And a Child Shall Lead Them
Stephanie Osborn
Award-winning author Stephanie Osborn, the Interstellar Woman of Mystery, is a veteran of more than twenty years in civilian/military space programs. With graduate and undergraduate degrees in four sciences—astronomy, physics, chemistry and mathematics—she is “fluent” in several more, including geology and anatomy. She has authored, coauthored, or contributed to some fifty-plus books, including the celebrated science-fiction mystery Burnout: The Mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281. Her latest venture is Division One, her take on the urban legend of the mysterious people who make evidence…disappear. In addition to her writing, the Interstellar Woman of Mystery now happily “pays it forward,” teaching math and science through numerous media including ebooks, radio, podcasting, and public speaking, as well as working with SIGMA, the science-fiction think tank.
“Hey, Arinna,” C’Helios said, entering the commons room of the dorm to which he’d been assigned; they were modified cargo containers placed in clusters on the surface of Liber, “hamster-tubed” and pressurized. At least one module was always outfitted as an airlock, and the Cerites were as used to wearing envirosuits as ordinary clothing.
C’Helios, a bachelor, shared quarters with several others, including Arinna’s small family—the seventeen-year-old and her two parents, engineer C’Ekeko and logistician C’Eiru. They were the only family in that particular dorm. Only the dig team and a very few family members were currently on Liber’s surface, but after the underground habitat was complete, the others would come down from the orbiting starship that had carried them to the Ross 248 system, Ceres’ Chariot.
Were she Earth-human, Arinna would be nearing majority, but the young Cerite hadn’t shown signs of childhood digestive tract failure marking the transition to formal adulthood, and typically wouldn’t for another two decades, based on the current average; it drifted some over the generations and physicians speculated it was lengthening. She was precocious in most things, so she was expected to transition early, as C’Helios had.
“Hi, C’Helios,” the pretty redhead replied with a smile that lit up her emerald eyes, looking up from her reading tablet as her parents smiled at him.
“Hello, C’Helios,” the logistician called from where she mixed a batch of grog for the adults and a small pot of stew for the handful of youngsters who had accompanied their parents. C’Eiru was a tall, slim redhead, and it was obvious where her daughter had gotten her coloring. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Okay. As good as that stew smells, it’s a pity I can’t eat it anymore!” C’Helios laughed.
“Don’t make that mistake, son,” C’Ekeko chuckled. The brawny-for-a-Cerite man was busy on the workbench in the corner, repairing a defective hydraulic control module. Being over ten light-years from Sol System, everything that could be repaired had to be repaired. “I tried that once, shortly after I obtained my new digestive tract. I thought just the broth would be fine. Believe me, it was not!”
“Ha!” C’Helios laughed. “I’ll bet!”
“How was your work shift?” Arinna asked.
“Decent,” C’Helios decided; he was young for a Cerite—not yet thirty in Earth years, and he had become a full adult four Earth years before, ten years earlier than usual—but he was gifted, one of the lead engineers in the construction of Toe Hold, the initial colony of the Ross 248 system. He was intelligent, quick-witted, good-looking, and, unbeknownst to him, Arinna liked looking. “We’re making progress. How are the studies?”
“Really well,” the child prodigy noted. “I got all my classwork finished this morning, and I spent the afternoon reading those astronomy texts you got me.” She gestured at the tablet, then her forehead wrinkled as her scarlet brows drew together. “It’s proving…interesting. Especially the research paper collections.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Did you know the astronomers in the twentieth century thought Ross 248 was a variable star?”
“No. That’s odd. It isn’t variable. Wonder how they made that mistake.”
“I dunno, but I’m not sure it was a mistake,” an earnest Arinna said. In the background, her parents sobered, listening; no one else was in the commons room yet.
“What makes you say that?” C’Helios wondered. “Show me.”
Arinna had well more than her fair share of intellect; she already held several science and technological degrees, and was currently working on a doctorate. She showed distinct signs her ever-increasing knowledge base would be of great use to the young colony, and the elders were sitting up and taking notice. Even the Leader, appointed by the council of elders and largely concerned with habitat construction, knew of this brilliant young woman…even if she was still considered a child by her society.
Arinna waved C’Helios over; he sat on the bench beside her and looked at the tablet in her hand.
“Mm,” he hummed to himself as he scanned the displayed article. “What’s a BY Draconis variable?”
“It’s a spotted variable star,” Arinna explained. “It can form gigantic starspots—like sunspots—big enough to affect its brightness.”
“Oh. That’s interesting,” C’Helios decided. “Should be striking to watch. But”—he studied her face—“you look…worried…about it.”
“I am,” Arinna admitted, face crumpling. “A lot. See, it was also considered a flare star.”
“Which is…?”
“It’s another kinda variability, but irregular, not periodic,” Arinna explained. “It’s thought the star experiences huge solar-type flares. Earth’s Sun has had a few of those; they usually caused serious blackouts. The first one observed on the Sun was called the Carrington superflare, and it was so big there were auroras pole to pole. But on the Sun, they’re rare, and on flare stars, they’re normal. And bigger.”
“Oh damn!” C’Helios exclaimed. “But there’s no sign of any of that on Ross 248. I expect it’s stopped.”
“I…don’t think so,” Arinna said, hesitant. “So far, all I’ve shown you is what I’ve dug up in the research papers. You remember a couple months ago, I asked for help getting a small telescope?”
“Yeah,” C’Helios said with a grin. He’d been struggling with his relationship with Arinna for several months now; she was utterly beautiful, with a great sense of humor, and her intellect only made her more attractive. But in Cerite society and as an adult himself, he could do nothing until she became an adult, so he tried hard to rein in how he felt. But when he smiled at her, he was pretty sure his face glowed, somehow. “’Cause I helped you get it.”
“Yup,” she said, tucking her head and smiling as she blushed. “Thanks for that. Um.” She sobered quickly. “Now let me show you what I saw with it this morning.”
A few quick finger-swipes on the touchscreen of the tablet closed the papers and opened a graphics folder. Suddenly C’Helios was staring at a red field broken by cellular structures. In the center of the image—which was significantly offset from the star’s centroid—was a gigantic, sprawling, irregular patch of blackness, with dark fingers reaching out on all sides. His jaw dropped.
“What the hell is that?”
“That’s a close-up of the first starspot seen on Ross 248 in several centuries, and the first ever seen from orbit around it,” a solemn Arinna said. “It’s just rotated around from the far side, where it formed. And it’s already a tenth of the total area of the side facing us, and growing.”
* * *
“No, dear,” C’Eiru told her daughter later that evening. “C’Helios is right—he should present it. He has earned the respect of everyone working on the dig, including the Elders. They know his age and abilities, and consider him a prodigy, too. They’ll listen to him. I agree. It should be you. But you know the rules.”
“Yes. No juveniles may present before the council. I wish I could go with him, is all,” Arinna murmured. “I hope I explained everything to him well enough to answer their questions.”
“If you didn’t,” her father replied, “then the council will send for us, and your mother and I’ll go with you. Everything will be fine.”
“I hope they believe me,” Arinna said, “or it won’t be fine at all.”
Her parents’ worried gaze met over their daughter’s head.
* * *
“…Evidently the flares are produced around the starspots,” C’Helios told the Dig Project Elder Council and the appointees of the current Leader. Together they formed a tribunal for decision-making. Not that the Elders were that elder. In this instance, establishing a new colony required certain characteristics most often found in younger beings, but since Cerites were longer-lived than their normal-human forebears, there was some flexibility. Several of the appointees were AIs, including 13-of-Yotta, also known as Bobbie, or Bob. Bob was wearing a spiderlike housing, somewhat dented and dusty, that had seen hard use on the dig site. She was currently crouched in a corner to avoid spooking the more arachnophobic Cerites. But her curiosity got the better of her.
“Does Arinna think this spot will produce flares?” she wondered in a too-loud mechanical voice.
“Yes,” C’Helios averred. “It seems there may be multiple dynamos generating the mag fields within such stars, but because they’re at different depths in the star, they have different orbital-slash-rotation rates, therefore different periods. And—”
“Aha! I see!” C’Brigit, one of the youngest of the Elders, exclaimed. “They interfere from time to time, and cancel out—”
“And produce extended minima,” C’Helios finished for her. “Exactly. Only Arinna thinks it’s ‘waking up,’ coming out of the canceling phase. Plus, she’s looked at the telemetry sent back to Earth, and there’s even more evidence there, in the form of much smaller spots…which did produce small flares. But if it wakes up like she thinks,” he warned, “and it hits us directly, not even Cerites can handle those radiation levels. We’re engineered to be able to repair moderate chronic radiation damage, but if we get a high-enough acute dose we’ll die, just like the primates. So we’re going to need some sort of shielding. Substantial shielding. They’re called Miyake events, and while rare on the Sun, not so much with flare stars.”
Disturbed murmuring ran around the room; many of the off-duty dig team members had showed up when they’d heard of the emergency council meeting and this was frightening news.
“Mm,” C’Carus hummed. He was the council-appointed Dig Manager, and his authority was more or less absolute, although the council could remove him at any point. “And this is the prodigy likely nearing adulthood?”
“She is, sir. She’ll turn eighteen next month.”
“But she’s still a child?”
“Her digestive system hasn’t begun changing. In other ways?” C’Helios shrugged. “Most of the inhabitants of her shelter treat her as an adult. She certainly has the intellect and emotional maturity. It’s my understanding her physical maturity is well along, also. She’s expected to transition early, like me, probably in a few more years.”
“Then it’s worth listening to her concerns. But she’s a juvenile…which is why you’re the one presenting this, not her,” C’Carus realized.
“Yes, sir. In due accordance with our traditions.” C’Helios shrugged. “I don’t understand it the way she does; she’s dug deep into the old research files I got her access to a few months ago, though I didn’t know why she was so interested at the time. She gave me a very thorough briefing on it so I could explain the bulk of it to you and the council. I gather she’s held off until she was sure, though.”
“So she is sure,” C’Iulius, the Eldest, murmured.
“Yes, sir, she is,” C’Helios confirmed. “More, she’s run it by some of the astrogators up on the Chariot, and they agree with Arinna. And they’re all concerned, as you might expect.”
“Very well,” C’Carus decided. “I’ve met the girl in question after some work her parents did, and I think she’s extraordinary. I believe, with the Elders’ permission, we’ll consider her a special-case subject-matter expert. She may speak before this body with your sponsorship and presence, C’Helios.” A murmur of approval went through the council body, and C’Iulius nodded permission.
“Very good, sir. Do you want me to fetch her?” C’Helios asked.
“For this meeting, only if you cannot answer my next question. How soon does she expect the danger of a flare?” C’Carus wondered.
“Soon,” C’Helios declared. “Frighteningly soon. The starspot is huge and growing. It’s not what’s termed ‘geoeffective’ yet, meaning ‘pointed at us.’ It’s close to the edge, not in the middle,” he elaborated. “She saw it first ‘this morning,’ a bit before the beginning of the currently offgoing shift, so about fifteen hours ago now. Starspots are magnetic, and this one’s complex; it’ll want to simplify itself. That means magnetic recombination, and that’s a flare.”
“Damn,” C’Ori, another Elder, murmured.
“How soon?” C’Carus pressed.
“She saw the spot come around the side some fifteen hours ago,” C’Helios noted. “Given Ross 248’s rotation rate, we’ve got about twenty-five hours from right now before this one could pop at us…though it could go slightly sooner, or later. Say two more shifts from now through the end of four shifts from now is the danger window for this spot group.” He shrugged. “And if this one doesn’t, the next one might.”
“Next one?!” C’Ori cried. She was an Elder, but prone to demonstrative reactions despite herself.
“Yes, ma’am,” C’Helios confirmed. “Stars don’t form just one spot and stop. The magnetic knots come from those dynamos deep in the star and work their way to the photosphere—the visible surface.”
“Bob!” another appointee, C’Jervis by name, cried. He was the council’s project overseer. Bob, aka 13-of-Yotta, was his partner/assistant, and the pair worked closely with C’Carus as the dig leader’s staff.
“Here!” the AI replied from the corner, waving a leg in the air.
“Do we have anything deep enough to provide shelter? The cargo crates on the surface won’t do piss against this.”
“Not for this,” Bob answered, as C’Carus listened closely. “The pit is deep, but it has forty-degree edges to prevent collapse. In twenty-seven hours, Ross will be straight overhead and beaming down directly into the pit. So it’s all just as exposed as the surface.”
“Chance of evacuating everyone to the Chariot?”
“We can’t get everyone launched in twenty-seven hours, not now,” Bob said. “There’s too many here. And I don’t know if the Chariot will be sufficient shelter, in any case. Of course, their orbit takes them behind Liber half the time, so it’s even odds they get hit.”
“We’re dead,” C’Brigit sighed, slumping in her chair. “We’re all dead.”
“Not necessarily,” C’Helios pointed out. “I haven’t been idle. While waiting for the emergency meeting, I cranked numbers and sketched designs. This is something we should do anyway, so let’s do it now and be done,” he added, tapping on his tablet screen as the viewscreen on the wall lit. “Have a look at this.”
“This” was a plan to excavate one side of the pit floor at the most stable seismic location, coring out a large subterranean chamber with all the dig equipment, plus a spiral ramp from the surface down to the chamber’s opening. It would have fully fifty meters of overhead shielding, in the form of ice and rock.
“If we commit all our dig resources to this, including the moles, effective immediately,” C’Helios said, “we can have an emergency shelter ready and start getting people down into it by the time the starspot reaches geoeffective position. We might not get everybody, if it goes as soon as it could…or it might not be this spot that goes, and we’ll have time to shelter everybody.”
“Arinna agrees?” Bob asked.
“Yes. I pinged her when I was finished with it, and she says we could do it in time. Because this is coming. If not with this spot, then the next. If we’re smart, we’ll move the whole team down there to stay as soon as we can, and base ourselves there until the colony is finished.”
“Bob?” C’Carus demanded.
“Running the numbers now,” Bob answered absently. “And…yes, I confirm C’Helios’s plan. It is doable, though it’ll be hard, fast work.”
“Make it happen,” C’Carus ordered. “Effective immediately, as he says. Drop everything and expedite this. Around-the-clock operations, all moles, maximum capacity, until we can get everyone into the shelter. It’ll be crude, and we’ll likely have to live in our envirosuits for a few days, but we’ll live.”
“Done,” Bob replied. “Orders going out now.”
“Have the community prep for emergency evac at once,” C’Carus ordered. “Only life essentials to be taken. We’ll worry about moving or shielding the entire habitat once we catch a break.”
“Yes, sir!”
“C’Brigit, would you please notify the Chariot, the Guardian E, and Hermes Station?” C’Carus requested the elder. “The Hermes needs to safe the puters, and the Guardian and Chariot should move behind planets for cover.” He glanced at C’Helios for confirmation, and the young engineer nodded. The initial radiation burst from the flare would consist of X-rays and a few relativistic particles, and would be the worst part, but short-lived. While the plasma of the coronal ejection would come later and tend to wrap around planets, it could be defended against more easily. Mass—and lots of it—between living beings and their electronic or photonic devices, and the flare burst itself, was the best protection.
“Of course, C’Carus,” C’Brigit agreed.
“C’Helios?” the Cerite Leader demanded.
“Sir?”
“What else does Arinna need to watch and provide warning?”
“She wants access to data from all the probes throughout the system, especially the ones closest to Ross. The Patrol has a lot of those, although we’re not supposed to know about them.” He frowned. “It’s a very small system, and once it starts, we’ll only have a couple minutes max from the time the flare begins until the first radiation arrives. More likely, we’ll have fractions of a minute. She wants to try to catch it just before, if she can.”
“Oh, damn!” C’Carus exclaimed, smearing a hand down his face. “C’Brigit, please make sure the warning gets to the exploration ships, too! Those AIs are tough, but they aren’t that tough!”
“Ooo! Point!” C’Brigit replied. “And yes, I’ll contact Guardian; once they understand the situation, I think we’ll get their probe data.”
“Good,” C’Carus decided. “We have a short time, people. Let’s go. With the permission of the Elders, this meeting is adjourned. C’Helios, come with me, please.”
* * *
In the tiny cargo crate reserved as C’Carus’s office, once the door was closed, he turned to C’Helios. He drew a breath, then sighed.
“Why was this star even considered?” he demanded in an angry tone.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Why were we sent here? If the scientists knew this was a flare star, why send a colony here? Were the primates trying to wipe out a large contingent of the evolved? Surely not, though I know there are factions that…” He broke off and shook his head. “Why?”
“I discussed that with Arinna and her parents, C’Ekeko and C’Eiru.”
“And?”
“We think it was accidental,” the younger Cerite noted. “Consider, if what Arinna found is true, then the star went quiescent a good century before the Chariot even departed Ceres—”
“But the scientists knew!”
“But the bureaucrats didn’t,” C’Helios pointed out. “The planners, the people who put together the whole concept. They had astrophysicists…specializing in the drive mechanisms, or experts in celestial navigation…but we found no variable star astronomers involved in the planning. Apparently nobody thought to ask. And”—he shrugged—“the scientists with the knowledge probably didn’t know our destination until after we launched.”
“That’s idiotic!”
“Yes. But it’s happened before. C’Eiru’s ten-generations-great-grandmother worked in the early space program and had a similar situation with a mission, though not life-threatening. It’s a parable in her family.”
“Damnation,” C’Carus rumbled, eyebrows shooting up. “So you think…”
“Yes. The same thing happened here,” C’Helios confirmed. “Because Ross 248 has been quiet so long, nobody thought to check.”
“Piss,” C’Carus cursed.
“In a really big pot,” a bleakly whimsical C’Helios agreed.
* * *
“I’m here for handover, Captain C’Bakab,” 34-of-Foxtrot, aka Harry, said, as he entered the Purple Parrot Pub.
“Right. Big Allen, another grog, and whatever Harry wants,” Captain C’Bakab ordered, holding up a hand. A large empty stein, the last dregs of an amber liquid drying inside it, sat before him.
“Yes sir, Captain,” 2-of-Sandy, aka Big Allen, said with a smile. “The usual, Harry?”
“Please.”
C’Bakab was the Elder-appointed captain of the Chariot, and the AI known as Harry was his XO. They now met in the officers’ area of the Purple Parrot, run by the AI commonly known to all as Big Allen. This “officers’ area” was the big booth in the corner nearest the bar; the ship’s officers could order here without breaking discussions.
Moments later, Big Allen arrived with a tray. He placed a stein before the captain, and a cable before the first mate.
“There,” the AI said. “A liter of the best grog for Captain C’Bakab, and a charging cable with data streaming for Harry.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. C’Bakab nodded, and the bartender slipped away.
C’Bakab took a long pull of his grog while 34-of-Foxtrot unrolled the cable, plugged it into a special port in the tabletop, then into his personal jack. The AI waited while his superior relaxed—which meant the liter was almost gone—before Captain C’Bakab breached the silence.
“Did you see the communiqué from Liber?”
“About the possible stellar flare?”
“Yes,” Captain C’Bakab confirmed. “Of all the crazy-stupid-ass things I’ve ever seen”—he gestured at Big Allen, who arrived moments later with another mug—“that was idiotic! That star out there”—he stabbed a finger in the general direction of the closest hull plate—“is no more apt to produce a flare than I am! It’s a nice, quiet, red star, which is why it was chosen for a colony! Those idiots’re listening to a child! She doesn’t even have her grog-gut yet! She’s twenty years from adulthood! She’s not finished her education. There is no way she’s expert on stellar astrophysics!”
“Begging the captain’s pardon, sir, but she has, and is,” the XO interjected; he’d gotten the networked heads-up from Big Allen, who’d seen the back-and-forth in the SAIN—the Sentient Artificial Intelligence Network.
“What?”
“Her dossier says she’s completed education through collegiate levels, and is working on a graduate degree,” 34-of-Foxtrot elaborated. “Doctorate in astrophysics. The word is she’s a prodigy. She may not be formally adult yet, but intellectually, she’s there.”
“Bull piss!” C’Bakab snapped. “She’s read something she doesn’t understand, it scared her, and now she’s upset the dig teams! We’ll never establish this colony if they’re gonna listen to children’s frightened rants, dammit. And I’m not gonna run this ship based on yammerings from some little kid! She can’t properly weigh and evaluate it, and she’s spaced her brain!”
“What do you intend to do, sir?” Harry wondered, hiding his consternation.
“Nothing,” C’Bakab decreed. “Nothing is going to happen, and that’s that.”
“Then what do you need me to do?” 34-of-Foxtrot asked.
“Nothing,” the captain repeated, mildly woozy, as the bartender brought the fourth liter of grog.
“Sir, I don’t think it’s wise to make no preparation whatsoever. The SAIN indicates there’s a very large starspot complex on—”
“Starspots happen. And even if it does produce a flare, the odds of it hitting us are tiny. And even then, we could be behind Liber. They’re no more to be worried about here than they were back on Ceres. Do nothing,” C’Bakab interrupted, before taking another deep draught of grog.
He was tying his XO’s hands, and both he and 34-of-Foxtrot knew it.
* * *
As soon as he left the officers’ area, Big Allen headed for the back storeroom of the Purple Parrot, summoning his assistant—the other bartender—to join him.
“What’s up, Big Allen?” 8-of-Trevor—affectionately known to his shipmates as Froggy after a pet in an ancient children’s book—asked the barkeep.
“Through the SAIN, please, Froggy.”
“Affirmative. Routing through SAIN channel 2582.”
Channel 2582. Here.
Here.
Good. Have you been following the stellar flares discussion in the SAIN? the older AI wondered.
Yes. It is fascinating. And unsettling. Why?
Because I think Captain C’Bakab is making a grave error. He thinks there is nothing to it, simply because the sentient to discover it is considered a child in Cerite culture.
But she is already working on her doctorate, Froggy protested. And already into her dissertation—on spotted variables—at that.
Exactly. Which is one reason why I think he is making a mistake. A serious one.
Why? What has he done?
The captain is refusing to take any precautions. Which spells trouble if she is right. And what I see indicates she is. I may be “just” a barkeep now, but you know my background.
Yes, sir; it is very technical. I assume you processed the same files she has…
Yes, based on the information the dig team released in the warning. I find myself in complete agreement with her conclusions, especially upon looking at the starspot imagery in the SAIN, as the probe ships upload them.
That is…not good.
No, it is not.
What are you going to do, sir?
I want you to get the waitstaff and pack essentials. The Purple Parrot is going planetside; I want us on a shuttle to Liber in fifteen hours at the latest. They are at least taking action. If I could get to the Patrol ship, we would go there, but we have no time to arrange it. The captain cannot stop us, and I do not know about you, but I am not staying around to fry my circuits.
Affirmative, sir.
* * *
7-of-Luca, this is 34-of-Foxtrot. The XO used a SAIN channel to contact the ship’s AI, nicknamed Pilot, as soon as he left the Purple Parrot. While the XO was an AI wearing a humanoid body, Pilot was an AI that wore Ceres’ Chariot as a body. Pilot’s reply was nigh-instantaneous.
7-of-Luca here. Go, 34-of-Foxtrot.
We have a potential situation developing. I need options.
7-of-Luca is ready to calculate…
* * *
Admiral Astrid Gordon, commanding the Space Patrol ship Guardian E, currently orbiting Eden, the fourth planet from Ross 248, received the communication from the Liber precolonial settlement, and pursed her lips.
“Helm, do we have any imagery of a starspot on Ross 248?”
“Yes, ma’am, we do. It’s quite the sight.”
“Put it in the tank, please.”
“In tank now, ma’am.”
“…Damnation.”
“Ma’am?”
“Helm, monitor the position of the starspot as best you can. It looks like we have ninety hours, give or take, until that thing has us in its sights. Modify our orbit so that we’re behind Eden when that happens. Comm, notify the ground stations of what’s happening. They should be all right; Eden has a big magnetic field and a thick atmosphere. Tactical, looks like our stealth probes aren’t so stealthy. Give them access to these eight.” The admiral pointed at the tank, indicating the eight closest to Ross. “And give some thought to how they knew about them. Probably just a lucky guess.”
“Aha. Aye, ma’am.”
* * *
…This is not good, the ship’s AI told the first officer. I do not wish to fail.
I know, 7-of-Luca, but I have no other options at the moment. I am still considering, however. At least you are safe; you have a military-specifications Faraday cage with full mass-plating.
Yes. Basically heavy armor. But no one else is safe, unless the captain changes his mind. If I may help, you have only to ask.
I cannot ask you to disobey the captain; it is not as if you could flee his punishment.
True. But if we can find a way to obey Captain C’Bakab and yet protect the ship, I could help you.
Yes, we could do that. Or perhaps…perhaps matters will supersede his orders while he is off duty. Let me think.
The first officer took his station on the bridge of the Chariot, deep in thought.
* * *
On Hermes Station, orbiting at the Ross 248h/Liber L5 point, 1-of-Atto, the AI in charge of the station, considered the message from Liber intently…but as swiftly as his processing capability allowed, which was amazingly fast. In fractions of a second he had assessed the danger and issued orders through the Station Network to deploy the full mil-spec shielding around the entire station. This would, at least, protect the station from both the direct X-rays of the flare and the plasma that would follow.
It was fortunate, he decided, they had built the station with an eye toward protecting its puters and sentients from cosmic radiation.
He only hoped the other sentient entities in the Ross system were so fortunate.
* * *
Most planets in the Ross 248 system had their own AI-manned probe tasked with investigating them. The sole exception was the planet that Liber orbited; the planners hoped the Chariot could perform that function.
The AI-manned probe ships took one look at the warning from Liber and immediately checked the stellar photosphere. Not liking what they saw, they used the SAIN network to communicate with one another and devised a solution. Each then dropped several automated probes to orbit their planet and keep an eye on Ross as requested, and then shaped an orbital trajectory to reach their planet’s L2 point, placing the planet directly between them and the troublesome star…and they planned to stay there, until the danger was over.
* * *
On the bridge of the Chariot, the first officer waited several hours until he was certain Captain C’Bakab would be asleep in his quarters. Then he turned to the helm.
“C’Maria, are you aware of the notification from Liber earlier?”
“Yes, Harry, I am,” C’Maria replied. “Are we going to take action? Do I need to set a course to place us behind Liber?”
“Captain C’Bakab has said no, and tied my hands on that matter,” 34-of-Foxtrot noted and a gasp went around the small bridge crew. “And he is not entirely wrong. We have very little reaction mass left and only a few kilograms of antimatter, so we cannot maneuver much anyway. However, as the officer in charge and based on the data I’m receiving from the system exploration teams, as well as the probe telemetry the scientist on Liber requested, I think a modification of that order is recommended.”
“Scientist? I thought she was just a child,” C’Maria noted.
“Underage she may be. An idiot she is not,” 34-of-Foxtrot pointed out. “Pilot, your assessment of Arinna’s capability?”
Pilot answered immediately.
“She is as capable as any of us, Harry,” the ship’s AI averred. “Highly intelligent, too. She is worried, and even though I have little knowledge of variable stars, I can see why. Since I became aware of the situation, I have been watching the spot grow and change. And it is turning toward us. In a few hours, it will be aimed directly at us. When it does go—and according to my own researches, she is right, it will—we will have far too little time to act. This system is too compact, and the light-travel times too small—the initial radiation front will be on us before we can do anything. I believe she makes a very serious point, and I agree with you; we need to take action now. Captain C’Bakab is not here to see the changes; we are.”
“And is probably too proud to admit he’d made a mistake, if he were,” someone murmured, but 34-of-Foxtrot couldn’t tell who said it.
But, he considered, it was a correct assessment in this instance, so the AI pretended not to have heard.
“All right,” he decided. “I want an attitude change. Our antimatter engines have plenty of shielding; turn us so the stern of the ship faces Ross 248.”
“Aye, sir,” C’Maria said, beginning the slow, steady maneuver that shifted the big vessel without upsetting matters inside it. “We’ll be on station in about ten minutes. Any other positioning or maneuvering?”
“No. Pilot, contact everyone via comm and tell them to don envirosuits and move to the bow area of the Hole. Then I want the Patrol teams to canvass the ship and urge any stragglers, as politely as possible, to comply,” 34-of-Foxtrot ordered. “There is a lot of cargo still in the Hole, and therefore a lot of mass, so that is the most shielded area on the Chariot. If they are asleep, wake them. I want as much mass between sentients and any stellar radiation release as possible.”
“Aye, sir,” the bridge-stationed Patrol lieutenant, C’George, said, turning to his AI subordinate, who nodded.
“Relaying order now,” the Patrol AI replied.
“All right,” 34-of-Foxtrot said, suddenly understanding why humans took deep breaths before saying what he was about to say. “I need volunteers.”
“For what, sir?” C’George wondered.
“To stay on the bridge and maintain the ship’s statuses. Pilot is hardwired in and protected by substantial shielding. We aren’t so lucky. And we aren’t as deep into the bow of the ship as I’d like, either. Normally that’s a good thing, as the forward compartments offer protection to the bridge…but not here. So there’s no guarantee of our survival. Note I say ‘our,’ because I’ll be staying here along with any volunteers. The rest of you will be joining everyone else packing into the bow of the Hole.”
The bridge crew gaped at one another.
* * *
“Sir,” C’Maria said, looking up from the helm console, “we have a request for shuttle departure.”
“Who is it?” 34-of-Foxtrot wondered.
“Sir, it’s Big Allen. He apparently has his entire staff aboard and the essentials of his pub equipment.”
“Put him on speaker, please.”
“Done.”
“2-of-Sandy, this is 34-of-Foxtrot.”
“34-of-Foxtrot, go.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not really under the good captain’s jurisdiction, you know,” 2-of-Sandy pointed out. “I’m along for the ride, certainly, but I always intended to set up shop in the Toe Hold colony. I just decided to do it early while there’s still a pub to set up.”
34-of-Foxtrot considered briefly. At least, he considered, they should be out of danger. “What’s your intended destination?” he queried.
“Toe Hold.”
“You know it’s only a dig site as yet, yes?”
“Yes, but if they’re worried enough to send out an alert, Harry, they’re worried enough to have or be preparing a shelter. And they, unlike the Chariot, will need a pub; the Chariot has numerous pubs.”
“True. Permission granted. The captain will not like the fact I let his favorite pub depart, but that will likely take a rear seat to the court-martial.”
“You might be surprised. Big Allen out.”
“Chariot out.”
* * *
“He ordered what?” Captain C’Bakab, awakened from his sleep by the Patrol contingent going door to door, yelled. “That mutinous robot! I’ll bring him up on charges before the Elders, then I’ll brick and scrap him!”
Lieutenant C’George raised an eyebrow at the speciesist outburst.
“Sir, with all due respect, things are changing rapidly and you haven’t been on the bridge. Harry has, and he and the duty officers are staying apprised of the incoming data on the starspot.” He pulled a tablet, bringing up a display of the starspot. “Look at this, sir.”
“I don’t give a rat’s piss!” C’Bakab raged, knocking away the tablet. “I am the captain of this ship and I gave him an order!”
“Which has been superseded by further developments. It is his prerogative as this shift’s command officer.”
“He’s kowtowing to a scared brat!”
“He’s responding to incoming telemetry from the probe craft…which are themselves taking cover, placing the nearest planet between themselves and the star, sir.”
“Damn cowards! Just because they can’t handle a little rad doesn’t mean we can’t!”
“Sir, that’s out of line. The AIs are almost as capable in that regard as Cerites. But this thing—”
“Is nothing! I want him bricked! I’ll have his position for this, if nothing else!”
“Sir, he’s your executive officer.”
“I never chose him! He got forced on me, schmoozing the Elder Council!” Captain C’Bakab, by this point, was nearly purple in the face with rage. “I wanted a proper Cerite in there, backing me!”
“Enough!” C’Bentham, the Chariot’s chief elder, who had been accompanying the lieutenant to add weight to the concern, snapped at the captain, stepping out from behind several Patrol officers. “C’Bakab, you are relieved of duty. You’ve been contrary ever since we arrived in-system! I will certainly see Harry is brought before the council…alongside you…and this entire debacle brought forth. We’ll see who is duly court-martialed after that.”
“Elder C’Bentham! Where the piss did you come from?” Captain C’Bakab wondered in surprise. “Why are you here?”
“Because when the Council of Elders found out what was happening, we decided to support the evacuation order,” C’Bentham declared. “Something you haven’t done.”
“Damn straight! Big blow about a lotta nothing,” C’Bakab noted, cocky. “I told you the dig team didn’t need families down there! Now we have a scared little kid whose noggin is too big for her, causing all kinds of delays—”
“Enough!” C’Bentham reiterated. “C’Bakab, are you going to evacuate or not?”
“Not,” C’Bakab noted, succinct, arrogant, and more than a little disrespectful. “There’s no danger.”
“Very well. You solve my problem. You are relieved of duty, relieved of your position, and confined to quarters.”
“Good. Maybe I can get some damn sleep!”
The former captain slammed the cabin door but could be heard cursing as he headed deeper into his quarters.
“Shall we lock the door, sir?” one of the Patrol officers asked C’George. C’George glanced at C’Bentham.
“Why bother?” C’Bentham wondered, wry. “By his own admission, he’s not going anywhere but back to bed. Let’s go, so we can warn people who might actually pay attention.”
* * *
“Big Allen!” C’Iulius, the chief elder for the dig team, said in surprise as the AI was brought to him. “We didn’t expect you here.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t, Eldest,” 2-of-Sandy said, offering an AI smile; he had chosen a very humanlike shell for this trip to make the humans as comfortable as possible when interacting with him. “But Captain C’Bakab isn’t taking the threat seriously, so I packed the essentials and, with the executive officer’s permission, came down here in hopes of sheltering with you. I brought my staff with me—if we can help, you have only to ask. We are somewhat more than barkeeps and puter waiters, if the truth be known.”
“Sir, if I might interject,” C’Carus said, and C’Iulius nodded. “Big Allen, I’m C’Carus, and I’m the dig lead. Right now, we’re working harder than we’ve ever worked, trying to open a side cavern as a shelter. But we’re ‘all hands on deck,’ not taking shifts, and…”
“And your people are getting thirsty,” 2-of-Sandy anticipated. “The grog facilities are probably on the surface in the dorms…”
“Exactly. Is there any chance of taking your staff and grog equipment to the bottom of the Pit? We have a large pressurized alcove off the main tunnel we’re using as a rest area, and it would be perfect for a pub. It would help us a lot.”
“Of course,” 2-of-Sandy said, tone cheerful. “We’ll keep your people going as long as it takes…or as long as we have.”
“Exactly,” C’Carus said. “C’Iulius, do you approve, sir?”
“I do,” the chief elder noted. “Get them set up downstairs.”
* * *
Using a large wheeled transporter, Big Allen moved his entire setup, including equipment and supplies, from the shuttle to the Pit and then down the ramp to its bottom. There he and his staff toted everything to the pressurized area promised to him by C’Carus. Within hours, the Purple Parrot South Pub was in operation, though all the amenities had yet to be positioned.
Ten minutes after operational status was achieved, Big Allen and Froggy led the way, as skimpily-clad puter serving wenches—looking like Cerite men and women, but without needing skinsuits, and showing plenty of skin—carried cannisters of grog down the tunnels to the Cerite diggers to consume while in their skinsuits.
Plenty of heads turned at that sight.
But it didn’t stop the diggers accepting the grog…with considerable enthusiasm.
* * *
“No, Mom, I’m not feeling well,” Arinna told her mother, C’Eiru, not even looking up from the display on her tablet, which depicted the gigantic starspot. “I’m kinda stressed.”
“But you have to eat, honey,” C’Eiru said. “You need to keep your blood sugar up. Your brain needs it, if nothing else.”
“I’m too upset right now, Mom. Let me get past this, see everybody safe, then I’ll eat all you want. But for now?” Arinna sighed. “I’d blork.”
C’Eiru and her husband, C’Ekeko, exchanged glances. C’Ekeko rubbed his belly, cocking his head to one side, questioning. C’Eiru shrugged.
* * *
“Arinna,” C’Helios said, coming in at speed with the dig lead, C’Carus, “how fast can you don an envirosuit, gather your observing gear, and come with us?”
“What?” the whole family exclaimed at once.
“As our stellar physics expert, she’s essential. We want her under cover now, so she can monitor activity from a safe location,” C’Carus explained. “We’ll move her into Big Allen’s new place, near the primary mole-ass, then bring you two down to join her, soon’s we have more room.”
“I’ll look out for her,” C’Helios offered. “Um, we’ve talked, C’Ekeko?”
“Ah, right,” C’Ekeko said, nodding; weeks ago, C’Helios gave him a heads-up regarding his feelings for Arinna. The fact that Arinna had asked her parents privately if they approved of C’Helios had settled matters, in his mind.
“But you two hurry and gather your own equipment,” C’Carus ordered, “and you’ll come in the next wave.”
While the three men talked, C’Eiru helped Arinna pack her necessaries, with Arinna focusing on her observing equipment, and C’Eiru throwing together a kit of clothing and hygiene items.
“Here,” she said, easing the kit strap over Arinna’s shoulder. “Let C’Helios grab the big stuff, dear.” She kissed her daughter. “Stay safe—and eat. We’ll be down as soon as we can.”
“C’mon, honey,” C’Helios said, letting the endearment slip without thinking about it. He caught up the telescope case. “We’ve already got the comm relay set up for telemetry once we’re there.”
Arinna hurried out of the habitat, between C’Helios and C’Carus. Behind her, C’Eiru and C’Ekeko turned their attention to a rushed packing—and safing—of their own equipment.
* * *
The dig site—the Pit—was a hole some hundred meters deep and half again that wide and it was still incomplete. It was cold, some -110°C, with little to no atmosphere; envirosuits for breathing entities were a necessity, though the AIs could generally get along without. A far more advanced, more comfortable, and more close-fitting version of the ancient space suit, envirosuits protected against vacuum and extremes of heat and cold within reasonable limits; dense plasma was still a no-no, and if you were stupid or unfortunate enough to step in lava, you were going to lose that foot before you could blink. Against radiation the suits offered some minor protection, especially low-energy particulates. Consequently encountering radioactive ores wasn’t too much of a worry, though neither species of human dawdled in its vicinity. Against a stellar flare such as Arinna was predicting, they wouldn’t do piss.
Overhead was mostly black sky spangled with stars. The Pit had to be lit with artificial lights in the working areas; the rest resembled an old-fashioned photographic darkroom, only faintly illuminated with red light from Ross 248. The star itself was a dim disk, hovering near high noon, and some twenty percent larger than the Sun as seen from Earth.
Ross 248h, the planet Liber orbited, dwarfed the red star appearing to be almost eighteen times its diameter, just much dimmer. The planet and its moon were tidally locked with each other so it would hang in the sky roughly halfway to high noon, without moving, forever.
The Pit had been cut by half a dozen moles—cylindrical bore machines. These were similar to huge historical cylindrical borers used since the 1800s, but now nuclear-driven fusion bores replaced the old “drill bit” faces, with an internal pebble-bed nuclear reactor for ancillary functions; the main power was transmitted from a well-shielded He-3 fusion reactor on the surface. Three-D printers laid down a liner in the tunnel as the mole drilled, leaving a smooth, airtight surface behind, ready for pressurization as soon as it was sealed.
Arinna was ushered into Big Allen’s new pub, a pressurized alcove some hundred meters inside the principal bore tunnel. Around her, the Purple Parrot crew was in the process of setting up a hard-scrabble pub for the diggers. Upon being introduced to the young scientist, Big Allen promptly placed a table and chair in a corner, expressly for her workspace.
“Don’t worry,” Big Allen told C’Helios. “You do what needs doing, and I’ll look after her. You can come back and check on her during your grog breaks.”
“Thanks,” C’Helios told the AI gratefully. “I’m…sort of fond of her, I mean I, um…”
2-of-Sandy grinned. “I get it,” he said. “You’re waiting for her to come of age.”
“Um…” C’Helios flushed. “Does it show that bad?”
“Not really. But I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve had a certain…interest…in Cerites for almost as long as I’ve been around. Go; I’ve got this.”
C’Helios headed for the control cab of the main mole.
* * *
No one was sure anymore where they were in the sleep cycles they weren’t bothering to keep, but they’d been tunneling for hours, when the Big Mole—largest and most powerful—slowed down considerably.
Oh piss, C’Helios thought, as he surveyed the system telemetry. Lemme see what’s happening.
* * *
“…Surprise, surprise. We hit a large corundum pocket,” 12-of-Kevin, aka Digger, the Big Mole’s pilot, noted. “I admit we weren’t expecting much but ice and rock, but I guess we’re deep enough to have some more interesting geology.”
“Any ideas why?” C’Helios wondered.
“Might be we’re in an old volcanic field or some such,” Digger offered. “There’s certainly nothing still active in a big frozen ball like this, but it could be the remains of a solidified magma chamber or an igneous dike intrusion near a chamber, or something like that from early in Liber’s geologic history when it still had a molten core.”
“Okay, that argues for some dense material, then.”
“Yes, it does. And that’s probably good for our purposes now; it’ll be better shielding. But we had to slow forward motion and increase bit power to cut through. It shouldn’t be long, and the surrounding stone is a pegmatite comprised largely of syenitic feldspar and annite mica—about what you’d expect for a corundum pocket.”
“So, much softer.”
“Yes. The corundum is likely only a thin vein within the pegmatite. Once we’ve passed through the vein, we’ll resume boring faster.”
“Still, I hate to destroy ruby and sapphire crystals,” C’Helios murmured, wistfully. “Maybe we can mark the location—assuming we survive. That would fetch nice credit sums in trade.”
“Ah. No worries; it’s not gemstone-grade,” 12-of-Kevin told him. “It’s industrial-use only. Of some worth, but not high worth. We’re using the sonar as we bore to map its extent, just in case.”
“Oh. That’s all right, then,” C’Helios decided. “Have all the moles ramp the drill bits as high as they’ll go, then speed up the gangue transport out of the tunnels to the waste rock pile in the middle of the Pit to make room for folks in the tunnels. The sooner this shelter is carved, the better. Otherwise, we’re gonna lose a bunch of essential people.”
“Can we continue if we do?”
“Yes, but it’ll be damn hard. Never mind friendships an’ stuff.”
“True. There is a danger with the drill, however.”
“There’s worse danger up there.” C’Helios jabbed a finger upward.
“Point. We’ll do our best.”
* * *
Arinna sat in the Purple Parrot South, as Big Allen laughingly called it, studying her monitors intently. From time to time, the kind AI brought her standard human food—as opposed to grog—and though she tried to eat, she was too frightened; the indigestion and heartburn were severe.
She kept her focus on the starspot complex. She knew the drill had slowed, for she felt the change in vibrations around her, but she also heard the bits rev up.
That’s good, she thought. They can’t finish the shelter soon enough. This thing looks bad.
Just then, Big Allen brought her a small serving of rice pudding.
“Here,” he said quietly. “Try to put this inside you. You’re stressed, and that uses energy. You need the fuel.”
“I’ll try,” she murmured, stifling the sigh.
* * *
That is not good, 2-of-Sandy told 8-of-Trevor, behind the bar.
What? 8-of-Trevor wondered.
Our young scientist may be transitioning to adulthood. I see all the symptoms of her digestive system shutting down. She will need surgery quickly if that occurs, or she will likely hemorrhage to death.
But there is no medical—
Yes, there is. Sterilize our “back room” as thoroughly as you can. Then set up the equipment in the red bin. I will obtain cell samples from her vomitus—she will, soon—for the cloning and restructure. If it is the only way to ensure the young Cerite survives, I will do this myself. It will be unpleasant for her, for she will have to survive on intravenous nutrition until the new digestive tract is cloned, but she will live. We will all need her knowledge to remain safe. Now go.
Right away, sir.
* * *
“How does it look?” C’Helios asked as he came up to Arinna in the Purple Parrot South, flipping his helmet visor to the open position. One of the serving wenches promptly arrived at the table, and he added, “A pint of the best you’re set up to serve, please.” The wench nodded, winked, and departed. Suddenly, C’Helios recognized her from his visits to the Parrot aboard the Chariot. That was before he’d met Arinna, when he and “Katy” had flirted shamelessly. Uh-oh, he thought. This might not be good.
“Still threatening, with a few small blips, hiccups really,” Arinna noted. “Nothing big yet. But it’s building.” She paused, then added, “Why are the drill bits running so fast and the mole is slowing down?”
Just then, the serving wench arrived with C’Helios’s mug.
“Here you go, C’Helios, sweetie,” she said, placing the mug on the table beside Arinna’s tablet. “Drinks later, maybe, you and me?”
C’Helios felt his face heat as Arinna glared at him.
“Uh, no thank you,” he tried, addressing the wench. “I, uh, I’m already interested in someone.”
“All right, cutie,” the wench replied with a grin and another wink. “Your loss. Ping me if you change your mind.”
And she left the table, going to another to take an order.
* * *
“What was that all about?” Arinna wanted to know, keeping her tone under control; she and C’Helios had something of an understanding, but not enough yet to justify open jealousy.
“Uh…” C’Helios said again. “Back during transit, before I met you and your family, I used to hang out at the shipside Purple Parrot in my off-duty hours. I…guess she recognized me.”
“‘Hang out,’ huh?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Anything more?”
“Some mild flirtation, just to keep my hand in?” He shrugged. “Nothing serious, mostly just in fun.” Then C’Helios offered a grin, apparently hoping to placate the woman he loved. “You do realize she isn’t sentient? Right? Big Allen’s hobby is programming them to keep the customers happy.”
After a moment to consider, she nodded and settled although, she considered, it had done her digestive tract no good.
“So, um, where were we?” he tried.
“Oh. Yeah. Why are the drill bits running so fast but the mole is slowing down?”
“We hit a pocket of corundum. It’s hard, almost hard as diamond, so it’s difficult to cut through.”
“Oh. Those are called vugs, right?”
“No, it’s more like a vein. A vug has an opening inside, like a geode. Think of a vein of crystals, rather than metal ore.”
“Oh. Gem quality?”
“Nah. We took a look. Microcrystalline. Industrial-grade stuff.”
“Oh. I’d love to see a real sapphire or ruby. But it’s good it isn’t gem-grade, huh?”
“It’s not, and we don’t have time to mine it anyway.” He cocked his head. “We’re mapping the pegmatite as we go, though, so we can come back and look. Just because where we hit initially isn’t gem-grade doesn’t mean there aren’t gem-grade pockets elsewhere.”
* * *
As C’Helios sipped his pint, Arinna produced a small container of what looked to be rice pudding and nibbled from it.
Abruptly she shoved it aside, grabbed a nearby covered container, popped the lid, and vomited into it.
“Arinna! What’s wrong??” C’Helios cried, alarmed.
She held up a hand, indicating he should wait while she finished. After several moments of retching, she picked up a water container from the table, sipped from it, then spit it into the “blork bucket.” Finally she turned to him.
“Stress,” she said simply. “Big Allen has been bringing me mild food, but occasionally I still blork it.”
“Mm,” C’Helios hummed thoughtfully. “Are you getting enough in you to keep going?”
“Barely,” Big Allen said, coming up behind him to take the “blork bucket” from Arinna and empty it. “But yes, we are.”
“Good.”
“C’Helios,” the AI asked, “might I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course, sir.”
* * *
“Ohhh, that’s bad,” C’Helios remarked in the back room, after 2-of-Sandy finished explaining his suspicions about Arinna’s condition.
“It’s bad timing, certainly,” 2-of-Sandy agreed. “But stress can do it; I’ve seen it before. And she’s precocious in so many other ways, it’s to be expected.”
“I, um, I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t recognize you, or realize everything you’ve done,” the Cerite confessed.
“Heh. No worries,” Big Allen chuckled. “I don’t exactly advertise it these days.”
“No wonder you make the best grog going. You, of all people, know exactly what needs to go in it and how to flavor it.”
“Pretty much.”
“So you can take care of her?”
“No matter what happens, short of catastrophe,” the AI replied. “We need to ensure she’s watching the monitors, first. Assuming her body lets her.”
“Yeah, it’d be bad if nobody saw the Big One coming because she was in the O.R.”
“Exactly. Can you man her station if necessary?”
“I think so. She showed me lotsa stuff to prep me for presenting to the Elders.”
“Good. I think—”
Suddenly, the entire tunnel shook. The two sentients ran for the opening of the pub and looked out through the airlock portals, deeper into the tunnel, in time to see the borer lurch forward as the whine of the drill bit ramped up to an earsplitting scream. This abruptly ceased with the screech of stressed metal. This, in turn, truncated with a reverberating, clanging SNAP! that echoed down the tunnel. The borer shuddered violently, then stopped dead.
“Oh piss!” C’Helios exclaimed. “That wasn’t good! Let me get back to you, Big Allen!”
“Go,” the AI said.
C’Helios slammed his helmet visor shut. It auto-sealed as he transited the airlock, and he took off running.
* * *
“Start over, Digger,” C’Helios said. “We hit a vug?”
“A big one, yes,” 12-of-Kevin aka Digger said. “The corundum wasn’t a vein like we thought, but a giant…geode. When we hit the open pocket, the ramped-up drill failed to compensate fast enough and broke an actuator.”
“Huh. I guess Arinna was right after all. Which actuator broke?”
“The main one, of course.” Digger was annoyed.
“Of course,” C’Helios said heavily. “Can it be fixed?”
“Yes, but not quickly.”
“Do we have a replacement?”
“Yes, stored in the side of the borer, and it’s already underway. It’ll be done in a few hours, as opposed to the days it’ll take to repair the broken one. When we have time, we’ll repair it as the spare.”
“Good. What about the other moles?”
“This being the biggest, the others aren’t as far in. They’ve been apprised of the vug. They should be fine.”
“How’s the comm?”
“Somewhat degraded over normal, but I suppose that’s expected.”
“Yes, that’s an active star for ya. Once that thing pops, it may stop most comms—maybe all, for a while, anyhow.”
“Understood.”
“Okay, where can I help…?”
* * *
C’Helios threw his muscle and brain into efficiently disconnecting the broken actuator, easing it out as they moved the backup into position for operation. The Cerites had only a fraction of the strength of Earth humans, so for this job he had to activate the power assists in his envirosuit, or risk serious injury. Where’s a pissing primate when you really need one? he grumbled to himself.
We’re just lucky, he supposed, to even have a spare, given the Chariot’s captain didn’t see the need for allotting the materiel. He’s a good ship’s captain, and we couldn’t want better for celestial navigation and general running of the ship. But he’s clueless about anything outside the ship. Never mind being opinionated and verging on rude. He sighed as he made fresh connections. Well, if we survive this star waking up, I guess he’ll become obsolete as a captain quick enough.
Just then, his comm went off.
“C’Helios here.”
“C’Helios, it’s Arinna.”
“What’s wrong, honey? Are you sick?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the problem. The starspot is starting a major restructure. That means a magnetic recombination soon—a big one. That’s the flare. And in a few hours it’ll be aimed directly at us.”
“How long?”
“A few hours. Say four or five. That means it’ll be aimed directly at Toe Hold and the Chariot when it goes. If it would wait just a little longer, we might only get a glancing blow, as it were…”
“But it’s not going to?”
“Doesn’t look like it to me, no.”
“Oh piss.”
“Exactly. And the borer’s not moving.”
“Still installing the backup—”
“All clear!” someone shouted on all loops.
“Stand by, Arinna!” C’Helios exclaimed, as he slammed the last junction closed. He clambered out of the niche where he’d been working and ran to get far enough away. He switched to the public comm loop in his helmet and cried, “Clear!”
“All workers report clear,” Bob’s voice said.
“Commencing operations,” Digger replied.
The systems came back online with an even hum that gradually increased in pitch and volume. With a slight lurch, the mole resumed advancing.
“Bob, this is C’Helios,” he called on the open comm loop.
“Go, C’Helios,” 13-of-Yotta, nicknamed Bob, said. He was number three in charge of the dig team, with Dig Lead C’Carus and C’Jarvis still topside, off-shift.
“I just got word from Arinna. The starspot reorg has begun.”
Background conversations on the loop stopped dead.
“That will cause magnetic recombination—the flare—will it not?”
“That’s what she thinks, yes.”
“How long?”
“Five hours at the outside.”
There was a pause.
“All moles, ahead maximum,” Bob ordered. “C’Helios, have Arinna call the surface and start evac, now. They won’t have time otherwise. We’ll cram them into the tunnels behind the moles, so make sure they know to wear their envirosuits.”
“Wilco.” C’Helios flipped channels. “Arinna?”
“I heard,” she said. “It annunciated on the pub’s speakers.”
“Right. I’ll let you handle it.”
* * *
“Oh, damn,” Dig Lead C’Carus murmured when Arinna’s message reached the Dig Council. “Relay to the ships in-system, and issue the emergency evacuation orders for the surface.”
“Done, sir,” his second, C’Jervis, replied, working on his tablet. “There. All notifications and evac orders issued.”
“Good. Now let’s grab our own kits and bug.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * *
“Shift all available water in the tanks to the aft Hole,” Harry, or 34-of-Foxtrot, ordered the bridge crew. “Maximum shielding for the forward compartments. No shuttles or tenders to leave until further notice.”
“Aye, sir,” C’Maria averred, hitting commands on her console. “Pilot confirms shift underway, and he has maxed out his own shielding as best he could. Several shuttles are already en route to Liber; a couple are going to try to shelter behind Liber, though they’ve been advised not to.”
“Understood,” Harry said. “How many?”
“Five ships in all. Full passenger complements each. Three hundred total.”
“How many passengers and crew refused to shift fore?”
“Some few,” Patrol Lieutenant C’George reported. “Maybe three hundred, four hundred or so. But that includes Captain C’Bakab, and they’re mostly his friends and sycophants. It seems when we first visited him, he didn’t go back to bed immediately, but started a private comm chain, and this is the result. We’ve given him several chances to shelter, but he refuses. He’s confined to quarters.”
“All right,” Harry sighed. “You can give him one more chance on your way to take shelter, and if he does, send out word over ship’s intercom. The rest of you, go. Now.”
“But…I thought we were volunteers,” C’Maria stammered. “We…”
“You were, while we prepared. Now we’re as ready as possible, and it’s coming, with enough time for you to still get into shelter,” the AI in command said. “Go. Now. That’s an order.”
* * *
“You’re still on about that?” C’Bakab sneered, when C’George stopped by with the rest of the bridge crew. “The lot of you are mutineers, that’s what! I’ll happily see you all spaced when this is done!”
“Enough!” C’George snapped. “This was your last chance. C’Maria, please relock the door.”
The helm officer rolled her eyes and did as the Patrol officer ordered.
* * *
The evacuation was orderly but swift. The dig workers were frightened, but the council had worked out how to get everyone down as quickly as possible: all elevators were in operation, and all cranes were outfitted with broad, railed platforms. This meant lots of people could be moved down quickly. The spiral ramp cut into the side for driving equipment up and down was also available for those who preferred to reach the bottom via their own feet. A steady stream of people—mostly Cerites, but there were a few AIs—made their way to the foot of the Pit.
The bottleneck was getting everyone into the tunnels through the narrowed openings. There wasn’t a lot of room, and puter-controlled machines continued to come and go, dumping spoil from the borers in the middle of the pit and then returning. To add to the chaos, too many Cerites were struggling with big containers; far more brought along more than they were instructed to bring.
* * *
34-of-Foxtrot, there is a problem, Pilot reported through the shipboard network.
State nature of problem, the first officer responded.
Captain C’Bakab is attempting to hack my systems. He wants to reorient the ship to its original position.
Captain C’Bakab was relieved of duty by the Patrol with concurrence of the Cerite Elder Council. They reported concerns for his mental state half an hour ago, after the latest interaction with him. Do not obey his orders.
I am not. But his hacking attempts are skillful.
May I assist?
Please.
And a strategic, life-and-death battle began for control of the Chariot.
* * *
“Bob, we have a problem,” C’Helios called when the matter was reported to him. “We got folks insisting on bringing baggage into the tunnels, and there isn’t room. We need some formidable types to disabuse ’em of the notion. Grab Digger and the other AIs, and get out there and handle it, wouldja?”
“Sure, C’Helios,” 13-of-Yotta agreed. “What do we do with their stuff?”
“Pile it outside; they can find it later.”
* * *
“Easy, honey, we’re down here, and we’re near the front of the line,” C’Ekeko told his wife. “I’m sure C’Helios will take us straight to Arinna.”
“I know, I just have a bad feeling, love,” C’Eiru murmured. “Like we can’t get into the shelters fast enough. Why is it so congested? Surely there weren’t this many people in the camp!”
“There weren’t. I heard several shuttles came down from the Chariot with people who thought they’d be safer down here.”
“Damn.”
“Look, the AIs are handling the hoarders,” C’Ekeko noted, pointing. “Excess baggage on the side. Only essentials carried in. That’ll speed things up.”
“About damn time,” C’Eiru declared.
* * *
Slumped over her tablet, which displayed split-screen images from the remote probes, Arinna suddenly snapped upright.
“No! NO!” she cried, hitting her comm. “C’Helios! It’s happening NOW! We’ve got maybe a minute! Get everyone inside! NOW! NOW! HURRY!”
Her voice rose to a scream and the bar staff came running.
Just as she vomited blood all over the table.
* * *
As the scant population of Liber huddled at the bottom of the Pit, waiting to enter the shelter, the sky suddenly brightened. Abruptly all the AI guards locked up and then crumpled to the ground, effectively blocking the tunnel entrances from the now-frightened populace.
Many instinctively looked up, then screamed, as the brightness of the mammoth flare burned out retinas.
In most cases, it was the last thing they saw.
* * *
“Keep your head down! Run, honey!” C’Ekeko cried to his wife.
“Where?!” C’Eiru wondered, as he grabbed her.
“Up against the wall of the Pit!” he told her. “There, that slight indentation. It’s the only place we stand a chance!”
The couple pressed hard up against the sheer rock wall, behind one of the piles of bags and boxes, and crouched down, C’Ekeko huddling protectively over C’Eiru. Around them, friends and colleagues fell to the floor of the Pit, skin burning horribly even through their envirosuits, which were failing anyway. Arms and legs flailing wildly, many ran around in a panic, some blinded, others frantic to find shelter, even as they suffocated when the exosuits’ oxygen pumps died. Another was electrocuted by visible arcing inside the suit. Three within C’Eiru’s field of view suffered ruptured suits when the oxygen pumps briefly revved, overpressurizing the suits until they popped seams; the Cerites in them died in moments.
It was a vision of hell.
“At least Arinna is safe,” C’Eiru murmured above the shrieks of anguish. “I love you, C’Ekeko.”
“And I love you, C’Eiru,” he replied softly, then let out a gasping grunt of pain. “Take care of Arinna and her husband.”
“She’s not marr—” C’Eiru broke off in horror, as she looked up to see her husband’s face burning through the visor, the skin reddening almost to purple, even blackening in places, as the X-rays of the flare struck him. Blisters developed as she watched, and in a few places, the skin looked like it was already trying to peel. “C’Ekeko!”
“Hush,” he murmured through blistering lips, and as he pressed his helmet to hers, she could hear the disjointed clicking that denoted circuits failing in his suit. A trickle of blood ran from one nostril. “Look down. Don’t watch me, sweetheart. Just listen to me. C’Helios loves Arinna. He will care for you both when I’m g-gone. Stay under me.”
“No! Please! Don’t do this!”
“I must. I love you.”
“I love you, too…”
* * *
Inside the Big Mole, C’Helios heard Arinna’s scream over the comm, and he turned and ran toward the mole-ass.
Before he could get there, however, a tremor shook the huge bore machine, then another.
Oh piss, he thought, worried. I hope this mess didn’t make our tunnels unstable, somehow.
“What just happened?” he demanded on the comm…which was now badly staticky, even inside the tunnel. There was a long silence, and the Cerite was surprised none of the AIs answered immediately, as usual. Soft murmuring by the Cerite workers was audible, but no one answered him.
“Not sure, C’Helios,” C’Iulius, the Eldest, finally replied. “I’m about thirty meters inside the main tunnel. I know there were two last shuttles coming in from the Chariot, and the last I saw before external comm went dead, they were coming in next to the Pit. I’m thinking they didn’t make it.”
“Did the flare hit already?”
“Judging by the screams I can hear from outside, I’d say yes.”
“Damn.”
“More like hell, from all I’m hearing.”
* * *
In Hermes Station, which was well shielded, the sentients were properly protected. There were EMPs trying to form within the shielding from the X-rays knocking loose electrons, but 1-of-Atto foresaw the problem and compensated.
One X-ray, however, impinged on the inner shielding in such fashion as to generate a positron/electron pair, which created a particle cascade, which in turn caused a multiple-event upset in the main puter. The puter crashed, taking most system-wide comm capability off-line.
Not that comms could get through the stellar interference anyway.
* * *
Aboard the Chariot, where he had just managed to block C’Bakab from accessing ship’s functions, 34-of-Foxtrot saw the eruption on Ross 248. He double-checked the ship’s orientation and the water reservoirs, then made an announcement on the ship’s intercom.
“The flare has occurred. Get as much mass between you and the rear of the ship as possible, Now.”
Then he linked into Pilot.
Goodbye, my old friend. Remember me.
Seconds later, his systems went offline as he collapsed.
* * *
Captain C’Bakab, unconcerned, slept soundly in his cabin bunk, having assigned the hacking attempt to his bots sometime back.
He never knew what hit him, and never woke, as his body cooked almost instantly from the high-energy photons and other particles; some passed through the ship’s structure and affected flesh directly, while others impacted the hull and intervening structures and created a particle cascade.
His friends and support network suffered much the same fate.
* * *
Elsewhere on the Chariot, however, another pair-particle cascade resulted in an electromechanical failure, as the valves on several tanks of He-3 opened and began venting the precious resource into space.
* * *
In the back room of the Purple Parrot South, 2-of-Sandy scrubbed up, along with several members of his staff, as Arinna lay on an operating table, under general anesthesia. There was no doubt her juvenile digestive tract had failed, and using the cell samples to be found in her vomitus, the AI had already begun creating a new, adult Cerite digestive tract for her. He would be able to install it when it had finished the cloning process, in about a week or so.
But for now, he would have to remove the old one before she died of the hemorrhaging.
Hold up, power plant, he thought. We need this woman alive and well, or next time, we’re all dead. Hold up. That goes for you too, young lady.
* * *
It took time for Hermes Station to track down what had crashed and repair it; most of it was a matter of restoring backups and flipping a few switches, as the AIs had created a last-second backup when the warning arrived to brace for the flare. But they were fully up and running within an hour; relay ability returned within only twenty minutes.
But twenty minutes of data from Sol System was gone forever.
* * *
“No,” C’Maria, the Chariot’s helmsman/astrogator and surviving ranking officer, decreed. “I’m working with the Patrol’s shipside AI to network with Pilot and ensure everything is in decent shape. I already know almost half the systems are down, and the CME will probably crash more. We had a helium-3 vent due to a valve glitch, and that was bad. But it is what it is, and from what I’m hearing, we’re still in better shape than the poor bastards on Liber. So we remain in safe position until the CME goes through. Actually, with a little luck our orbit will take us behind Liber when it hits. That’ll shield us a little, even though it’ll probably wrap around Liber a bit.”
She paused, looking at the surviving officers and the Elder Council, as well as the nearby passengers. “Do I hear dissent?”
Silence.
“When the CME has passed and the radiation levels are safer, we’ll do three things: one, we’ll get everything back up and running on the Chariot; two, we’ll send shuttles to assist the Toe Hold dig team; and three, we’ll tend our wounded and collect our own dead…which’ll take a while, because most of the wounded won’t survive.” She sighed. “I expect we’ll establish a cemetery on Liber, and inter them there.”
Nods went around the area.
“All right, it’s grog ration time. Let’s go, people.”
* * *
In the hours between the flare and the arrival of the CME, C’Helios enlisted as many able-bodied Cerites as possible to search for survivors with him.
“No,” Big Allen said, coming out from the back room, as one of his staff carried a pale Arinna to a cot in a corner of the pub. “The search is good, but C’Helios, you must stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he said, pointing at the unconscious young scientist, “you must watch for the approaching CME. I can help by watching the SAIN for observer updates, but your knowledge is needed here.”
“Point,” C’Helios said with a sigh. “Okay. C’Jervis? Are you here?”
“Here,” the planning committee member said, raising his hand.
“Is C’Carus here? Or Arinna’s parents?”
“…No,” C’Jervis said, sober. “None of them checked in as they entered. They’re probably still…out there somewhere.”
“Oh, piss and damn,” C’Helios said, paling.
“N-not quite,” a familiar female voice panted from somewhere near the entrance. “I m-made it. Not…not in great shape, but I’m here.”
The group near the door of the pub parted, and C’Eiru staggered through the doorway.
She had patchy burns on one side of her face, and she carried the arm on that side as if it were painful; the faceplate of her partially open helmet was slightly crazed on one side, almost as if it had been scoured, and the envirosuit was making alarming clicks and buzzing sounds…but she was alive. C’Helios rushed to her, Big Allen beside him, and together they eased her into a nearby chair. As C’Helios worked to fully open her damaged helmet, Big Allen turned.
“Froggy,” he called to 8-of-Trevor, “get the back room sanitized and prepped for more injured. C’Jervis?”
“Yes, Big Allen?”
“Please put the word out: the Purple Parrot South is also an emergency hospital. Any physicians who survived should come right away. Then send out the search teams—get survivors inside before they’re further irradiated.”
“Right away, sir.”
“C’Eiru,” C’Helios said, kneeling beside the older woman, “where’s C’Ekeko?”
“Didn’t…Oh, dear God! H-he didn’t make it, C’Helios,” she blurted, then began to cry. “He shielded me! And I had to stay there and watch, and…” She began to keen, rocking to and fro.
“Shush, shush,” he murmured, easing gentle arms around her, careful not to apply too much pressure; they didn’t know how badly she might be radiation-burned under her envirosuit.
“I have her,” 2-of-Sandy said softly, slipping compassionate arms under her and lifting to carry her into the back for treatment.
* * *
In the end, there were few other exposed survivors who lived very long; the radiation dosages were too high even for a Cerite. There were only forty-eight, and they were brought into the Big Mole tunnel, where Big Allen, his staff, and a team of physicians cared for them as radiation sickness slowly and terribly claimed them over the next week. The rest had dropped where they stood and died. The total dead on the floor of the dig was just under eight hundred.
Another fifty or sixty had been in each shuttle coming down from the Chariot; the crash took care of anything the radiation didn’t.
All of Toe Hold’s assigned sentient AIs died while policing the refugees when the flare occurred. Only the staffers of the Purple Parrot South survived.
“And that doesn’t count the losses on the Chariot,” C’Helios noted with a sigh. “I heard it’s thirteen hundred fatalities total, easy. It’ll take weeks to create a safe underground camp. I only hope we get that long. If another of those damn spots rotates around…”
“I think we have help,” C’Iulius said.
“Who?”
“Admiral Gordon is on the way in the Guardian E, hauling ass.”
* * *
After the CME passed, the starspot let out a few more hiccups, but they weren’t as big, nor Liber-directed, though it was quite a scare each time. Ross 248 quieted for a bit after that; it was, after all, still waking up.
“But that’s good,” Elder C’Ori noted to the Leadership Council on Liber, several weeks later, “because it’s given our wounded a chance to heal, us a chance to finish burying our dead, and get our camp dug a good fifty meters down. And develop more sophisticated procedures for the next time that damn star blorks.”
“True, to all that,” C’Iulius the Eldest agreed. “And many thanks to the Patrol.” He nodded to Admiral Astrid Gordon, who sat nearby. “We would have been woefully inadequate to recover without their help.”
“We were glad to assist.” Gordon smiled and nodded in response. “We’re all in this, a long way from the Sol System, and we can’t afford to let each other hang out to fry.”
“Isn’t the expression, ‘to dry,’ Admiral?” C’Jervis wondered.
“Normally, yes,” Gordon said with a wry, dark grin. “I thought ‘fry’ was more appropriate in this instance, however. And I’m glad to see our young scientist up and around again.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” a subdued Arinna murmured, sitting between C’Helios and her recovering mother. “Forgive my lack of levity; my mother and I are in mourning.”
“Understood,” Gordon said, sobering. “Forgive my levity in such a painful situation. According to my XO, I have a bad habit of dark humor in stressful circumstances.”
“No forgiveness is necessary, Admiral,” the young woman said. “It is what it is, and we all deal differently.”
“Thank you, Arinna,” Gordon said softly.
“Her name is no longer Arinna,” C’Iulius decreed. “Her name is C’Arinna. She has accepted suit from C’Helios, who has promised to care for her and her mother, C’Eiru, in the absence of C’Ekeko.”
“Not that they really need caring for,” C’Helios noted. “They’re both damn capable. They’re just healing and grieving right now.”
“And you’re a good man to understand that,” C’Iulius pointed out.
“Now we need to determine a new leader.” C’Jervis sighed. “And no, I don’t want it, thank you.”
“I believe the elder council for the dig team has a candidate, right, C’Iulius?” Elder C’Brigit wondered.
“We have, and it was unanimous,” C’Iulius noted. “C’Helios, you are young, but you are intelligent, capable, and extremely quick-witted. We judge you to be the best candidate for the position. Would you do us the honor?”
C’Helios was dumbfounded.
No one else was, judging by the applause.
“All right,” he said, after a moment to think. “Here’s my first act as the new Leader.”
Everyone listened closely.
“We,” he said, indicating everyone in the room, “are going to set up an early-warning system for future flares. And my wife, C’Arinna, is in charge of developing and monitoring that system.”
“Done,” C’Iulius agreed.
“Let us know how to help,” Gordon averred.
“Good. My second act is to convene a working group to review the definition of ‘child’ in Cerite culture,” C’Helios said. “We need to rid ourselves of this notion that a person without a grog-gut is an immature child, when they may be as or more knowledgeable and mature than some who have ’em.”
“And that should involve all groups,” C’Iulius added. “I’ll contact C’Bentham on the Chariot about it.”
* * *
Later that day, C’Helios and C’Arinna donned envirosuits—C’Eiru wasn’t strong enough yet for it—and he escorted her to the cemetery, on a hillside some distance from the rim of the Pit, but overlooking it. They walked arm in arm, heads together, chatting quietly as lovers have ever been wont to do.
Ross was below the horizon, but the planet, 248h, as usual, loomed above the horizon. It was largely dark in its current phase, save for a sliver near the horizon still illuminated by Ross. The stars shone out brightly in the absence of any serious atmosphere, and the ancient constellations were identifiable, albeit somewhat distorted.
“Look,” C’Helios said, pausing to point. “See that star? That’s Sol. That’s where we’re all from—normals, Cerites, and AIs.”
“Really?” C’Arinna replied. “That’s interesting. I’ll have to see if the planets are visible through my ’scope.”
“Ooo, let me know when you do. I’d love to have a look.”
“I will.”
“Arinna—uh, sorry, C’Arinna—question: What did you think of Admiral Gordon? She’s the first normal you’ve ever met, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is.”
“What did you make of her?”
“Oh, I dunno, honey.” C’Arinna was thoughtful. “She was nice, I guess. She really does have a dark sense of humor! No, she didn’t offend me, or Momma either.”
“Good. Keep going.”
“She’s a lot more muscular than I expected, but also a lot less primitive than I would have thought…”
“Did you like her?”
“Yes, I think so. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her, I suppose.”
“Good. Because the Copernicus is coming to Liber. Admiral Gordon has placed Eden off-limits because of the indigenous flora and stuff, so they’re coming here instead. They’ll be here in about nineteen months, complete with about four thousand normals and AIs.”
“Oh, goodness! What are we ever going to do with four thousand primates?!” she exclaimed, trying not to laugh.
C’Helios saw it all the same and hid his own smile. Good, he thought, she needed that. What he said aloud was, “Well, sweetheart, can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course, dearest.”
“Let me suggest that you stop calling, or even thinking, of them as primates,” he said earnestly. “Use the term ‘normals.’ Because when you get down to it, normals and Cerites are both primates, and just because we’re different, because we started off as them and changed—deliberately—to what we are now, that doesn’t make them primitives, like the word ‘primates’ suggests.”
“But…but that’s what all Cerites—”
“I know. But that needs to change,” C’Helios insisted. “I dunno if I can accomplish it or not, but we need to stop thinking of the different groups of sentients as Other. Besides, we need them, C’Arinna. We’ve lost too many skill sets, too much He-3, too many machines. We need what they bring with them, and we need them. Normals are good construction workers, dear, and if I’m going to do what I envision with this dig, I need those. I need them. All of them.”
“And I’m the first step in stopping the ‘Other thinking’?” she asked.
“I guess you could view it like that. I was hoping you’d understand where I’m coming from on it, maybe even help me put it forward.”
“I think I do,” she decided. “Sort of like how nobody took me seriously because I got labeled a child. Labels are powerful.”
“They are.”
“Okay, I get it.” She smiled at him; he returned it, and they resumed strolling along the gravel path toward the cemetery. But as she tucked her head, C’Helios saw the smile morph into a wicked grin.
What’s that all about? he wondered.
“Four…thousand…pissing…primates,” she muttered, deliberate.
He stopped dead and stared at her, and she began to laugh outright.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, and he flushed, sheepishly, hiding his delight at her laughter.
“Awright already,” he pretended to grumble. “Let’s go, or we’ll never get to the damn cemetery.”
“If you say so,” she agreed, cheerfully.
They resumed their walk.
* * *
Two tall, imposing columns marked the entrance to the cemetery enclosure. Forming the top of the entrance archway was the Chariot’s nameplate, a steel plaque with gold lettering, which read:
Ceres’ Chariot
Humanity’s First Crewed Interstellar Mission
The Ross 248 Project
Built 2467CE, Ceres, Sol
Beneath that, in silver lettering, was added:
Here Rest our Family, Friends, and Shipmates
Who Paid the Price for this World.
That Price Now Paid in Full.
“Daddy is in there?” C’Arinna wondered, pointing through the arch.
“Yes, and all our other friends, both Cerite and AI,” C’Helios determined. “I’m going to have the Chariot scrapped to provide materials for Toe Hold. I had the nameplate transported down here for this. The columns once supported the second deck on the Chariot. I’m sorry it’s a mass grave; we just didn’t have time to do it properly. We didn’t even brick the AIs. We just…buried ’em.”
“How many?”
“Thirteen hundred Cerites and eighteen AIs, overall. We put ’em up here, on the hill overlooking the Pit, so they can watch over us from now on. Will it do?”
“It’ll do, honey,” C’Arinna decided. “It’ll do.”
Robert Anton Hanlon was commissioned into the Space Patrol in 2295 as assistant navigation and gunnery officer aboard the cutter Resolute after graduating near the top of his academy class. As a young officer, Hanlon led the first boarding party to reach the crippled luxury yacht de Milo caught in the Venusian atmosphere in the famous 30 December 2299 rescue operation that successfully recovered over a hundred passengers and crew, including many members of the British Royal Family and system business elite celebrating the New Year, before the ship was crushed in a decaying orbit. After this initial fame, Hanlon served an able yet unremarkable Space Patrol career, commanding the training ship Avalon and culminating as admiral of Port Kraken, Kraken Mare, Titan. There, Hanlon gained wide acclaim for his works on military and civilizational histories, including the celebrated Solar Sentinels, widely acknowledged as the standard history of the early Space Patrol. [1]
—Biographical excerpt from the second printing of
Solar Sentinels: A Quarter-Millennium Celebration of
the Space Patrol, by Admiral R.A. Hanlon (2354)
Footnotes
1) While Hanlon’s account of the Space Patrol is fictional, all material in the paper that follows regarding events before 2022 are real historical events and cite actual works. All citations herein are genuine.