now—lay the ancient Savar, point of origin of all aboard this vessel, of all who journeyed from Vulcan to the stars. His eyes, obsidian and glittering, gazed unblinking into that same nameless realm he had bequeathed his daughter.
“My father?” that daughter said now, kneeling beside his sleeping niche; the musician Stell had set aside his ka’athyra and gone to take the conn, leaving the two to their privacy. “We have made the crossover. I wanted you to know.”
The ancient one raised himself slowly to a sitting position.
“My gratitude, Commander,” he said, his voice rusty with many days’ silence, insisting upon the formality as he had when their roles had been reversed. “It will be good to see Earth once more.”
First Mate Sawyer ran the hand-held chemanalyzer over the suspect portion of the barrier weir surrounding the westernmost kelp fields of the Agro III station.
“Cables’re tangled,” she muttered as if to herself. “And they’re frayed—here, and here. As if something heavy got itself caught, then pulled or slid off. Moy, keep this baby steady, can’t you?”
Young eager Ensign Moy, falling all over himself on his first real sea voyage, struggled mightily with the small skiff in what was proving to be a choppy sea.
“Sorry, sir,” he said by reflex; it seemed he was always apologizing for something. “MeteorCom says we’re in for heavy weather.”
His baby face shone with expectation as he tried to read the analyzer over Sawyer’s shoulder. “Whatcha got, sir? Anything interesting?”
“Could be, Moy,” Sawyer muttered, preoccupied. “Could be real interesting.”
It had been pure fluke that she’d been the first to notice something. Nyere had ordered the day watch to cruise the perimeter of Agro III before going inside, and Sawyer just happened to be taking a turn on the forward deck after hours bending over her instruments when the damaged cables hove into view. She’d persuaded the captain to let her lower the skiff and have a closer look.
“Those white patches are not paint,” she said emphatically. “Not that I know what they are. Best we rub off a sample and take it back upstairs for a full analysis.”
“You think it was a satellite like the captain said, sir?” Moy’s words tumbled out in his excitement. “Or you think there’s more to it? He’s been real snappish since he got the word. I hear it was Priority One. You don’t suppose—”
“Button it, Moy. Let’s get back before my breakfast comes up. I’m not used to being this close to the water.”
“Aye, sir,” Moy said glumly, steering the skiff back to where Delphinus lay brooding behind them.
“It is not paint, Captain suh,” Melody reported conclusively, the report printout in her hand. “It’s a rhodinium-silica-based coating compound.”
“So?” Nyere was studiously unimpressed. “You’ve heard Yoshi gripe about pleasure craft plowing up his acreage. Another slap-happy Sunday driver, that’s all.”
“I don’t think so. Analyzer says its closest analogue is the kind of temperature-resistant sealant they spray on spacecraft.”
Her particular choice of words was intended to catch Nyere’s attention. It did so.
“What do you mean ‘closest analogue’?”
“According to the analyzer, it contains trace elements not native to this solar system. They can be synthesized under lab conditions, but—”
“Then maybe it’s something new the Space Service has come up with,” Nyere said, grasping at straws. “I wouldn’t call your findings conclusive, Sawyer. Not on this much evidence.”
A long moment of silence hung between them. Nyere’s heel dragging had begun to grate on Sawyer about as much as her impatience did on him.
“Jason, something fell out of the sky last night and got snarled up in that cable. It’s my guess it’s sitting on the bottom waiting for us right now.” Nyere said nothing. “What I want to know is what the hell, in light of your
“My father?” that daughter said now, kneeling beside his sleeping niche; the musician Stell had set aside his ka’athyra and gone to take the conn, leaving the two to their privacy. “We have made the crossover. I wanted you to know.”
The ancient one raised himself slowly to a sitting position.
“My gratitude, Commander,” he said, his voice rusty with many days’ silence, insisting upon the formality as he had when their roles had been reversed. “It will be good to see Earth once more.”
First Mate Sawyer ran the hand-held chemanalyzer over the suspect portion of the barrier weir surrounding the westernmost kelp fields of the Agro III station.
“Cables’re tangled,” she muttered as if to herself. “And they’re frayed—here, and here. As if something heavy got itself caught, then pulled or slid off. Moy, keep this baby steady, can’t you?”
Young eager Ensign Moy, falling all over himself on his first real sea voyage, struggled mightily with the small skiff in what was proving to be a choppy sea.
“Sorry, sir,” he said by reflex; it seemed he was always apologizing for something. “MeteorCom says we’re in for heavy weather.”
His baby face shone with expectation as he tried to read the analyzer over Sawyer’s shoulder. “Whatcha got, sir? Anything interesting?”
“Could be, Moy,” Sawyer muttered, preoccupied. “Could be real interesting.”
It had been pure fluke that she’d been the first to notice something. Nyere had ordered the day watch to cruise the perimeter of Agro III before going inside, and Sawyer just happened to be taking a turn on the forward deck after hours bending over her instruments when the damaged cables hove into view. She’d persuaded the captain to let her lower the skiff and have a closer look.
“Those white patches are not paint,” she said emphatically. “Not that I know what they are. Best we rub off a sample and take it back upstairs for a full analysis.”
“You think it was a satellite like the captain said, sir?” Moy’s words tumbled out in his excitement. “Or you think there’s more to it? He’s been real snappish since he got the word. I hear it was Priority One. You don’t suppose—”
“Button it, Moy. Let’s get back before my breakfast comes up. I’m not used to being this close to the water.”
“Aye, sir,” Moy said glumly, steering the skiff back to where Delphinus lay brooding behind them.
“It is not paint, Captain suh,” Melody reported conclusively, the report printout in her hand. “It’s a rhodinium-silica-based coating compound.”
“So?” Nyere was studiously unimpressed. “You’ve heard Yoshi gripe about pleasure craft plowing up his acreage. Another slap-happy Sunday driver, that’s all.”
“I don’t think so. Analyzer says its closest analogue is the kind of temperature-resistant sealant they spray on spacecraft.”
Her particular choice of words was intended to catch Nyere’s attention. It did so.
“What do you mean ‘closest analogue’?”
“According to the analyzer, it contains trace elements not native to this solar system. They can be synthesized under lab conditions, but—”
“Then maybe it’s something new the Space Service has come up with,” Nyere said, grasping at straws. “I wouldn’t call your findings conclusive, Sawyer. Not on this much evidence.”
A long moment of silence hung between them. Nyere’s heel dragging had begun to grate on Sawyer about as much as her impatience did on him.
“Jason, something fell out of the sky last night and got snarled up in that cable. It’s my guess it’s sitting on the bottom waiting for us right now.” Nyere said nothing. “What I want to know is what the hell, in light of your
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