Chapter 4
Minister for Science Jesus de Pasqual gazed at the blue-white spark just beyond the Tau Ceti nova and wondered whether he should feel blessed or cursed. It had been two weeks since Farside Observatory had first detected the dim, Doppler-shifted reflection of Sol that betrayed the presence of the alien light sail.
The news had initially thrilled him. Often during his days as a university professor, he had told his students that the universe was too large a place to be inhabited by a single sentience. It was pleasant to obtain confirmation of what had always been an article of faith. The Doppler shift readings were a disappointment, of course. With the derelict inbound at 15,000 kilometers per second, no ship in the Solar System could possibly catch it … no ship, that is, but one!
De Pasqual had been startled when he realized that the Starhopper Probe had more than sufficient legs to rendezvous with the alien light sail. Unfortunately, it was damnably awkward for him to ask for it to be diverted to that use. Though he was personally in favor of exploring the Centauri worlds, practical politics had caused him to oppose the project on the two occasions when it had sought science grants from the current administration.
The problem was that there was no constituency currently in favor of interstellar exploration. After two hundred years of hugely expensive space initiatives, Earth’s multitudes were asking what they had gotten for their money. So, to save the rest of his department’s budget from a meat cleaver, de Pasqual had gone before the science committee and testified: “Mr. Chairman, there is no scientifically valid reason for exploring the Centauri suns at this time! It is widely held that the Centauri worlds cannot support life, and should we desire to examine lifeless worlds, we have seven of our own to keep us busy.”
It had seemed a wise move at the time. After all, he had traded nothing for something. With an alien light sail in the sky, however, that bargain might begin to appear more than a little shortsighted to his patrons on the System Council. Nor would the man in the street remember how much he had complained about the cost of science when faced with the prospect of a shipload of bug-eyed-monsters on his doorstep. He would first demand that the military do something about it, and then go looking for scapegoats to blame for humanity’s lack of preparation. The one thing working with the public had taught de Pasqual over the years was that they never held themselves to blame for anything.
Luckily, de Pasqual had done something even before he had known there were aliens aboard the light sail. It had been his original intent that the Ministry for Science be seen leading the effort to examine the derelict light sail. With the derelict suddenly blossoming into a full-blown starship, the ministry (and by extension, de Pasqual) looked better than ever.
He thanked the patron saint of thieves and bureaucrats that he had wasted no time in dispatching a message to Luna observatory asking that they delay any announcement of the discovery. Then, after a quick survey of the computer records, he had placed several calls to terrestrial sponsors of the Starhopper Project. Since most of these were high on the ministry’s grant list, obtaining their proxies had been a relatively easy matter. Once he’d obtained their proxies, he had dispatched Praesert Sadibayan to Mars to negotiate for the probe.
As he congratulated himself on the foresight he had shown, de Pasqual considered how best to proceed now that the light sail turned out to be manned. It seemed obvious that if the Ministry for Science were to maintain control of the discovery, he would have to ensure that the alien starship remained a secret. Otherwise, powerful men on the System Council would contrive to take the glory of discovery for themselves. After passing the new data on to Sadibayan, along with orders to maintain strict security, de Pasqual sat back to consider whom else to let in on the secret.
First Minister Hoffenzoller would have to be told, of course. He was de Pasqual’s chief patron and a man who never forgot a snub. There were a few others in the administration whose cooperation he needed, but was unlikely to get unless he let them know what was going on. In addition, despite De Pasqual’s distaste for all things military, someone from the admiralty would have to be co-opted to obtain a ship with which to meet the aliens. Knowing the military, they would undoubtedly insist on one of their own to command the expedition. Mostly, however, the council and the bureaucracy would have to be kept in the dark, at least until after the survey craft was safely on its way.
Luckily, a previous minister for science had the foresight to convene a conference regarding first contact with aliens. De Pasqual turned to his workstation and spent ten minutes reviewing the results of that long ago gathering. He finished with a grin. It was almost as though someone had foreseen the precise situation in which he now found himself. The regulations were written loosely enough so that they could be bent to his own personal needs.
* * *
Captain First Rank Garth Van Zandt, Terrestrial Space Navy, frowned as he plodded down the ramp from the landing boat at Olympus Spaceport. Seventy two hours earlier he had been aboard his ship in Earth orbit, preparing to go on leave. Instead of immersing himself in the Hawaiian surf, he had spent the last three days strapped to an acceleration couch aboard a navy speeder. Anti-acceleration drugs had burned his eyes, dried out his nasal passages, and kept him from more than a few hours of fitful sleep. The journey’s discomfort was the primary cause of his current irritation. His mood was not helped by the fact that he had been given no clue why he’d been summoned to Mars.
A lanky, blond-haired man with a self-important air waited just beyond the security gate that separated customs from the main spaceport concourse.
“Captain Van Zandt?”
“Yes, sir.
“I’m Benjamin Tallen, Subminister Sadibayan’s assistant.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Good flight?”
Van Zandt laughed for the first time in three days. “Obviously, Mr. Tallen, you’ve never experienced the many luxuries to be found aboard a navy speeder. They consist primarily of relief tubes fore and aft, rations that taste like cardboard soaked in dog urine, and a sensation like having two people sit on your chest. I enjoyed the trip about as much as the time I spent in traction when I broke my leg.”
“Sorry to hear that. It might not have harmed anything to allow you to travel on the Earth liner, but things are beginning to boil here. The Subminister thought it important for you to be in on planning from the very beginning.”
“Planning for what, sir?”
“You’ll learn that from the Subminister himself. Do you need to collect any luggage?”
Van Zandt held out the small kit bag he carried. “This is all I had time to pack.”
“We’ll authorize a drawing account for you at the Bank of Mars. Take time tomorrow to properly outfit yourself.”
Van Zandt chuckled. “I’ve heard about discretionary expense accounts, but I never expected the use of one myself.”
“The stories are grossly exaggerated, and the expense is trivial when you consider the good it will do. Remember that you represent Earth. The people you will be dealing with have little cause to love us, Captain. It is important that you make a good impression.”
The younger man led the way to a car that sent them arching high above Olympus Mons before the guide tube descended into one of the kilometer-high pressure domes in the new section of the city. The car deposited them inside the lobby of a luxury hotel. Like all structures beneath the dome, the lobby lacked a roof.
“I trust this establishment meets with your approval,” Tallen said.
“It almost makes up for the journey,” Van Zandt replied, gazing across an opulent space where polished fused silica glittered everywhere. The lobby was almost as large as a spatball field.
“Good. Let’s get you registered and down to the lower levels.”
The ritual of hotel registration had not changed appreciably in half-a-thousand years. With one thing and another, it took fifteen minutes before Tallen ushered Van Zandt into the Subminister’s suite of rooms. Praesert Sadibayan had been working at his workstation. He strode to greet his visitors.
“Captain Van Zandt? Subminister Sadibayan of the Ministry for Science. Good of you to come so quickly.”
“My admiral said that it was urgent.”
“It is indeed!”
Sadibayan returned to his desk and palmed a scanner plate. There was a muted click from somewhere inside the desk as a drawer popped open. Sadibayan retrieved a sealed folder marked with various security sigils. He thumbed the spot that would deactivate the self-destruct mechanism and removed several computer printouts.
The Subminister opened the dossier and began to read: “Garth Martin Van Zandt. Age: 36. Born: January 9, 2244 in New Aberdeen, South Wales, Australasian Confederation. Graduated Terrestrial Space Academy, 2266. You ranked in the top one-third of your class. You have held the usual progression of shore and space jobs, and have served aboard ships of both the messenger and corvette class. You were promoted to command the destroyer Currant fourteen months ago. You are unmarried, physically healthy, and overdue for leave. Correct?”
“On all counts, Mr. Subminister.”
Sadibayan let his brown eyes focus on Van Zandt. “You may be interested in the fact that Admiral Carnevon speaks very highly of you. He says that you are one of his brightest officers, resourceful and flexible in your response to new situations. ‘An Original Thinker,’ was the way he described you.”
“I’ll have to thank the admiral the next time I see him.”
Sadibayan continued reading. “You have also served a tour as military attaché in our LaGrange embassy, so you are at least aware of diplomacy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One thing puzzles me, Captain. Why did you spend so much time in corvettes?”
Van Zandt shrugged. “I made the mistake of embarrassing one of my superiors during my first tour as a ship commander. It was during an exercise against the fleet flagship. Minotaur was in a high elliptical orbit around Luna, with a low perilune. I put my corvette down practically on the mountaintops, popped up while Minotaur was making its close approach to the surface, and put two simulated missiles into her. The flagship’s commander was Aaron Dalgren. He filed a formal protest alleging that I had endangered both ships and crews. The protest was not upheld by the referees.
“Unfortunately, Captain Dalgren was promoted to admiral shortly afterward, and given command of all fleet corvettes. He made it clear that he was very irritated with me. I only recently worked my way out of purgatory and managed to get promoted to destroyers.”
“You made quite a name for yourself considering the fact that you were in official disfavor. You won the Rickover Award, I believe.”
“I had a good crew, and I was lucky.”
Sadibayan leaned back. He placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. “How would you like to go back to corvettes, Captain?”
“Sir?”
“Your superiors have given me the power to offer you command of a corvette. Interested?”
“Is that what this is all about?”
Sadibayan nodded.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Subminister, but my career plans do not include backsliding.”
“Is that what you would consider it?”
“Yes, sir. You have to understand how it is in the Space Navy. An officer works his way up through the fleet, commanding ever larger and more important ships. There are not that many of them. If you miss your turn, you become stuck in grade. If I give up Currant, I have lost my opportunity to prove myself in destroyers. That means I will never advance to cruisers.”
Sadibayan’s look was one that Van Zandt could not quite decipher. “Captain, we would like you to command the corvette Austria. She was decommissioned two years ago and sold to the Martians as a customs craft. They just finished overhauling her. As we speak, she is being modified to mate with the Starhopper booster. The mission is to take her out beyond Pluto, and once there, to intercept an inbound alien starship.”
Van Zandt regarded the small chocolate colored man for half a minute without speaking. He could not decide whether the Subminister was serious, or merely possessed a defective sense of humor. When the silence had stretched uncomfortably long, he cleared his throat and said, “You can forget what I said about not leaving Currant, sir. I accept the command!”
Sadibayan grinned. “I thought you would.”
“How long will we be out?”
“Three years, more or less,” the Subminister replied in an offhand manner. “Depends on the aliens, of course.”
At the mention of aliens, Van Zandt’s mouth popped open.
* * *
Sadibayan went on to review the data Luna Observatory had gathered on the light sail. Van Zandt listened with intense concentration. It became obvious that Admiral Carnevon had not been told why the Ministry for Science needed a naval officer. He did not particularly like that, or the political approach that was being taken. On the other hand, it was not his job to like it. He had been offered command of the expedition, which was more than sufficient for one career. He pushed the misgivings from his mind and concentrated on what Sadibayan was telling him.
Austria had been one of the oldest ships in Earth’s fleet before it had been sold to the Martians. The extreme delta V necessary for rendezvous required that the corvette be stripped of all nonessential systems. The weapons had been the first things dismounted from the ship. Not only were they excess mass, no one wanted to send the wrong message by dispatching a functioning warship to intercept an alien starship. Out beyond Pluto, it seemed, diplomacy would be its own reward.
With the weapons had gone the targeting computers, both magazines, and the crew bunks. Cold sleep tanks were being installed in what had been the bunkroom. Austria’s new crew would spend much of the outbound flight in suspended animation, both to extend their limited supply of consumables, and to make the voyage go by more quickly. The ship’s life support system would sustain them for a minimum of five years, but they had only sufficient food stocks to keep eating for two.
“How many crew?” Van Zandt asked after Sadibayan told him about the cold sleep tanks.
“That is still under study. A minimum of four. If the engineers can squeeze a bit more margin out of their calculations, we may send six. For now, the crew consists of yourself, a ship’s engineer, a linguist, and a combination biologist/medical doctor.”
“Do I get to pick the engineer?”
“Sorry, no. By Hobson’s choice, the ship’s engineer will be a young lady by the name of Victoria Bronson. She is the only one who can make the necessary software modifications on the fly.”
“Surely a naval officer could learn what he needs to know.”
“Believe me, Captain. We have looked into this matter extensively. So far as this expedition goes, Miss Bronson is more necessary than you are.”
“What about the other crew members?”
“The ship’s doctor and exo-biologist has tentatively been chosen, as well.”
“Who?”
“Actually, I believe she is Dardan Pierce’s personal physician.”
“Damn it, Subminister, cronyism is no way to staff a ship.”
“Actually, Captain, I’m told that she is quite competent. You will be given the opportunity to meet her, of course, and if you find you can’t work with her, then I suppose we can bring the matter up.”
“What are this doctor’s qualifications?” Van Zandt asked. He was becoming less and less enchanted with his new command by the second.
“The problem is political. Pierce demanded that he be allowed to choose a member of the crew other than Miss Bronson. That was his price for allowing us to take over the Starhopper.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t demand to go himself.”
Sadibayan smiled, as though he had just thought of a joke. “Please, Captain, don’t give him any ideas.”
“What about the fourth crewman?”
“That would be the linguist. We are searching for a qualified individual right now. Any suggestions?”
“I’d like the opportunity to review the candidates before any offers are made.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“What about someone to negotiate with the aliens once we get there?”
“Unless we’re allocated another berth, I’m afraid that job will fall to you, Captain Van Zandt. Think you can handle it?”
“I can try. What other modifications are they making to the corvette?”
Sadibayan listed several systems that were being upgraded for the long journey. Among these were Starhopper’s twin computers that were being installed in the corvette’s Number One hold. A large microwave communications antenna was being anchored to the ship’s hull.
“Why microwave?” Van Zandt asked. “A comm laser is a lot more efficient across that sort of distance.”
“A comm laser looks too much like a weapon. One powerful enough to punch a message from beyond Pluto also would be good at carving on the alien ship.”
“It doesn’t really matter, I suppose,” Van Zandt mused. “We’ll be too far out for two-way communications anyway.”
“It isn’t for conversations. We want a continuous broadcast of your approach to the alien.”
“In case they destroy us, you mean.”
Sadibayan nodded. “That would be most unfortunate.”
“I would call it a major tragedy.”
The Subminister was unsmiling as he shook his head. “It will only be a major tragedy, Captain, if they destroy you and we don’t learn how it was done.”