Prologue
Faslorn of the Phelan stood on the bridge of the starship Far Horizons and watched as thick bundles of gossamer thread poured forth from their storage holds. The shroud lines had been streaming aft through half-a-dozen changes of the watch. Now the first phase of the star brake’s deployment was nearing its end.
Faslorn let his eyes roam the ship’s instruments as the last few kel of bundled lines leaped free. His attention returned to the screens as the star brake’s million kel long mass stretched to its full length and suddenly grew taut.
“Sound the alarm,” Faslorn ordered. “Rebound coming.”
The warning echoed through every corridor of the giant starship. Thousands of crewmembers stopped what they were doing and anchored themselves. Faslorn wrapped a six-fingered hand around a nearby stanchion and held on tight. Far out along the star brake, he could see the reflection wave racing toward Far Horizons.
The rebound wave struck the ship and caused the deck to jump beneath his feet. He barely noticed the rolling motion as stresses redistributed themselves throughout the starship. All of his attention was taken up by the screens. His twin hearts beat a little faster as he scanned the giant construct on which depended his own fate, and that of one hundred thousand crewmates.
“No damage to brake or ship,” one of the deployment technicians reported.
Faslorn emitted the Phelan equivalent of a sigh. “Very well. Cut the restraining straps.”
All along the folded brake, tiny glittering lights illuminated the eternal night of space as the straps that kept the brake furled were cut. With the restraints gone, centrifugal force took over. There was a vast rippling as the gossamer fabric of the brake began to unfurl.
It was difficult to observe the progress of the deployment. The furled brake had been a long line that twisted and turned on its way to the vanishing point. As the mass unfolded, it revealed the reflective film that made up the bulk of its surface area. There is nothing in space more difficult to see than a one hundred percent reflective surface. It reflects the blackness of space, while distorting the reflected images of stars. To an observer, it seems as though the universe has been wrenched into convolutions by some giant, unseen claw.
Far behind the starship, a giant flower opened its petals to space, marking the end of a voyage that had lasted more than three Phelan lifetimes. It was a voyage that had begun in fire and would end by grazing the photosphere of the small yellow sun that was their destination, which, at the moment, was merely the brightest point of light in the sky.
Faslorn’s would likely be the last generation of Phelan to live their lives between the stars. Within a few dozen tarn, they would encounter the thinking beings of the yellow sun. It was Faslorn’s task, and that of his shipmates, to win a home among the strange bipedal creatures that styled themselves Homo sapiens. If he were successful, the next generation of Phelan would be born with solid ground rather than steel deck beneath their feet. If not, then Faslorn’s line would likely end with him.
“Look how it fills the sky,” his assistant said. Overhead the star brake had expanded until it blotted out the cold point of light that had once been home.
Faslorn’s gesture was the Phelan equivalent of a smile. “That it does, Paldar. It won’t be long now before they notice us.”
As the commander of Far Horizons watched the continuing dance of deployment, he thought of the difficult task ahead. It was somehow symbolic that the stars behind were slowly being blotted out by reflections of the stars ahead.
Far Horizons was committed. There would be no turning back. The fate of two intelligent species would be decided by what happened next.