this?”

“There is no procedure,” said Lianne. “The ocean deck was considered unbreachable.”

“Can the water be contained with force fields?” asked Keith.

“Not for long,” said Lianne. “The force fields we use in the docking bays have enough strength to hold air at normal pressure against vacuum. But each cubic meter of water masses a full ton; nothing short of the ship’s external forcefield emitters could hold back that much pressure, and even if Gawst hadn’t overloaded those, there’s no way to aim them inside the ship.”

“If you turn off the artificial gravity in the central disk and on all decks below it, at least the water won’t flow down,” said Thor.

“Good idea,” said Keith. “Lianne, do that.”

“Security override,” said PHANTOM’s voice. “Command disallowed.”

Keith shot a look at the PHANTOM camera pair on his console. “What the—?”

“It’s because of the Ibs,” said Rhombus. “Our circulatory system is based on a gravity feed; we’ll die if you turn off the gravity.”

“Damn! Lianne, how long to move all Ibs from decks forty-one through seventy to the upper decks?”

“Thirty-four minutes.”

“Begin doing that. And get all dolphins out of the ocean deck—but tell them to stand by with breathing apparatus, in case we have to send them below into the flooded areas.”

“If you evacuate starting from deck seventy,” said Thor, “you can turn off the gravity there first, and work your way”

“That won’t make any difference,” said Lianne. “By the time the water has fallen that far, it’ll have enough momentum to continue on downward even if gravity is no longer pulling.”

“What about electrical shorting?” asked Keith.

“I’ve already shut off the electrical systems in flooded areas,” said Lianne.

“If the ocean deck were to drain completely, how much of the lower decks would it fill?” asked Thor.

“One hundred percent,” said Lianne.

“Really?” said Keith. “Christ.”

“The ocean deck contains six hundred and eighty-six thousand cubic meters of water,” said Lianne, consulting a monitor screen. “Even including all sealed interdeck areas, the entire enclosed volume of the ship below the central disk is only five hundred and sixty-seven thousand cubic meters.”

“Excuse me, but I think the PDQ is in trouble,” said Rhombus, gesturing with one of his ropes toward part of the holographic bubble. Two Waldahud ships were converging on the Starplex probeship, lasers crisscrossing.

Keith’s eyes darted between the holo display and the monitor on his console showing the progress of the flooding.

“Wait,” said Rhombus, “the Dakterth is coming up on the stern of the two ships attacking the PDQ. It should be able to draw their fire.”

“How are the evacuations coming?” asked Keith.

“On schedule,” said Lianne.

“Are we leaking any water into space?”

“No; it’s just an internal breach.”

“How watertight are our interior doors?”

“Well,” said Lianne, “the sliding doors between rooms seal when closed, but they aren’t strong. After all, the door panels are designed so that anyone can kick them free of their rails for emergency escape in case of fire. The weight of the water will burst them open.”

“What genius thought of that?” asked Thor.

“I think he helped design the Titanic,” muttered Keith.

The ship rocked again, heaving back and forth. In the holo display, a cylinder carved out of Starplex’s central disk, ten decks thick, was tumbling against the night. “Gawst has cut out our number-two generator,” reported Lianne. “I’d evacuated that part of the engineering torus as soon as he started carving into it, so there were no casualties. But if he can get one more of our generators, this ship won’t be able to enter hyperdrive, even if we could get far enough from the star to make that possible.”

A burst of light caught Keith’s eye. The Dakterth had severed the engine pod from one of the Waldahud ships that had been firing on the PDQ. The pod pinwheeled away. It looked as though it was going to crash into the cylindrical core that had been cut from Starplex, but that was only a trick of perspective.

“What if we vent the water out into space?” asked Rhombus.

“We’d have to cut our own hole into the ocean deck to do that,” said Lianne.

“Where would be the easiest spot?” asked Keith.

Lianne consulted a schematic. “The rear wall of docking bay sixteen. Behind it is the engineering torus, of course. But right at that location, the torus contains a filtration station for the ocean deck. In other words, it’s already filled with water right up to the back wall of the docking bay, so you’d only have to carve a hole in the bay’s wall to get water to pour in.”

Keith thought for a moment. And then it hit him. “Okay,” he said. “Get someone with a geological laser down to bay sixteen right away.” He turned to Rhombus. “I know the Ibs need gravity, but what if we cut the artificial gravity, and spin the ship instead?”

“Centrifugal force?” said Lianne. “People would be standing on the walls.”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, and each deck is cross-shaped, so the apparent force of gravity would increase as you went farther out into each arm.”

“But it would also keep the water from flowing down the central shaft,” said Keith. “Instead, it would be trying to press against the outer walls of the ocean deck. Thor, could you set up such a spin using our ACS thrusters?”

“Can do.”

Keith looked at Rhombus. “How much gravity do you Ibs need for your circulatory systems to work?”

Rhombus lifted his ropes. “Tests have suggested that at least one eighth of a standard-g is required.”

“Below deck fifty-five,” said Lianne, “even at the ends of the arms, we won’t get that much apparent gravity at any reasonable rotation rate.”

“But that’s only fifteen floors that have to have their Ibs evacuated instead of forty,” said Keith. “Lianne, inform everyone of what we’re doing. Thor, as soon as no Ib is left below deck fifty-five, start spinning the ship. Bleed off the artificial gravity as we come up to speed.”

“Will do.”

“People should probably vacate the rooms at the ends of each arm, because of the windows,” said Lianne.

“Why?” asked Keith. “They’re transparent carbon composite; they won’t break even if people are standing on them.”

“Of course not,” said Lianne. “But the windows are angled at forty-five degrees there, because the edges of the habitat modules slope at that angle. It’ll be difficult to stand on them once the apparent gravity shifts so that those sloping windows become slanted floors.”

Keith nodded. “Good point. Pass on that advisory as well.”

“Will do.”

The holographic head of Longbottle aboard the Rumrunner spoke up. “Polluted waters we are in. Engines overheating.”

Keith nodded at the hologram. “Do what you can; if necessary, head away from us. Maybe no one will follow you.”

Starplex rocked again. “Gawst has started carving into the central disk beneath our number-three generator,” said Rhombus. “And a second one of his ships is carving in from the top of the disk, right above generator one.”

“Start spinning the ship, Thor.”

The starfield hologram began to rotate. The ship reeled again. “That took Gawst by surprise,” said Thor. “His lasers are skittering across the entire undersurface of the central disk.”

Lianne spoke up. “Jessica Fong is in position inside docking bay sixteen, Keith.”

“Show me.”

A frame appeared around part of the starfield hologram—now spinning at dizzying speed. Inside the frame, a picture of the interior of the docking bay appeared, with a space-suited woman floating in midair. She was tethered to the rear wall—the one that was shared with the engineering torus—and the tether was pulled taut as the ship’s rotation flung her outward toward the inside of the curving space door. The bay’s floor, crisscrossed with landing reference markers, was more than a dozen meters below her feet, and its roof, covered with lighting panels and housings for winches, was a dozen meters above her head.

“Open channel,” said Keith, then: “Okay, Jessica. Behind the bay’s rear wall, inside the engineering torus, is a water-filled ocean-deck filtering station. That station opens on to the ocean on the other side. Drill open a big hole in the docking bay’s rear wall. Be careful, though: when you do that, water is going to hammer through at you.”

“I understand,” said Jessica. She reached to her waist and let out more tether. Keith watched breathlessly as she moved through the air across the bay. She wasn’t wasting any time; meters of additional tether appeared each second. She finally reached the far side of the bay, slamming against the curving surface of the space door. For a horrible moment, Keith thought she’d been knocked unconscious by the impact, but she soon recovered from the blow and fought to bring the heavy geological laser into position. She was having trouble holding the unit steady. When she fired, her first shot crossed her own tether line, severing it at its midpoint. Fifteen meters of nylon line came crashing down at her; the other fifteen meters whipped around far over her head like a narrow yellow snake. She was now pinned against the center of the space door by the ship’s spinning.

Fong’s second shot went equally wild, taking out a junction box for the in-bay lighting system. Everything was plunged into darkness.

“Jessica!”

“I’m still here, Keith. God, this is awkward.”

In the frame, all that was visible was black—black, and then a pinprick of ruby, as the laser found the rear wall. Keith watched as the metal began to glow, soften, ripple—

—and then—

The sound of water rushing through, like a high-pressure fire hose. Jessica continued to shoot the laser, perforating a giant square along the rear wall. A hole here, move the laser a centimeter, another hole, shoot again, over and over—

The emergency lights came on, bathing the entire bay in red. Seawater erupted from the rear wall. The perforated square of bulkhead metal peeled back, then tore free, flinging across the bay, propelled by a geyser of water behind it.

Keith cringed. It looked as though the metal wall fragment was going to slap against Jessica, who was already being pummeled by wild fists of water, but she, too, must have seen it coming. There was an explosion of flame behind her, scorching the wall. She’d been smart enough to put on a suit with a thruster pack, and had fired herself up and away just in time. The bay was filling with water, starting at the space door and rising in toward the interior wall Jessica was soon slapped back against the door.

Once the bay had filled, Keith spoke to her once more. “Okay, now turn around and drill a hole about ten centimeters in diameter in the outer docking-bay door. Hold the beam emitter right against the door; you don’t want to boil the water around you.”

“Will do,” she said, her space suit now a diving suit. She stood on the space door and held the gray metal cone of her geological laser like a jackhammer. She then fired down between her feet. Soon, part of the space door was glowing cherry red, then white-hot, and then, and then…

Starplex spun like a top against the night, green starlight winking off its hull.

The five remaining Waldahud ships were approaching. Two of the ships were coming in from above and three from below, heading toward the ring of docking bays. Doubtless the ship was rotating too fast for any of the Waldahud pilots to notice the tiny incandescent spot in the middle of the door to bay sixteen, a spot that glowed, flared, and burned away. And suddenly—

Water began to spray out into space, flinging away from the rapidly rotating ship. And as it hit vacuum, it evaporated immediately into vapor, and then, once enough vapor had accumulated to make for considerable pressure, the water recondensed into liquid, the plankton, salt crystals, and oceanic detritus providing seeds for droplet formation, and then here, shaded from the green star by the intervening dark-matter field, it froze into ice—

Millions upon millions of ice pellets, flinging away from Starplex at high speed, propelled by the explosive force of all the water behind and by the centrifugal force of the rapidly rotating ship. Countless diamonds against the night, winking green in the light of the nearby star—

The first Waldahud ship was hit by a barrage of ice chunks, that ship’s speed toward Starplex being added to the pellets’ own velocity, making for a truly high-speed collision. The initial half-dozen chunks were deflected by the ship’s force screens, shields designed for guarding against single micrometeoroid impacts, not a sustained onslaught. Then—

Ice pellets ripped through the Waldahud hull like teeth through flesh, tearing up the habitat, expelled air freezing and adding to the hailstorm in space.

On the bridge, Keith called out, “Now, Thor! Rock the ship!”

Thor complied. The streamer of ice chunks angled off in a different direction, impacting a second Waldahud ship, ripping it open. Then a third ship exploded, a silent flower against the dark background, as frozen bullets ripped into the tanks containing its atmospheric-maneuvering fuel.

Thor rocked the ship the other way, and ice pellets were flung toward the fourth remaining ship. By this time, its pilot had come up with a counterstrategy. He rotated his own ship so that its fusion exhaust cone faced toward Starplex, and he fired his main engine, melting the ice into water drops, which immediately boiled into vapor before they could hit his ship. But the pilot of one of the other remaining ships had been unprepared for this maneuver, or too preoccupied with saving his own tail by heading toward the shortcut. His course took him in the path of his comrade’s fusion exhaust, and the white-hot flames tore into his vessel. It exploded, leaving only two ships—one of which was Gawst’s.

The expanding ring of water pellets deflected most of the ship debris away from Starplex, but the crew of the Waldahud craft that had tried the fusion-exhaust trick wasn’t so lucky. A large, jagged piece of hull rammed into their ship and sent it spinning away, out of control—directly toward the field of dark matte. The pilot seemed almost to regain control when he was a few million kilometers away from the closest of the great gray balls of gas, but by then he was already caught in its gravity. It would take hours for the deadly trajectory to play out its course, but the ship was destined to crash into the darmat and, at that velocity, even the kind of soft impact that occurred when regular matter hit dark matter would be enough to pulverize the vessel.

Gawst’s ship was still intact, holding station with a tractor beam beneath the central disk. There was no way Thor could aim the ice-pellet stream there. Still, Starplex could keep spinning until Gawst ran out of fuel, if need be…

“Uh-oh.” PHANTOM’s translation of the rippling lights on Rhombus.

Thor looked up. “God damn,” he said.

Emerging from behind the limb of the green star were one… two… five more Waldahud fighters. Gawst had not been fool enough to use all his forces on the initial attack. One of the newcomers was a giant, ten times the size of the smaller probecraft.

Starplex’s five dolphin-piloted ships had backed off, avoiding the ice barrage. But now they were linking up in formation, and heading toward the approaching attack force, determined to get to it before it could get to their mothership.

And then…

“What the hell?” said Keith, gripping his armrests.

“Jesus” said Thor. “Je-sus!”

The vast field of dark matter had begun to move, slowly at first, but now with gathering speed. It was spinning out into lumpy streamers, greenish on the side facing toward the rogue sun, inky black on the other. The streamers grew longer until they spread out over millions of kilometers, tubes of gravel with planet-sized spheres distributed along their length like knuckles on ethereal fingers.

The Starplex probeships dived above or below the streamers. The Waldahud pilots found their ships traveling in erratic courses, unable to compensate for the streamers’ gravitational attraction. In the spherical hologram, Keith could see the attacking ships staggering in drunken, weaving lines, pulled off course by the hundreds of Jupiter-masses within each dark-matter ribbon.

The streamers were growing with surprising speed. Keith still had trouble with the concept of macrolife living freely in space, but of course most life-forms could move quickly when they wanted to…

The pilots of the incoming Waldahud ships were realizing that they were in trouble. One of them aborted what had clearly been an attack run toward Starplex, and was now veering off at a steep angle. Another fired its braking jets, the exhausts four ruby pinpricks against the blackness. But the darmats continued to reach for them, long, puffy fingers against the night.

If the ships had been able to use hyperdrive, they could have escaped. But the gravity well from the green star, and the shallower but still significant wells created by the darmats, prevented that.

The farthest of the new fighters was now only a few kilometers ahead of one of the dark-matter tendrils. Keith watched as the gap was closed, the ship disappearing within the fog of gravel.

Thor provided a schematic, showing the fighter’s position within the streamer—a streamer that now was no longer reaching forward, but had started pulling back, its gravity dragging the Waldahud vessel with it…

Soon a second dark-matter tentacle had enveloped another Waldahud ship. A third fighter was trying desperately to get away; Keith could see the flash of explosive bolts as it jettisoned its weapons clusters in order to decrease its overall mass. But the dark matter was still gaining on it. Meanwhile, the two tendrils that had already caught ships were still pulling back, and—that was curious—had begun curling in on themselves, arching away, like cobras made of ash.

The third small ship was finally caught, and its gray finger started pulling back, too. The giant Waldahud ship was also being approached from above and below by separate dark-matter tentacles. Only the fifth new ship seemed likely to get away, although Keith’s heart was pounding as he saw that Rissa and Longbottle were now pursuing it. His son’s face flashed in front of his eyes—still a kid at nineteen, the goatee notwithstanding. How would he break the news to him if his mother got killed?

The first two tentacles had arched back into semicircles, the cups of which were facing away from the green star. At the same moment as the large vessel was engulfed by the two converging streamers that had been pursuing it, the first of the dark-matter fingers snapped forward like a whip. The Waldahud fighter that had been embedded in it shot ahead, out of the tentacle, tumbling end over end. Keith saw the pinpoint lights of ACS jets firing, but the ship’s wild rotation continued unabated.

Keith’s jaw fell open. Good Christ—!

—as the ship was flung directly toward the green star.

The vessel continued to rotate over and over as the distance between it and the star diminished rapidly. The pilot finally managed to gain control, but he was too close to the 1.5-million-kilometer-wide ball of fire. Prominences licked toward the incoming projectile—

—and the ship turned to vapor in the star’s upper atmosphere.

Keith shouted, “Rhombus, hail our probeships!”

“Channel open.”

“Return to Starplex!” said Keith. “All ships, return at once to Starplex!”

Four probeships acknowledged and changed course, but one was still pursuing its target.

“Rissa!” Keith shouted. “Turn back!”

Suddenly the second dark-matter whip cracked across the night, sending another Waldahud ship hurtling toward the green star. Keith’s head kept snapping left and right between the twin horrors of Rissa’s ship receding from Starplex and the fighter’s head-over-heels rush toward destruction.

The Rumrunner was corkscrewing wildly as it approached the enemy vessel. Laser fire from the Waldahud’s rear cannons kept missing the probeship, or glancing off its force screens. But, after a moment, the firing stopped as the Waldahudin aboard presumably became absorbed in the spectacle they, too, were no doubt monitoring.

The second ship the darmats had tossed toward the sun was rapidly reaching its destination. Lifeboats popped away from it, but their puny motors weren’t strong enough to let them achieve orbit around the star. The last sight the dying Waldahudin probably saw on their monitor screens was the star’s strange dumbbell-shaped sunspots, gray-black splotches against a hell of liquid jade.

The PDQ and the Dakterth were returning to Starplex now. Of course, they had to approach from above or below to avoid the torus of hail surrounding the ship. Rhombus was using tractor beams to pull them down onto the flat surface of the central disk. There was no way to get them into the docking bays—the ice prevented that—but there were emergency docking clamps on both faces of the disk.

Rumrunner was still giving chase. “Rissa!” shouted Keith into his mike. “For God’s sake, Rissa—come home!”

Suddenly the Rumrunner’s laser erupted, PHANTOM dutifully drawing in its beam on the holographic display. It swept across the starscape. Rissa’s aim was perfect, severing the ship’s engine pod from the craft in one clean slice. The pod tumbled against the night, a puff of expelled gas around it shining like a halo of emeralds. And suddenly—

The pod flared brilliantly, brighter even than the nearby star, as it went up in a fusion explosion. Longbottle executed a crazed arcing maneuver to avoid the expanding ball of plasma, then began a laser-straight path for Starplex. The engineless Waldahud ship shot away at an oblique angle under momentum, unable to maneuver.

The third dark-matter whip cracked, sending another Waldahud fighter pinwheeling across the firmament. As this one passed by, Keith saw that several of its hull plates had been deliberately blown away; the crew had apparently preferred opening the ship to vacuum over cooking alive as they plunged into the sun.

Next the combined double finger that had enveloped the huge Waldahud ship began to rotate around its midpoint, playing out into a spiral design like a galaxy as it did so, turning faster and faster. PHANTOM showed the location of the ship buried within one arm of the spinning mass. The rotation became more and more rapid, until finally, like an athlete throwing a discus, the dark matter hurtled the giant ship away from it. The bigger ship managed to regain control before it impacted the sun, but as it started to alter its course, the white fusion flames of its exhaust stark against the green inferno, a giant prominence arched upward from the photosphere, engulfing it.

“Four of our five probeships are safely clamped to our hull,” reported Rhombus. “And the Rumrunner will be back in eleven minutes.”

Keith let out a heavy sigh. “Excellent. We must have everyone out of the lower decks by now, right?”

“The final elevator is on its way up,” said Lianne. “Give it another thirty seconds.”

“Okay. Keep the lower decks at zero-g so no more water will flow down. Thor, stop spinning the ship.”

“Will do.”

“Director,” said Rhombus, “Gawst’s ship has attached itself to the surface of our hull. He’s holding in place with a tractor beam.”

Keith smiled. “Fancy that—a prisoner of war.” He spoke loudly. “Excellent work, everyone. Thor, Lianne, Rhombus—excellent.” He paused. “Thank God the darmats sided with us. I guess it never hurts to be on speaking terms with the stuff that makes up most of the universe, and—”

“Jesus!” Thor’s voice.

Keith’s head snapped up to face the pilot. He’d spoken too soon. Tendrils of dark matter were now closing on Starplex.

“We’re next,” said Rhombus.

“But we’re orders of magnitude bigger than the Waldahud ships,” said Thor. “Surely they can’t toss us into the star?”

“Only a third of the dark matter participated in the attack on the Waldahud forces,” said Rhombus. “If it all comes after us—PHANTOM, can they do it?”

“Yes.”

“Hail Cat’s Eye,” said Keith. “I better talk to him.”

“Locating vacant frequency,” said Rhombus. “Transmitting… No response.”

“Thor, get us out of here,” said Keith.

“Course?”

Keith considered for half a second. “Toward the shortcut.” But he immediately realized that dark-matter tendrils had already started to intervene between Starplex and that invisible point in space. “No, change that,” he snapped. “Bring us in close to the green star, in the opposite direction. And get Jag down here, PHANTOM.”

“You ordered him barred from this room, sir,” said the computer.

“I know that. I’m giving you new instructions. Get him down here right away.”

There was a moment’s silence while PHANTOM conferred with Jag. “He is on his way.”

“What’re you got in mind?” asked Rhombus. Dark matter was approaching Starplex on three sides, like a fist closing around a bug.

“Hopefully, a way to get out of here—if it doesn’t kill us.”

The starfield split open, and Jag walked in. For the first time, Keith saw a look of humility on the Waldahud’s face. Jag had presumably been watching the space battle, and had seen his compatriots slammed into the emerald star. But still some of the old defiance was in his voice as he looked suspiciously at Keith. “What do you want?”

“I want,” said Keith, his voice tightly controlled, “to slingshot Starplex around the green star, and hurtle it into the shortcut from the far side.”

“Jesus God,” said Thor.

Jag grunted a similar sentiment in his own language.

“Can it be done?” said Keith. “Will it work?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Jag. “I would normally like a few hours to do the calculations for something like that.”

“You don’t have hours—you’ve got minutes. Will it work?”

“I do not—yes. Maybe.”

“Melondent,” said Keith, “transfer control back to Jag’s station.”

“So doing,” said the dolphin.

Jag slipped into his usual spot. “Central Computer,” he barked, “put our trajectory on this monitor.”

“You are barred from issuing nonhousekeeping commands,” said PHANTOM.

“Override!” snapped Keith. “Jag’s house arrest is suspended until further notice.”

The requested schematic appeared. Jag squinted at it. “Magnor?”

“Yes?” said Thor.

“We have only perhaps ten minutes until we are engulfed. You will need to fire all our ventral thrusters. Copy my monitor six in touch-screen mode.”

Thor pressed buttons. “Okay.”

Jag ran a flat finger in an arc along the schematic. “Can you manage a course like that?”

“You mean on manual?”

“Yes, on manual. We have no time to program the run.”

“I—yes, I can do it.”

“Execute it. Execute it now!”

“Director?”

“How long until the Rumrunner is anchored to our hull?”

“Four minutes,” said Rhombus.

“We don’t have the time to wait for her,” said Jag.

Keith turned to snap at Jag, but stopped himself. “Options?” he said generally to the people on bridge.

“I can put a tractor beam on the Rumrunner,” said Rhombus. “I won’t be able to haul her in before we hit the shortcut, but she should be dragged over to it with us and hopefully Longbottle can pilot it through.”

“Do that. Thor, get us out of here.”

Starplex rushed toward the star at an oblique angle. “Thrusters on full,” said Thor.

“There’s another problem we still have to deal with,” said Jag, turning to Keith. “There’s a good chance that I can get us to the shortcut, but once there, we’ll just plunge through it. We won’t have any time to slow down and do a controlled approach at a specific angle, and with our deck-seventy hyperscope array damaged I can’t even predict which exit we’ll pop out of. It could be anywhere.”

The dark-matter fingers were still stretching toward Starplex. “In a few minutes, anywhere will be preferable to this place,” said Keith. “Just get us out of here.”

The ship began to careen around the star. Half of the bridge hologram showed the green orb, its granular surface detail and dumbbell sunspots visible. Most of the rest of the view was cloudy, with dark-matter tendrils eclipsing the background stars. “Rhombus, do you have a solid lock on the Rumrunner?”

“It’s still four hundred kilometers away, and dark matter is starting to intervene, but, yes, I’ve got it.”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief. “Good work. Have you been able to contact Cat’s Eye, or any darmat?”

“They’re still ignoring our hails,” said Rhombus.

“We can’t go in as close to the star as I would like,” said Jag. “There’s not enough water left in the ocean deck to make an effective shield, and our force screens are still burned out. There’s a thirty-percent chance that the darmats will ensnare us.”

Keith felt his heart pounding in his chest. Starplex continued to swing around the star in a parabolic course, the tendrils still stretching toward it. The Rumrunner was indicated in the holo bubble as a tiny square, with an animated yellow tractor beam lancing out to it. The starfield wheeled—Thor was angling the ship as they grazed the star’s atmosphere.

Finally, Starplex reached the cusp of the parabola and, picking up enormous velocity from slingshoting around the star, raced toward the shortcut. In the holo bubble, PHANTOM brightened the yellow tractor-beam animation, indicating that additional power was being pumped into it. Starplex’s course, four hundred kilometers closer to the star, was significantly different from the path the Rumrunner would have been following if it had been looping around the orb under its own momentum.

“Two minutes to contact with the shortcut, mark,” said Rhombus.

“We’ve never gone through a shortcut this fast before—no one has,” said Jag. “People should secure themselves, or at least hold on to something.”

“Lianne, pass on that recommendation to all aboard,” said Keith.

“All personnel,” said Lianne’s voice, reverberating over the speakers, “brace for possible turbulence.”

Suddenly a large, irregular object eclipsed part of the view. “Gawst’s ship,” said Lianne. “He’s pushed off our hull. Probably thinks we’ve all gone insane.”

“I could grab him with another tractor,” said Rhombus.

Keith smiled. “No, let him go. If he thinks his chances are better with the darmats, that’s fine by me.”

“Eighty seconds, mark,” said Rhombus, orange clamps rising up from the invisible floor to hold on to his wheels.

“One-point-four degrees to port, magnet,” said Jag. “You’re going to miss the shortcut.”

“Adjusting course.”

“Sixty seconds, mark.”

“Everyone hold on,” said Lianne. “It’s—”

Blackness. Weightlessness.

“God damn it!” Thor’s voice.

Barking—Jag speaking. No translation from PHANTOM.

Flickering lights—the only illumination in the room: Rhombus saying something.

“Power failure!” shouted Thor.

Red emergency lighting came on, as did emergency gravity—a priority because of the Ibs. There were loud splashing sounds from either side of the room: the water in the dolphin workstations had swelled up into great dome shapes under zero gravity, domes that had collapsed, splattering liquid everywhere as weight returned.

No holographic bubble surrounded the bridge; instead its blue-gray plastiform walls were visible. Keith was still in his chair, but Jag was on the floor, obviously having lost his balance during the brief period of zero-g.

The three consoles in the front row—InOps, Helm, and ExOps—flickered back into life. The back-row stations were less critical, and stayed off, conserving battery power.

“We’ve lost the Rumrunner,” said Rhombus. “It was cut loose when the tractor beam died.”

“Abort the shortcut insertion!” snapped Keith.

“Way too late for that,” said Thor. “We’re going through under momentum.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Which way did the Rumrunner go?”

“No way to tell until I get my scanners back on-line,” said Rhombus, “but—well, we were hauling her in, meaning she would have been moving pretty much in a line back toward the green star…”

“The number-one generator blew,” interjected Lianne, consulting readouts. “Battle damage. I’m switching over to standby generators.”

PHANTOM’s voice: “Re-in-ish-il-i-zing. On-line.”

The holographic bubble re-formed, beginning as a burst of whiteness all around them, then settling down to the exterior view, dominated by the green star, the rest obscured by the pursuing tendrils of dark matter. Keith looked in vain for any sign of the Rumrunner.

Thor’s voice: “Ten seconds to shortcut insertion, mark. Nine. Eight.”

Lianne’s voice, overtop, coming from the public-address speakers. “We should have full power back in sixty seconds. Prepare—”

“Two. One. Contact!” The red emergency lighting flickered. The shortcut appeared like a ring of violet arcing around them, visible above their heads and beneath their feet, as the infinitesimal point expanded to swallow the massive ship.

Everything to the stern of the ring was the now familiar sky of the green star and the pursuing dark matter. But in front of the ring was an almost completely black sky. The passage through the shortcut took only a few moments as Starplex hurtled through at breakneck speed.

Keith shuddered as he realized what had happened. Rhombus’s lights swirled in patterns of astonishment. Lianne made a small sound in her throat. Jag was reflexively smoothing his fur.

All around was black emptiness, except for an indistinct white oval and three smaller white splotches high above their heads, and a handful of fainter white smudges tossed at random against the night.

They had emerged in the empty void of intergalactic space. The white splotches weren’t stars; they were whole galaxies.

And not one of them looked like the Milky Way.