Tachyon Web by Christopher Pike

could handle the stitching and Strem told Eric that since there was only one pail for hauling the dirty coolant to the bathroom, he would just get in his way. Eric could see it was important for the three of them to stay busy and didn’t protest. Besides, he was hungry.
    He left the haphazard operation, went to the gallery, and ate more than any marooned passenger had a right to. The heavy meal made him drowsy, and when Sammy refused to be relieved from the helm, he once again found himself in his own room, staring at the ceiling. He did not remember closing his eyes and dozing off.
     
    Someone was shaking him. He sat up and opened his eyes, taking a startled breath. Bare-chested, Sammy was sitting on his bed, the others standing at his back with the strangest looks on their faces. Where he was came back in an instant.
    “How long have I been out?”
    “Two hours,” Strem said.
    “You let me sleep two hours?” Everyone kept staring at him. “What is it?”
    “We have some bad news and some bizarre news,” Strem said.
    “We have filtered five gallons of the coolant,” Sammy said. “Something must be dissolved in it.”
    “How can you tell?”
    “It still stinks,” Sammy said. “But we haven’t given up on it.” He paused, cleared his throat. “We’re picking up transmissions on several electromagnetic frequencies, light-speed. Their source is nearby.”
    “So The Patrol is out here after all,” Eric muttered.
    Sammy shook his head. “These transmissions don’t belong to us, to any of us.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They’re not of human origin,” Sammy said.
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    They were gathered on the bridge. Eric had not pinched himself but he had drunk a cup of coffee and knew he was not dreaming. Yet the enchanting light of the nova and its prismatic halos – further away for the last two hours of travel, but still overwhelming – had the control room aglow with such etheric hues that it was easy to believe his mind was still wandering in a fantasy universe created by his unconscious. Sammy was explaining, matter-of-factly, how he had made the greatest discovery in human history.
    “I was scanning for a flux of graviton drive, searching for a Patrol cruiser, when I came across a powerful stream of high-velocity ions. At first, I thought it was some type of natural phenomenon triggered by the nova, perhaps a comet’s reaction to the high radiation. Then I got this strange feeling. I’d seen this type of stream before.”
    “Didn’t primitive spacecraft used to be propelled by accelerated particles?” Eric asked.
    Sammy nodded. “It was one of the methods used before the discovery of the graviton drive. That’s why I recognized it. I’d seen it on history videos. But never on a scale such as this. I still didn’t think the phenomenon could be artificial until I focused Excalibur ’s main dish on it. Then I started to pick this.”
    Sammy activated the holographic cube in the center of the bridge. The image was cracked with static but was nevertheless sufficiently clear to steal Eric’s breath away. It was a man and it wasn’t a man. His features were femininely soft, his skin smooth and golden, partially hidden beneath a bush of curly white hair. None of these qualities would have gotten him stopped on the street back on Earth. But his perfectly round white-less eyes, dark green centers set in light green sockets, would have made him a standout at one of Cleo’s punk parties.
    The man was slightly built, clothed in a loose blue tunic that fastened at the neck with a silver clasp. His incomprehensible words were soft and musical, especially in comparison to the flat tones of English, the only language spoken on Earth. Eric took an immediate liking to him.
    “Could the interference be causing a color distortion?” he asked.
    “This is his actual appearance,” Sammy said confidently.
    Cleo squealed with delight. “He’s a doll! What’s his name?”
    “She’ll want