Variable Star

20

By the time I’d finally gotten the last of my laughter out, airflow had nudged me back within reach of the bulkhead I’d come through to enter the Bridge, and I used it to launch myself toward the meeting.

I tried to talk myself out of it all the way there. I guess I’m just not that big a man. When I reached the group, I used a deck chair to brake myself, and looked Conrad of Conrad in the eyes. For half a second.

“Hey, Connie,” I said.

And turned away. “Dorothy, good to see you again. Alex, I see you again. Crave pardon, ma’am, we haven’t been introduced, my name is Joel Johnston.” I bowed as graciously as I had free-fall skills for.

“Alice Dahl,” she said crisply. That was a scary cello she was playing, all right. She did not acknowledge my bow with even a nod, or offer to shake, even with her non-gunhand. Maybe she didn’t have one. She was a golem.

Jinny said, “Joel, I’d like you to meet my husband, Andrew J. Conrad. Andrew, this is Joel.”

He and I exchanged about a hundred thousand words by eye traffic in three seconds, and each put out a hand at the same instant. I liked the man. The mustache looked silly, but I knew it had not been his idea.

“It is an honor to meet you, Captain Conrad,” I said. “Congratulations on your historic achievements. And I speak for the moment only of the latest ones. First man to exceed c. First master of a transluminal passenger vessel. First and only man ever to match orbits with a relativistic starship in transit.” I thought of another one. “And one of only seven creatures we know of who’ve ever been in the close vicinity of an exploding star and lived to tell about it. Welcome to our covered wagon. We hope you’ll find our technology quaint.”

He didn’t preen, or look smug, or sneer arrogantly, or try to pretend he didn’t enjoy the praise. He nodded and said, “Please call me Andrew. Thank you, Joel. I’m glad to be here.”

“You’re welcome, Andrew.”

“Jinny told me you’re a quick study. I can see she was right; you seem up to speed. We’re all lucky to be here.” His face clouded. “And I can’t hope to tell you how much I wish I’d built the Mercury years sooner. Centuries ago. Even last year….”

“We all do, son,” Captain Bean said softly. “Play the cards in front of you.”

Andrew nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s good advice.”

Van Cortlandt spoke up, his voice a pleasant tenor. “How did you ever figure out what was happening in time to run?”

“We were fortunate enough to be in Terra’s shadow when she lit up.”

“And you’re sure destruction was complete?”

“We reached Ganymede with a thirty-three-minute lead over the wavefront, and spent five minutes talking to telepaths on the ground there. They were just receiving information consistent with the annihilation of Terra. We jumped again, and thirty minutes later telepaths on Saturn confirmed the destruction of Ganymede, with timing consistent with a solar explosion. At that point, I gave her the gun.”

“Andrew’s quick reactions saved us all,” Jinny said proudly, and his shoulders widened.

“What can you tell us about her drive?” I asked.

Solomon spoke up. “The subject came up, as you may imagine. Captain Conrad discussed the nature of the Mercury’s novel propulsion system frankly and forthrightly at some length, using short simple words, and continuing until the last of us lost the struggle to pretend we had the faintest clue what he was talking about. I myself gleaned only that its basic principle is—sometimes—called Drastic Irrelevancy. Have I got that right, Captain?”

“Drastic Irrelevancy Synergism, yes,” Andrew agreed. “You see, it’s… but then you don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Is there even a Sunday supplement shorthand version, albeit grossly oversimplified or crudely approximate, that you could give us?” Lieutenant van Cortlandt asked.

Andrew pursed his mouth in thought a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “In a week, I could probably provide Relativist Short with enough tools to begin thinking about the first part of the answer you want. Uh, there are a lot of parts. Yourself, and a few others here, a month would probably do it. For sure,” he amended, seeing van Cortlandt’s expression.

Richard Conrad had put up with the unnatural state of being ignored for as long as he was prepared to. Ten percent louder than anyone had spoken so far, he said, “We’ve failed to cover this already. Can we for the love of privacy just accept for now that the Mercury is towed by a fleet of hyperphotonic swans under an enchantment, and move on?”

He was now merely a man like any other, without a multiplanet empire behind him anymore, and everyone in the room probably knew it. But he was also Conrad of Conrad, and had been all his life. We all flinched at his whip-crack interruption and fell silent, and the first one of us who felt capable of obeying him did so.

Captain Bean said to Andrew, “Captain, I have a confession to make. While I’m no mathematician, I’ve always thought myself capable of simple kitchen arithmetic, at least.” Both his lieutenants made brief nasal sounds. “And ever since I received your hail… amend that: ever since I convinced myself your hail was not a hallucination, I’ve been using part of my mind to try and calculate what speed you were making. But there are a few more variables than I can handle, and I keep losing my decimal point. Curiosity trumps pride: Will you tell us your top speed?”

Conrad of Conrad—there were just too many Conrads present; I was going to have to start thinking of him as Richard somehow—started speaking at the same instant Andrew did, obviously trying to cut him off. I was surprised when Andrew didn’t yield, then again when the old man did.

“…not possible to answer your question, in the strictest sense,” Andrew was saying, “but I’ll do my best. You’ve traveled roughly 10.4 lights in a little over 6.41 years—your years, I mean. Thirteen years for us back home. We caught up in a little over six and a half weeks, by your clock.” He sensed that he was taking too long. “But in the terms you’re using, our equivalent of a maximum real-world velocity works out to be on the order of 19.6 c.”

Several of us either sucked in air or expelled it noisily. You could almost hear a whining sound as many mental calculators began operating at full capacity.

How far away was Brasil Novo, at twenty c? I could make a stab at it in terms of objective years, what Andrew had called “real-world” time, but when it came to how much time it would seem to take for a passenger, I lacked a basis from which to even guess.

Screw that: the answer was, a hell of a lot closer than it had been, whether you were speaking subjectively or objectively.

And real-world years, out there in the subliminal universe, had more than academic importance, too. They were the measure of how long we had to warn the rest of the colonies, before all their skies turned to fire.

And we’d have been here nearly a day ago, if you people hadn’t been silly enough to shut off your drive. We were lucky to find you at all.”

Rennick’s voice and ill-mannered irritation were like a cold-water bath. I saw Captain Bean, van Cortlandt, and Solomon all open their mouths to retort.

But Dorothy Robb beat them all to it. “Alex, if you actually believe anyone voluntarily shuts down a quantum ramjet, you’re sillier than that would have been. None of these people have been rude to you yet.” The hesitation between the last two words was perceptible, but so slight there isn’t a punctuation mark subtle enough to render it.

Van and Solomon savored Rennick’s facial expression, so it was the Skipper who spoke next. “Rennick, the Sheffield has had the great misfortune to lose three of her Relativists, the last just over a week ago. Heroic effort by the surviving three proved insufficient to overturn the laws of physics for more than a few days. Our drive shut itself off, sir.”

“Mr. Rennick intended no offense, Captain Bean,” Richard Conrad said mildly, and Rennick went from a blush to dead white.

There was a short silence, in which everyone tried to think of something to say or ask next that might not sound stupid in retrospect. It was pretty fast company; nobody was in a big hurry to be first.

I was mildly surprised at who turned out to be bold enough. It was Paul Hattori who cleared his throat and said, “I crave pardon if this question is impertinent, but curiosity overwhelms my manners. May I ask the passenger-carrying capacity of the Mercury?”

Again, that ultrasonic whining sound, as a dozen minds radically shifted direction and then reaccelerated.

Richard Conrad spoke with maximum force. “Captain Bean, I must insist we adjourn this discussion to your quarters, or a place of equal privacy, now. I quite understand the natural curiosity of all present, have indulged it as long as I deem prudent, and will continue to address it as time permits. But there are matters that must be discussed first only in private, and among those of the highest rank. Matters of extreme importance. There is no time to lose.” When the Skipper did not answer instantly in the affirmative, he forced the issue by rotating in place and launching himself toward the hatch. “Will you be kind enough to direct me,” he called over his shoulder as he floated away, and I haven’t given that a question mark because he didn’t.

Most of the rest of his party began to trail him out of sheer instinct, like pilot fish who go wherever the big shark goes. Captain Bean was visibly angry, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would make a scene for no better reason than to establish his authority on his own ship. This party was going to follow Conrad, and the only people who considered me of the highest rank were music lovers. I felt sharp dismay.

Conrad rotated to face us again on his way to the door. “Alex, ladies,” he called, “perhaps you’d be willing to answer any questions the rest of our hosts may have, insofar as you are able.”

Jinny, Rennick, and Robb were already in transit, but all three immediately rotated themselves so they could rebound and rejoin us once they reached the hatchway. Evelyn had not yet committed herself to a launch, and stayed where she was, using a large unused monitor for a handhold.

“Solomon, Van, Mr. Cott, come with me, please. Mr. Hattori, your input could prove useful as well.” Bruce opened his mouth, but Captain Bean continued, “You have the con, Mister,” and he closed it again. “The rest of you may remain here under Lieutenant Bruce’s command until I return if you choose.” Hattori was smiling like a musician who’d just been asked to sit in with Louis Armstrong.

The hatch irised open. Alice the bodyguard made Solomon and Andrew exit first, followed by herself, and then Conrad, with Hattori taking up the rear. She either rated the banker as zero threat or hoped he’d stop bullets.

Lieutenant Bruce began a speech. I can’t recall a word of it. It was flowery, trite, pompous, smarmy, obsequious, and self-aggrandizing, all at once. Jinny endured a sentence or two, and then said, without discernible reference to anything he’d been saying, “Thank you very much, Commander; you are gracious.”

He was so pleased he shut right up. If she understood brevet rank, then she knew what a high-ranking fellow he was—which was all he’d wished to establish to begin with. “Very kind of you, ma’am.”

“Yes. The last thing I would wish, Commander, would be to distract you from your heavy responsibility. I am myself married to a pilot.” I did not catch her moving any of her limbs, but suddenly she was in motion, floating slowly away from him and us. “The other ladies and I can converse with Joel over at this end of the Bridge without disturbing you, I think, if we are quiet. And Mr. Rennick will keep you excellent company; thank you, Alex.”

Both Evelyn and Dorothy had started moving on the third word. I was slower off the mark, so I got to savor the expression on Bruce’s face. Rennick showed no reaction, and I savored that, too. “You’ll forgive me, gentlemen,” I lied, then picked a docking spot and jaunted after the ladies.

It was a short jaunt, but I’d done it slowly, so I had several seconds to think on my way. When I was near I said to all three, but looking at Dorothy Robb, “Time has been extremely kind to all of you.”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “I love a liar,” she said. She studied my face and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had less of it, but I can see you used your time well.”

I nodded. “I tried,” I agreed. “Jinny, it is nice to see you again. You look wonderful.”

Her eyes lit with pleasure at being addressed next—age before beauty. An instant later she realized second was not the optimal position in a group of three, and the light went out.

I noted it, but was busy with the sudden realization—maybe it was more of a revelation—that what I had just said to her was strictly accurate. It was nice to see her.

And that was all it was. Yes, this woman had chased me out of the System with a crushed heart, and yes, she had haunted my days and stalked me in my dreams. But not for five years or so, now.

“Evelyn, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again. Your letters have meant a lot to me. I knew you would be beautiful, but apparently I have a very feeble imagination. I hope you will let me play my saxophone for you one day.” It felt awkward saying all that in front of Jinny, but I didn’t have any choice.

“If I can sit in on keyboards,” she said.

I stared with my mouth open.

“I have a new arrangement for ‘Sol Keeps Shining’ I want to show you. And a couple of other tracks from Stars.”

Can an ego have an orgasm? Something made my heart pound.

“Perhaps we could postpone the soundtrack until the film is done,” Jinny said coldly. “We do have important things to talk about, and little time. Grandfather doesn’t have anything like the patience he used to.”

“We do indeed,” I said. “How many passengers will your husband’s vessel carry?”

“Ten,” she said.

“Damn.” I felt sharp disappointment. I’d been hoping against hope for some vastly higher number. Twenty-one c was definitely an impressive velocity, but even at that barely imaginable speed, Peekaboo was nearly four years away. I doubted we’d be able to get four hundred and something of us to Brasil Novo before the stellar shitrain arrived, even with a magic carpet to help.

I wasted a few seconds trying to work out how many of us could be saved, and how many would die of old age aboard the derelict Sheffield before a seat became available for them on the shuttle, and how they would be chosen. The maths were way beyond me, even if I’d known exactly how many of us were still alive. And so were the ethics.

It was not just a terrible letdown—it was also puzzling.

“What is it, Joel?” Evelyn asked.

How to put it? “I’m a little confused,” I admitted finally.

“We’re all confused,” Dorothy said. “Which confusion troubles you now?”

If there was a way to say it pretty, I couldn’t find it. “There really isn’t any way you can be of much help to us with a ten-seater, even if it is twenty times faster than a speeding photon. Is there?”

Dorothy began to say something, but was overridden by Jinny. “There is a plan. As we speak, Grandfather and Andrew are discussing with your Captain Bean and his own advisers the feasibility o—”

“You’re forgetting something,” I said.

“What?”

“Jinny Hamilton,” I said carefully, “you are one of the best. But I know exactly how you look and act and sound when you are lying.”

Her control was excellent, but she could not stop her skin from reddening. She started a bluff but got only two chilly words in before giving it up and doing an instant one-eighty, so that the sentence came out, “How dare all right damn it, I was trying to keep this focused on the positive.”

“That doesn’t leave much to talk about,” I said. “What I’m trying to understand is, since there doesn’t seem to be any practical way to rescue us… why the hell are you here?”

“Joel!”

“There’s damn little you can do for us—and for the life of me, I can’t figure out anything we could possibly do for you.”

“The whole Solar System just died!” she said. “Naturally we headed for the first—”

“If your grandfather just wanted company for comfort, why in Sol’s name would he pick hundreds of doomed souls he can’t help, with only a temporary ecology? It makes a million times more sense for him to make a beeline for someplace like Aradia or Hippolyte—they’ve both been thriving for decades. Or any of the self-sustaining colonies. Any technology we could possibly give you, any asset we could have aboard, you could get much better elsewhere, and without the social awkwardness of having to interact with dead people.”

I stopped and waited for a response, but Jinny made none.

“It’s a simple question. Why are you—”

Dorothy Robb said, “Joel, don’t be dense.”

I stared at her.

Neither of the others had anything to say. They were both just looking at me. As if I had two—

“Covenant’s sake! We’re here because of you, you idiot.”

I lost my handhold and went free.

I wasted seconds uselessly fanning air as if to agree I was an idiot, and then gave it up, surrendered to free fall, and tried to get control of my breath.

Nobody seemed to have a problem letting me take as long as I needed to think it through, so I did, eyes shut tight. It probably took a good thirty seconds to slow my spinning mind down from dynamo speed to something more like the cyclic rate of a prayer wheel.

I opened my eyes in time to see a thick cable within reach and docked on it.

“I don’t believe it,” I said slowly to Jinny. “Are you seriously telling me that you came all this way, played with the hopes of all these people, all my friends… just to give me the finger, one last time?”

“I made them come!” Evelyn cried.