“We are so accustomed to wearing a disguise before others

that eventually we are unable to recognize ourselves.”

Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Chapter 1
Timothy Sheep stood sulking in the Mid-Meadow on his favorite little hill, chewing on the same old grass as always. Overhead a few billowy clouds floated in a bright sunny sky. It was comfortably warm and the lush green grass was sweet. He could hear bees (or were they flies?) buzzing softly somewhere below him in the flowers. Everything was just as it always was, and Timothy was totally bored.

Just then, Johnny came gamboling along. Johnny and Timothy were best friends, kind of. Johnny was the most timid sheep Timothy knew and he usually felt sorry for him. Johnny was taller and thinner than Timothy. His gangly appearance made Timothy feel his own shortness made his stocky body look a little too plump, which he hated.

“Oh, lambskin,” Timothy whispered to himself. “I hope he isn’t too whiny. Sometimes, Johnny really annoys me with his bleating heart and lamby-ness.”

As soon as Johnny saw Timothy, he came trotting over. “Hi, Timmy,” he bleated. “What are you doing up here?”

“Johnny! I really hate it when you call me Timmy, instead of Timothy,” he complained. “I’m not a lamb anymore. I’m almost two.” Timothy sighed. “I come up here all the time. This is the best way to keep track of what’s happening in the Flock. From here I can see all the way across the Meadows, and watch everything. I always know what’s going on when I’m here. Not that there is much to see.” 

“Want to play?” 

“I don’t know, Johnny. I’m kind of busy.” Timothy tried to act indifferent and cool.

Johnny looked like he didn’t believe him. “So, what are you doing then?”“Counting sheep.”“You’re kidding. Right?”

Timothy shrugged. Johnny is so easy to fool, he thought. He falls for everything I tell him. Johnny stood there for a bit, unsure of what to say. Timothy ignored him and took another bite of grass like it was serious business.

After standing on first one leg then the other a while, Johnny finally asked, “Doesn’t that make you sleepy?”

Timothy groaned, but answered, “Not me. I can count for hours.”

Again Johnny stood there for a time looking thoughtful before he said, “So…how many are there?”

Luckily some movement caught Timothy’s eye and spared him from answering. He made a big show of turning to look. Johnny followed his gaze. A line of sheep came walking up into the meadow from the lower end.

“Hmmph,” Timothy said. “Those are easy to count. I bet they’re Orthodox sheep, finally working their way up from the Low Meadows. They’re so afraid of change that they always wait till they are forced to move.” Johnny nodded trying to be agreeable in spite of Timothy’s surly mood.

“Yep. They’ll only move up when all the grass is gone and not a moment before. Hmmph,” he said again. His parents said “Hmmph” a lot and, when he said it, it made him feel superior. “You know, it’s a wonder my mom and dad aren’t down there with them. It’s a wonder they aren’t Orthodox sheep too, like Old Wilbur.”

Johnny looked uncomfortable. “What’s wrong with Orthodox sheep?”

“What do you think? They never stop bleating about the kindness and generosity of the Good Shepherd. Always telling everyone what the Shepherd says you can’t do. And…” he pointed to the line of sheep again, “They’re always the last to leave the Low Meadows. They’re the most stodgy and old fashioned of all the sheep in the Flock. And my parents are a lot like them, boring and stuffy, and way too strict. Can’t do this and can’t do that.”

“But someone has to tell you what’s right and what to do…” Johnny began in defense.

“The whole Flock is far too strait-laced,” Timothy interrupted decidedly. “They’re always worried about what the Shepherd thinks, and saying how good he is. How often do you even notice the Shepherd anyway? I’ve only ever seen him from a distance. It’s not like he’s in-your-face, or something. He leaves you alone almost all the time, even when you bleat for him. He’s not the one who chews you out for pulling on the baby lambs’ tails. No. It’s always my parents, or an Orthodox sheep.”

Timothy had a sudden thought. He rushed on, “I’ll bet the Shepherd doesn’t even care about the little things we do, right or wrong. He probably just cares about the big bad things. Yeah, that’s it,” he reasoned, “just the really big bad things.” Although Timothy couldn’t imagine what anyone here in the Flock could do, that would be really big, or bad, enough for the Shepherd to become angry. “In fact, I’ve never even heard of the Shepherd getting annoyed, although my folks and the older sheep always seem to be irritated about something.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way, Timothy.” Johnny warned.

“Why not?” Timothy snapped at his friend.“Well,” Johnny was unsure.

“Well, one of them might hear you.”

But Timothy was on a roll. “So what? I’m not worried about what they think. I’m a two-ager and I’m wild and free.”

“But… the Shepherd…,” Johnny stuttered.

“The Shepherd keeps everything safe here, but then, he only leads us where it’s safe in the first place. Safe and boring. Especially boring for a rambunctious young ram like me,” he asserted. Timothy liked using big words when he could. “I want to be able to do as I please, with no one to boss me around. I want to be a ram’s ram. Following the Shepherd is too restrictive,” he pronounced as he finished up. He took another bite of grass and chewed it thoughtfully watching the meadows around him.

“You don’t know everything, you know,” Johnny was defensive.

“Ha! I know everything I need to know about the Meadows. The Meadows are a series of grassy clearings that stretch out in each direction for a long ways and here, in the Mid-Meadows, we’re probably half-way up the Mountain.” Timothy wasn’t sure how many Meadows there were or if they were really half-way up the Mountain, but Johnny didn’t know either so he couldn’t call him a liar. Thinking about the Mountain, he gazed up at it. 

“See up there Johnny?” He pointed. “There, above the Upper Meadows? That is where the Outside World begins and it’s mysterious and exotic,” he said longingly. “I’d sure like to go up there and explore. That would be wonderful,” he sighed, “except for the wolves.”

“I hate the wolves, Timmy,” Johnny complained, the whites of his eyes showing slightly. “They scare me. And anyway, the adult sheep don’t like us talking about them.”

“Ha!” Timothy scoffed. “Those old muttons are always talking in hushed bleats about the wolves, especially Old Wilbur. Listening to Old Wilbur, you’d think he knows everything a wolf has ever done in the Meadows going back almost forever. The wolves this and the wolves that. The adults are usually careful not to talk where any of us younger sheep might hear, but I’ve eavesdropped on their moaning about the wolves often enough. To hear them talk, the wolves are responsible for everything bad that has ever happened.”

“I don’t know…Maybe they are,” Johnny sounded doubtful and uncertain about Timothy’s whole conversation.”

“Come on, Johnny. Every time a sheep turns up missing, someone always claims they’ve strayed.” Johnny blanched at the sound of the forbidden word.

Pleased to see he had shocked Johnny, Timothy went on, “Yeah strayed, and then got themselves devoured by the wolves.” Timothy shivered a little in spite of himself at that thought, however much he claimed that he doubted it.

“Well, the wolves are scary, Timmy. And how do we know that missing sheep don’t end up in a wolf’s tummy somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m too old for bogey-wolves,” he told Johnny confidently. “I’ve even seen real wolves before lots of times… uh, well once anyway, from a distance,” he corrected quickly at Johnny’s look, afraid he’d stretched the truth too far. He returned closer to the truth, “Yeah. I saw them way over on a ridge, on the far side of the Upper-Meadows.” Timothy smiled enjoying his own bragging. “Yeah, they were scary, but even from so far away I could see they weren’t mean, or anything, to each other.” he mused. “I mean, I guess they’re just mean to sheep.”

After a quiet pause he said, “Why couldn’t I be tough like a wolf? If I was a wolf, I wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.” As he tried to imagine what that would feel like, he saw two other young sheep coming their way.  

“Uh oh, here come Buster and Gainer. They’re only a month or two older than us, but they’re sure bigger than we are,” he huffed to Johnny. “I’m sure they’re headed over here to pick on me, I mean us, some more. Why don’t those bullies leave us alone?” No matter what he said, Timothy was convinced Buster and Gainer liked to single him out the most.

“Wool-pulling bully rams. It’s hard enough having to start off a little small as a lamb,” Timothy whined, “without being outright bullied. They’re still mean even though I’ve mostly caught up with the other two-agers in growth now,” he tried to assure himself. Yet the problems from his lamb-ling days still carried over. Buster still intimidated him every time he came around.

“Man, if I were a wolf, I’d teach Buster a lesson. In fact, I’d teach them all a lesson,” he told Johnny. “Well, I’m not hanging around here for Buster to trot over and butt me,” he declared to Johnny. “You coming?” He asked as he turned and pranced down over the rise, putting it between them and Buster. Once they were hidden, he said, “Now, come on. Let’s go.” He took off running with Johnny on his tail. They got to the edge of the trees and quickly skirted along it, headed off in the general direction of the Shepherd’s tent.

“If we stay low and cut around the meadows here, with a little luck, we’ll avoid those two,” Timothy said to Johnny as he stopped to look behind him to see where Buster and Gainer were.

“Are we running away?” Johnny asked as he called out from behind him.

“No. We’re not running away. Not really,” he thought fast. “I’m just being smart and avoiding trouble. Besides, they’ll see you and I are racing,” he assured Johnny.

“We are?”

“Of course. Oops. There they are, up on top where we just left. We need some more distance from those two.” Thinking fast, he said, “OK, Johnny. Let’s start our race now. Last one to Big Rock Point is stale wolf-bait,” he yelled and took off running.

“Hey, wait up. No fair,” he heard Johnny call as he ran past him once again. Looking over his shoulder he saw Johnny following him at a dead run. Up on the rise he saw Buster and Gainer watching them. He grinned. He could imagine they were a little disappointed at his escape. 

“Can’t catch me,” he called out pretending he hadn’t seen Buster and Gainer. “Can’t catch me,” he yelled again wanting them to think they really were playing chase. He doubled his speed. He could hear Johnny racing along right behind him as they cleared the next rise and almost ran over the top of Ewellen and Skipper. 

“Hey. Watch where you’re frolicking!” Ewellen scolded.

“Hah! You sound like my mom,” Timothy laughed back at her.

“Wait. Where are you going?” She called again as they raced past.

“Big Rock Point,” gasped Johnny over his shoulder as he bounced along.

“But, that’s on the far side of the Mid-Meadows,” Skipper complained.

“Hey! Wait for us,” Timothy heard Ewellen call, but he kept on running. He didn’t think Buster or Gainer would run after them, that would look un-cool, but there was no sense taking any chances. He didn’t slow down until they all stumbled into the dell beside Big Rock Point out of breath. Gasping and laughing the four young sheep ran out into the high grass. The Flock seldom came this far with their grazing.

Timothy slowed and began to kick his hooves up and gambol about. “I beat you. I beat you,” he chanted.

“Only because you had a head start,” Ewellen said primly, but she laughed and began to jump and kick, too.

“Yeah,” chimed in Johnny. “You cheated. You cheated,” he chanted back at Timothy all the while laughing and bucking like he had a squirrel on his back. “You cheated. You cheated. You might as well have bleated.” He laughed some more at his rhyme.

“We caught up with you two. You can’t say we didn’t,” Skipper pointed out. He began his own chant, “We caught you. We caught you.” Ewellen chimed in joining him. Together, they all pranced and jumped about each other, each trying for a more impressive kick, or to out buck the others.

Then, Timothy and his friends heard the howl. Its mournful wailing echoed through the ridges on the Mountain above them.

Chapter 3: Spy Games

Ship-mother Malen waited patiently while the Flight-mother spoke with the other Ship-mothers. As Ship-mother of the flagship of the Flight, Malen was aware of much of what occurred within it. Fayon, the Flight-mother, kept her close in the event rapid maneuvers were needed. So Malen was usually present as the Flight’s business was conducted across the many ships. The Flight-mother was determined not to let the errors in the spiral arm be repeated. Losses had been severe, Malen reflected, but not bad enough for Fayon to abort the mission. The loss of Khree would have mortified the entire Flight had they been forced to retreat. 

Fayon was just beginning to get feedback from the sensors. Recon had deployed immediately upon Emergence, bless the Great Mother for the Holy Act, but had originally been preoccupied with watching for the Enemy. Now the Recon teams would have begun monitoring all radio and radiation frequencies as well as Doppler ripple effects caused by worm-space Transmissions or Jumps. Recon had its own scouts to send out with sensitive eavesdropping equipment. Their computers were set up to decode or decipher all transmissions from their destination and separate out video transmissions from audio in every wavelength.

Usually they had to search diligently for signals, but not this time. The target was sending out enormous volumes of signals, willy-nilly across the spectrum. There was so much chatter in the radio range their immediate problem was to isolate a few signals enough to be able to reassemble those into audio or video data. Malen shook her head at the thought of all those radio-frequencies being thrown out into space completely oblivious to who may be listening. She shuddered. This could still prove a trap she thought. The signals are just too loud and widespread to be anything except an intentional homing signal. Malen was no longer as comfortable with this “routine” mission. Homing signals were either for a distress call or a trap in her mind.

But there was no indication the Enemy was within light-years. Here at their destination, the presence of the Enemy would have required an alteration in the Directives. This was worrisome. With the loss of the Drones, the Flight had lost the interpreters of The Great Mother’s will. Altering the Directives would have to be done without assurance they were correctly following the Mother’s will. They were lucky they did not have to make such a decision. Their mission was still viable.

She did not miss the Drones. Although they were Hive-mates, they made her uncomfortable as they scrabbled about. Malen knew much of the Flight felt the same way. Part of our less than perfect manufacture, she thought, as the Drones tell us repeatedly. The Drones treatment of the Flight clones precipitated much of the dislike of them. It was hard to be treated like a sub-class race when you were just as much a part of the Hive as the Drones. When the Drones came on these trips, they had to be watched.

There were occasions when a Drone or Drones would kill a clone. Malen curled her upper lip. One of those now dead Drones had been involved in such an act on an earlier mission. That one she had no regrets over at all. It was lucky she hadn’t had an opportunity to let some of the more frenetic Warrior clones dismember it. If she had ever had it alone on her ship, it may have met with a tragic accident. The automatic intonation, “Galeta forgive me,” came unbidden to her lips at the thought. Malen was ex-Warrior and she liked to think it knew she craved to kill it when it looked at her with its faceted eyes. Maybe it was why the Drone stayed close to the others. Pity she wouldn’t have the chance now.

A blue-suited Services clone squeezed between Malen’s scarlet covering and Fayon’s purple. She offered them both some dark kante to keep alertness levels high. The stimulant was being disbursed to all Bridge-crew as well since they were well into the third cycle since Emergence, Galeta be praised, and they would not stand down to a routine watch level for at least another cycle. Malen watched the clone move away. The young clone’s limbs moved with a fluid grace only learned in weightlessness. Idly she wondered what else this Services clone did besides distribute drinks. She snorted, a dalliance with another on her own ship was poor practice for a Ship-mother.

Malen heard Fayon issuing an order to send mining teams to one of the nearby moons.  The Prospectors had reported the moon to had a frozen sea of methane-ammonia. The mining teams could use the bots to strip mine the surface for needed replenishment of resources while the Recon teams went to work. A second report of water-ice was rewarded with Fayon authorizing more mining teams being sent. There was still a small risk the Enemy would turn up and Fayon would be keeping the working teams down to a minimum until they were more confident.

Behind her, Malen heard the clatter of running feet. Turning she saw a brown-clad Recon clone pushing its way between the mostly silver suited crew on the bridge. It ran up to the Flight-Mother gasping. Fayon made it wait until she finished her other task with one of the supply ships. Then turning she nodded for it to report.

It began to babble loudly, drawing more attention to it on the crowded bridge. Faylon waived the clone forward to her side and managed to hear, “We have a problem, Flight-mother. Look at these transmissions,” the Recon clone handed Fayon a mem-chit. “Look at what we found.”

Fayon frowned, the clone was on thin ice, Malen knew. This anxiety was unbecoming a Flight clone, reducing its khree. “Silence,” she barked. She took the chit and fed it into her reader. A video flashed up on the screen and began to play. Several calons of silence were followed by the Flight-Mother’s exclamation, “Great Galeta, look at these creatures! Seal the Bridge,” Fayon ordered.

#                                              #

“Andre? Andre LeGalais?” He turned to look at the voice. There stood a man of medium build in a well tailored suit. “I am Christoffer Lowe. I called you at the embassy.”

“Oui. Forgive me. Yes, of course. I sometimes forget myself and use my native tongue.” Andre stood politely, but looked the man over critically. “Would you be so kind as to join me?” He then asked inviting the man to his table in the open air café. Together they both sat, a waiter came up immediately, one of the reasons Andre frequented this sidewalk café.  The service was excellent. They ordered some wine. Andre already had an antipasto plate of salamis and cheeses. Andre loved being outside and watching all the people walk by. His eyes followed a pair of attractive young women. Ahhhh, the girls of Holland, he thought watching them recede in the crowd.

“I see you are certainly French,” Christoffer said smiling widely. “I find the warmer climes here much more conducive to scantily dressed women. In Norway, there is a much shorter summer.”

Andre found him a bit crude he thought. “You said you had some information for me?”

“Yes. As I told you, I work at the Danish Embassy here in Amsterdam. And I was told you would provide a reward for interesting information.”

“Depends on what it is you feel you have, Monsieur,” Andre answered casually. “If it has value, then I may find my generosity is encouraged.”

“I know there is a new American science endeavor commencing.”

“So. Physics?”

“No,” Christoffer said. “Astronomy.”

Andre laughed. “What value is there in a few pictures of stars? I do not think you will find me interested.”

“Ambassador LeGalais. Your pardon, but I think if you hear me out, you will find it very interesting.”

“I am not a full ambassador, Mr. Lowe. Merely an attaché”, but the Norwegian knew that or he would not be here. He had his own intelligence information on Mr. Lowe of course.

“Let me tell you the first part; then, if I find your generosity is ample enough, I will tell you the rest.”

Andre tasted his wine. If he was going to have wasted the afternoon, at least he would savor the wine. “Please proceed, Mr.Lowe.”

Chistoffer cleared his throat and leaned in speaking softer, “As I said the Americans have begun a new program in astronomy. I have heard from a briefing given to our Ambassador they have seen something through their telescopes.”

“Seen something? Like a new star? Something new exploding a thousand light-years away?”

“Nothing like that at all. No, the Americans are suddenly very ardent about astronomy after virtually ignoring the field for years. Rumor has it, they are searching for something of extreme value. I have evidence of a clandestine space vehicle, possibly launched from Earth which has turned up in the outer part of our solar system. A secret launch.”

Andre was interested, but not convinced there was a value here. “So a launch was not announced. This is not unusual.”

“But the vehicle is estimated to be bigger than the Baton Rouge.”

Andre looked at him blankly. “You cannot be serious. Nothing so large has ever been launched,”

“The Americans think something is there. They have just pushed an $800 million dollar funds authorization through their congress to pay the cost of looking for this. Now they have begun hiring astronomers and tying up observatory time all over the world.”

Andre thought about it. It was a great deal of money to pay for social misfits to stare though magnifying glasses for hours. “You have some proof?”

“Give me 2,500 euros, and I’ll give you this flash drive.” He waived a small bright yellow flash drive in the air. “On it, you will see. If you find it as valuable as I think, my second flash drive will cost you 25,000 euros”

Andre snorted. “I would certainly have to see.” He paused and sipped his wine again, giving himself time to think. He was trained to notice unusual things. It sounded like too irregular an occurrence to be nothing. So it probably was something. The only risk here was if it were worth the euros or not. “Ok. My expense account is large enough to satisfy my curiosity. Give me the flash drive.”

“First here is an account in the Bank of Zurich, transfer the 2,500 euros.”

Andre picked up his phone and began texting. “The money is being routed. If I am being cheated, you will find I am not the forgiving kind. The paperwork I have to fill out will require someone suffer for it.”

“Oh, you will be satisfied.” Christoffer’s own phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket and peered at the screen. “Ah, I see the funds have arrived. Here, run this and then let’s talk about the full e25,000.” Christoffer tossed the bright yellow flash drive on the table. Andre picked it up and pulled his tablet-phone from his pocket. He inserted the flash drive and began to run the information.

Andre sat very still. He read it twice, then lowered his reader slowly. “Sacre bleu!” he said under his breath, then aloud, “Did you want the 25,000 euros wired to the same account?” He hoped he had asked the question calmly.

#                                              #

The smokey room was stale and overly warm. It was filled with the many smells of a cheap bar. The light was hazy and yellow through the windows. Chiang wondered if it was because of the years of tobacco smoke this room has withstood. He calmly motioned gently to his large bodyguard on the other side of the room, who gave one quick nod back, and then walked out. Being a man of slight build, he kept the bodyguard close. His acquaintances tended to try to eliminate him periodically and the big man had saved him at least twice. He looked back at his Turkish friend. He was nodding too, with a large grin on his face as he counted his money carefully. He sighed, the Turk was dependable. He was greedy to a fault and very meticulous about counting every American dollar before he would be satisfied. Chiang had no idea what the dark bearded man’s real name was. He was just, the Turk. About then the man looked up beaming and said, “Excellent. It is all there. Thank you for your purchase.”

“It is always a pleasure to deal with you, Mr. Turk.” Chiang gave a polite half bow.

“Good. Yes. For me, too.” He waved a wad of the $100 bills. “I have another shipment of AK’s coming. And a handful of those French rockets you liked last year. Any other deals coming up?”

Chiang Heung nodded, “Of course, my friend. There are always more deals coming. . . but not at this time. However, please keep me in mind for those missiles. I am confident I will have a buyer for them in perhaps a week.” 

“Hey. Have you heard anything about the Americans and their observatory in Chile?”

Chiang was not interested, but arms deals with the Turk required a great deal of chit chat to consummate the deal and keep a good relationship. “Observatory? No. Did something happen to it?”

“Ha ha. No! Not like that. It didn’t blow up or nothing. Ha ha. No, nothing so entertaining. But, they got about a hundred new people there suddenly. It’s very busy there now, day and night. I used to have a good place near there at the port on the coast, to store my packages, but now,” he shrugged his burly shoulders. “It’s too busy.”

Still not interested, Chiang said, “I hope this won’t slow your usual shipments. There are six in the next two weeks you recall?”

“Ha. Not to worry. No. I heard the Americans have seen something in space through their telescopes.” Seeing Chiang’s low interest level, the Turk coyly said, “After they saw it, they lost it. Now it is something they are suddenly desperate to see again. I hear from the foreman in their construction crew. All they talk about is looking for something very important.”

Chiang cocked his head. While this had no immediate value to him, he regularly reported to contacts on the Chinese mainland on everything he heard in his travels. It provided free traveling money, though he doubted much he told them was of any real use. But it was something new, and different, to pass along so they would see he was doing his job of gathering information. Who knows, Americans and science, and a sudden flurry of activity? They may be spying on something from the observatory. His employers would probably add a bonus to his usual fees for this little tidbit of information.

                              #                                                    #

The bustling morning’s activity made James DeHavland very happy. More than half of his new staff had already arrived. But over the past two weeks a steady stream of trucks had been bringing supplies and materials for the new staff quarters as well as an expansion to the observatory. Many of the new staff were still acclimating to the high altitude, and the barren vistas around the observatory. The observatory sat on the lava dome that formed the summit of Cerro Chajnantor in northern Chile. The summit was 5,640 meters in elevation, which was about 18,500 feet he reminded himself. Although they were well above any tree line at this altitude, it was their location in the Atacama Desert which contributed most to the severe lack of all vegetation up here. 

About 5 kilometers to the south-southeast on a plateau, sitting up slightly higher than them, was the Llano de Chajnantor Observatory. It was there the Atacama Large Millimeter Array (ALMA for short) sat. ALMA was an internationally ran observatory which initially had been composed of 66 high-precision telescopes, operating at wavelengths of 0.3 to 9.6 mm. It was now expanded to 132 and all of them synchronized to act as one telescope. ALMA was run by the Europeans who called it their southern observatory. His own facility was officially the University of Tokyo Atacama Observatory (TAO), but it was known affectionately by many of the staff as the Hell-hole. He laughed at the name. The Hell-hole was officially the highest permanently manned astronomical observatory in the world. As the director, James was rather proud of the place.

Although it was summer in the southern hemisphere, the thin air at this elevation was still frigid. Too frigid for Hell, he thought with humor. Ah, well. You can’t please everyone. He finished his reflections and tore his gaze off the sight. Time to get busy. He wasn’t one of the ones who were up all night, but all day he had to analyze their findings to see if there were any indicators of what they were seeking. He headed to the administrative building, which used to be the original bunkhouse years ago.

As he entered, he was confronted with the sound of dozens of anxious grad students shuffling hundreds of papers all at once. The building was now mostly all one room and it was full of people all rushing about doing dozens of tasks. He headed between the students towards the far end of the building where his office lay. When he got there, he was not too surprised to see Clarice. Clarice was a grad student who acted as his main gal Friday, but for the life of him, he could not remember her last name. Not important, he told himself.

“Has anything turned up yet?”He asked her.

“No, sir. But, Randall said he has something he wants to bring to you himself.”

“Randall?” Oh, yes. Randall. A short plump boy who was always desperately seeking praise for whatever he did. Tiresome, De Havland thought, but a good hard worker. He was even moderately bright for an American student. James wondered if he could slip out and avoid him. Otherwise he would have to act suitably appreciative of whatever he had done last night. “Did he say when he was coming over?”

“Here he is now,” Clarice said as Randall burst into his office without knocking. So like Randall, De Havland thought with a sigh. No sense of propriety.

“Professor De Havland,” Randall was bubbling over. “I have something weird happening.”

Weird! Yes, it was pure Randall. “What is weird, Randall,” he asked patiently.

“The stars. We’ve been looking for moving lights, planets, asteroids, that kind of thing. Right?”

“Yes, Randall.” De Havland sighed again. Get on with it he thought.

“Well, I watched several stars wink out last night one after the other!” His pride was clear in his voice.

“And that means…?”

“Non-reflective.”

“What?”

“Non-reflective. The asteroid we’re looking for is non-reflective. It’s a black body. No emissions whatever. But it’s still solid. It passed in front of at least three stars in a straight line with each other last night.” Randall grinned wildly in triumph. Then he sobered, “Either that, or I found another new asteroid not marked in the charts.” He was looking down now. Obviously, the thought had only just now occurred to him.

De Havland smiled graciously. “Why don’t you check that out more fully for the next few nights and come back then? By doing so, you’ll have accumulated a greater amount of data and your analysis would carry more weight. Don’t you think?”

“Yes sir,” Randal mumbled as he turned around and marched out the door. Lord, give me patience, James told himself. These kids they sent me! Some are really too much.

“Anything else?” he asked Clarice.

“You have a message from Karl Wolfgang over at the Hawai’i, Keck Observatory. He wanted you to know something he heard from JPL. He said they reprogrammed the Hubble and Spitzer telescopes as well as the three other sister telescopes in orbit to join in the search. He also said JPL’s latest planetary probe is passing close enough to scan the same area. They redirected its smaller telescopes yesterday.”

“Good.” James looked at his in box. Right on top was a new budget statement from Georgette Jefferson up at the HQ. On it was a sticky note with handwriting on it. Georgette’s handwriting. He read it. Then pealed it off and wadded it up. Silly, Georgette. She meant well he supposed, but her sticky note was a pretty poor way of trying to pass him a discrete message. “UFOs” her note said. The Big boys are looking for UFOs.” Poor Georgette, she was really losing it. UFOs indeed! Well, he had more pressing items like his budget to deal with.

Chapter 2 – Discovery

The young man shivered again. It was another cold night and no matter how many clothes he wore, he just couldn’t seem to stay warm more than half the night. He wondered for the millionth time tonight about the wisdom of pursuing his doctorate in astronomy. There were hundreds of other brilliant young genius’s all vying for his position here. And although he was very lucky to be here, here he was junior to everyone, including the eight resident cats. All he got were the boring and unglamorous jobs. Tonight he was assigned to take two routine spectroscopy readings each of a few dozen stars that just happened to be moving a little faster than their neighbors. Nothing special about any of them really, he moped. The whole thing involved some obscure theory about a star’s apparent velocity and mass, related to its surrounding dark-matter. Or was it spin instead of mass? He wasn’t sure and hadn’t paid enough attention to this particular assignment to care much.

Shivering, he looked at his watch. Time again. He pulled out the visual plate of the second reading on the twelfth-to-last star for the night. The visual plate was used to compare with the digital spectral photos and to verify nothing had obscured the reading. Using the old style visual plates meant each one had to be exposed for a specific amount of time. He wished the lab had more up-to-date methods for the visual recordings. Talk about archaic technology! This was stone-age technology, he complained to himself. Why couldn’t he have gotten an assignment at a more modern facility? To top it off, it was pretty boring, too. The long exposure times were what used up the night, not the number of readings. Waiting between plates was a pain. Not enough time to go somewhere warm or to do anything else, but far too much dead time to suit him.

He looked at his watch. Time again. He pulled out the second visual plate of the pair. He wished again the lab had more current methods for the visual recordings as he went through the tedious step by step process to develop the plate. When he was done he set the plate up where he could examine it. He looked at the plate and cursed. There was a smudge on the plate that wasn’t on the first visual plate. Just his luck! Now he’d have to redo the plates and it would cut into the little time he squeezed out of each shift to do his own pet research. He considered ignoring it and claiming he hadn’t seen it, but they’d just find it in the lab the next day. Besides getting into more hot water with his prick of a lab-supervisor, Kyushi; he’d still have to redo the plates the next night.

He looked through the eyepiece with irritation, just because, and realized the smudge on the plate was a visible star in the sky. He looked at the first plate again. Definitely nothing there. He looked at the previous plates, still nothing there. Excited, he looked back through the eyepiece. At this magnification through the scope, he was sure the smudge had moved minusculely from where it had been in relation to the other background stars on the plate already! He felt a thrill of excitement. It was close! Relatively speaking. Or moving pretty fast! Or both! Why, he may have discovered a new comet, or perhaps a near earth asteroid. Excitedly, he turned on the video recorder and then took several more extra visual plates and a spectroscopy sample before his watch dictated he continue with his routine.

Cheerfully now, he took the rest of the readings and visual plates assigned to him. His coldness was forgotten as he imagined the envy of fellow students as he named his own celestial body. He rushed through the rest of his work in a daze. He took another look at his object before his shift ended. It was already named by the time he finished his required work; Krause-1, after himself of course. One, he chuckled gleefully, because this was just the starting point of his career and he would surely discover many more astral bodies.

When he finished his work, instead of pulling out his data on his pet project, he spent all the free time left at the end of his shift looking at the flickering light. He happily set up and developed more visual plates for extra evidence of his very own minor planetoid. When he finished making the visual plates of the object, he decided to get some extra spectroscopy readings. Maybe he’d be able to tell something about its composition. He took the readings in several spectral ranges besides visible light and then decided to take some readings in the infra-red. He kept precise notes on “his” object’s movement in the sky before his shift ended. Shoot, not only could he chart a new body, he’d tell them what it was made of. He was forced to stop when the dawn shift chased him out about 3 am. But he contentedly took his treasured plates and spectral readings off to analyze them.

#                                  #

A variety of colored suits and vehicles swarmed around the gigantic burning ship. A large part of the forward sections were simply not there. Its improper Emergence from Worm-space had sliced the missing portions off cleanly at the moment the repulsars failed in the drive. Severed fuel and oxygen lines had been almost immediately ignited by the arcing power grid as pieces shorted electrically.

Veta stared at the view in the vid. Because of the disaster, she and the rest of the bridge crew had been kept on the bridge since Emergence, bless Galeta’s sacred Act of Faith. They were kept in readiness in case escape became necessary. It seemed unreal. It always did, she thought. All seen on a vid, it never seemed quite real. More sisters gone into Galeta’s keeping. As she watched, a soundless explosion erupted from one side of the huge ship turning into a flaming geyser of flames. Another flare up. E-Ops, Emergency Operations, had been struggling to control it for most of a cycle. It was mostly their vehicles and personnel floating about waving appendages and trying to direct Maintenance crews and bots to where the need was greatest.

Veta hoped they had managed to seal off most of the rest of the ship. Usually the automatic seals worked. Galeta grant they have. If so, other than where the myriad smaller pock marks scarred the surface of the craft, the rest of the cabins and quarters should be intact. But the bright light from the fires had been a shrieking beacon of their presence here. A beacon for any of the Enemy within several light-cycles to easily see. It had raged tremendously until several smallish, in relation to the ship, blasts had been set off by E-Ops to “blow out” the candle. Veta could see the lasers flickering over the shell of the ship. Sealing leaks of atmosphere and fuel or other combustibles. The ship had lost a great amount of its fuel, possible a quarter or more she estimated.

 In the weightless vacuum of space, the small flares of light were occurring less and less often. Veta sighed. Galeta help them all if the Enemy sees this. She knew Recon would already be scanning the surrounding space for them. But, one of the Enemy’s favorite tactics was to leave one lone small scout-ship in a system on automatics with its pilot hibernating. The pilot would sleep until a sensor triggered by a signal or a flash woke them to examine what had set off the wake-up call. Once awake, if the Enemy pilot discovered them, they would send for a strike force by a Transmission through Galeta’s worm-space. She shuddered at the thought of the Enemy sending blasphemous Transmissions through worm-space just as the Hive sent their sacred messages. The Enemy may make the Transmission immediately or slip away quietly to a location where they could send it. Once sent, Transmission ripples, much like the Emergence ripples, would give it away and warn the Flight.

She knew this was one of the main dangers Recon was scanning for, Transmission and Emergence ripples. When ships committed Transmission, or the holy Act of Insertion or Emergence, space-time “rippled” like a stone thrown into a pool. Veta had heard others discussing the ripples and saying they were actually ripples in the background dark energy and escaped the worm-space with the Jump. The ripple actually carried the dark force with it that pushed all matter apart. That meant the ripple was similar to a gravitron wave, long lasting and not very prone to decay even across light-years.

If the Enemy were to show up, it would be those myriads of interconnecting ripples telling Recon how many and where the Enemy were. The fighter squadrons had launched as soon as the Flight had Emerged, blessed be Emergence in all its Forms. They were out there weaving and patrolling ready to respond instantly should Enemy ships begin to drop out of worm-space anywhere within range. Veta shuddered, her torso shaking. Galeta protect us from the blasphemy of the Enemy. She hoped the burning would be out soon, very soon. Being so deep into Enemy space was frightening.

#                                              #

Garret was sure the design would never work. He held up the prototype and looked at it critically. Something was still not right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Disgusted he flipped it across the desk. Damn stupid little plastic gadget. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and leaned back in his chair locking his fingers behind his dishwater-blond head. How did he ever get stuck in a job like this? Nothing he did really mattered, or made any difference. The Corp boys fed them all a lot of rah-rah, but there was no meat in Life-with-the-Company. Making the Company rich by designing the latest plastic version of a telescoping coat hanger just wasn’t very exciting. The fact it was a telescoping laser pointer with a built-in remote control which worked on most digital projectors didn’t really make it any better.

He had never really done much exciting in his career, he reflected. Oh, he liked to go on remote hunting trips and wilderness hikes for the thrill and sense of adventure, but work-wise, he’d been too cautious and careful. He’d always gotten a solid, dependable, steady job. It must be a Sawyer family trait. His dad had one County job his whole life. Maybe he needed one of those contract jobs. You were only there till the engineering phase was done, then you had to move on. But they often did some pretty exciting engineering. Not this boring shit. 

“I wish something big would come along.” He whispered to himself. “I wish I could be doing something exciting.”

He looked up startled as the door flew open and Jeremy Rudstein strutted in. This wasn’t the excitement he had in mind.

“Don’t you have that figured out yet? I swear, you better get on the stick or we’ll sack your ass.” Jeremy was an asshole who was related to the big bosses somehow. Almost everyone who lasted the five years to get vested in the retirement plan here was. They were either related or a toady. 

No, he had to admit, he knew several hard working, decent guys who thought up most of the Company’s good ideas. They were kept around, too. Scuttle-butt was it wasn’t only because they were brilliant, but mostly because they were already vested. Being vested made it cheaper to keep them than to cash them out of the Companies’ profit sharing plan. But he knew he’d never make this last year to vesting. They’d already started giving him loser projects that were sour from the get-go. When he couldn’t make them work well or turn a healthy profit, they jumped on his ass. All the projects he’d been assigned this past year were in-the-hole budget-wise when he got them, or they started with such a lousy idea no one was able to sell the crazy gadgets once made.

He figured he was “marked” to be forced out. This way, they could fire him for failing to perform. Once he was fired, all his pension and bonuses reverted to the Company to be shared by the remaining employees who were vested. Almost everyone who was vested were relatives or toadies. They were also the very bosses who would fire him. There was a lot of self-interest involved. But it was standard operating procedure here he’d discovered. He kept telling himself he could quit in a heart-beat, but to be honest, the dozens of small contrived failures had added up to make him fear he really couldn’t make it somewhere else.

“I’ve just about got it, Jere.” Garret lied. Then, he rationalized, “You know . . . they’re not going to market this till after Christmas, and it’s too soon in the year to tool up to make it now. What’s the rush?”

“You just worry about your deadline, not someone else’s. Besides, where’s the report on your budget for the execs I asked for yesterday?”

“Jere. You just gave it to me yesterday, and you said you wanted the new product out first.”

“Well, you’re taking too long on what’s just a piddly little gadget. If you were any kind of an engineer, you’d have had it done by now.”

“I’m doing what I can,” Garret responded defensively.

“Like I said, ‘Get on the stick’, or start looking for a job somewhere else.” Jeremy turned and slammed the door shut behind him.

“God! I hate you.” Garret said to the closed door. He turned and looked at where the plastic prototype lay on the desk. The design Jeremy’s had given him to start with just wasn’t going to work. If he stayed late tonight . . . again, he thought wryly, he could do a better job from scratch. The dang thing was designed half backwards and Jeremy kept claiming it just needed a little tweaking to make it perfect. Obviously, it was “someone’s” pet brain-fart. Rolling up his sleeves he pulled up a new clean design sheet on his computer. Better get started. It won’t design itself.

#                                              #

“Have you seen this, Mr. President?” The speaker entered the Oval Office waving a folder, strode across the room and tossed it onto the desk. Then he took a long drag on his cigarette.

The President looked at his Secretary of State noncommittally, and then he glanced down at the file, recognizing it immediately. “I’ve seen it, Bob. Are you sure it’s authentic?”

Bob began to pace nervously across the room, puffing on his cigarette, as he spoke. “Well, the pictures and the spectral readings are definitely authentic. There’s no doubt about who took them, when and where. The only questionable part about it is the analysis by the science types.”

“Is that all the information we could get?”

“I’m afraid so. If the student astronomer had reported it right away, we might have gotten more, but in all probability, it would have been ignored. Even the experienced astronomers would have expected it to be a minor asteroid or a new comet. Notable, but not a critical discovery.” Bob crushed out his cigarette.

“It’s been double checked of course?”

“It’s been quadruple checked, Mr. President.” Bob Farington tapped out another cigarette and lit up. He was a chain smoker who always blamed it on the stress. “Every scientist we’ve shown the astronomer’s spectral data to says, ‘It’s burning rocket fuel.’ They say the spectral analysis shows it was a mix of gaseous oxygen, hydrogen and methane burning. They are all definite on the spectral lines. When, we tell them we took these pictures just inside the orbit of Neptune, they say ‘Impossible.’”

  Bob took a few deep drags on his cigarette times, then went on, “The physicists say it’s so cold that far out from the sun that molecular oxygen, hydrogen, and methane would freeze out there. Apparently if it freezes, the gases will separate out of the mixture into layers of separate gases, because they all freeze at different temperatures and have different specific gravities. Basically they’re saying a mixture such as the one they are seeing can’t naturally exist if it’s frozen. To top it off they say even if it could, it still wouldn’t burn by itself if it were frozen. The frozen phase structure is nearly impossible to ignite.”

Bob sucked on the cigarette again. “They insist if it were a natural fire, it would have to be volcanism, but it has the wrong spectral lines. They say there’s nothing natural out there which could ignite such a fire. So, they conclude, we have to be mistaken.” He rubbed his head wearily with his free hand. “The only thing the scientists all agree on is, the only way for this mix of burning chemicals to have ever occurred is by design.”

“Design?” The President raised his eyebrows and made a show of waving away the smoke.

Bob grinned wryly and put out the half-finished cigarette. “They all concur it’s artificial. They say someone mixed up some rocket fuel out there past Neptune, and then ignited it.” Without the cigarette, he began to pace again.

“What about another country?” Bob could hear the hope in the President’s voice as he turned and looked out the window of the Oval Office.

“We tried that angle, but the Russians aren’t in good enough economic shape to put anything up right now. Plus with their political problems . . . ,” Bob shrugged dismissively. “And, according to their top rocket gurus, they never did before. And it’s the truth, as near as we can tell. The Chinese could have done it, but we don’t believe they have the technology to get out that far yet, or especially to sneak one by us in the first place. We know where all their toys are. And the Europeans would be too proud of getting one up there to keep it a secret, besides the fact we can see their launch pads anytime we want. No. Even the wildest scientists don’t believe anyone on Earth could launch something, and get it out there, without the rest of the world seeing it through our telescopes.” Bob paused and stared out the window of the Oval Office with the President. A dog was playing on the lawn under the trees. The President hated dogs. Who would bring a dog here, he wondered?

“No, Mr. President.” He went on after a bit. “There doesn’t seem to be any possible terrestrial origin for this thing. And . . . it’s too big!”

“Big?” Startled, the President turned towards his adviser. “How big is too big?”

“Well, considering the length of time we know it burned, and how brightly, and assuming it was only carrying fuel, and no payload. . .” Bob paused, “. . .  it would have to be about the size of the Pentagon, including the parking lots!” As an after-thought Bob added, “But it’s probably even bigger.”

After a pause came, “You’re certain about the size?”

“Yes, pretty certain. The next takes some conjecture.” Bob started to take out another cigarette. He caught the President’s hard look and decided against it. “From here on, there’s a lot of ‘ifs’. Now, ‘if’ it burned everything it carried, that’s a lot of fuel. ‘If’ we had that much fuel in space, and ‘if’ we didn’t have to land it on a planet; we’d be able to move something about twice the size all around this solar system for a hundred years.”

“My God! That is big.”

“Now you’re getting the picture, Mr. President. All our estimates are with our technology and assuming it started burning full. What if it was only half full when it exploded?” Bob began to pace around the room. “This makes anything we’ve ever done in space pretty small potatoes.”

The President shook his head, “So the heavy launch rockets we have today aren’t even close?”

Bob shook his head and went on, “Some of our advisors are concerned even more, because our military guys have added in their two cents, which is . . .  anything that big, obviously comes from a long ways away. Interstellar!” he quickly added as the President’s shocked response showed on his face. “Apparently the NSA agrees, Jim. “

“Interstellar!” The President pondered the implications. Then looking at Bob he said, “And we’re the only ones who are aware of its being out there?”

“As best our intel can determine, yes.”

“Good. Hmmmm. Yes, that is good.” The President sat silently deep in thought for almost a minute. His Chief of Staff stood patiently, he was used to the President doing this whenever he had a problem to figure out. The President went on, “We need to keep a lid on this, Bob. We don’t want to word out there for the Russians or Chinese, or even our European friends, to be able to make contact with them before we do.”

“Yes sir, Mr. President.”

“If we can establish contact with them first, we could reap the first benefits, and profits, of a tremendous treasure trove of new technology; even if they don’t give us the technology. Once our scientists see what they have and start making measurements, I don’t doubt but we’ll figure out much of it on our own. Of course, we’ll want to establish a diplomatic mission with them ASAP.” Bob listened dutifully as his boss and friend rambled on with plan after plan.

When the President paused, Bob interjected, “Our economic partners will be a greater threat to discovering our secret than either the Russians or the Chinese. You know who stole our last fusion break-through and published findings before our physicists could claim it. Dammit! The Israelis were even embarrassed after they were confronted.”

“Yes, our partners need watching,” the President grimaced. “We need to maintain the utmost secrecy. But we need to do it while we have astronomers searching for our aliens. Obviously, we just select a small cadre who can be trusted. And,” he stressed the word, “we need to make sure that we haven’t been suckered by somebody’s brilliant hoax. Besides beating everyone to them, we need time to verify we really do have aliens out there before we make an announcement to the public that turns out to be wrong. My administration, and our party, would feel a lot of repercussions if we fell for this and it turns out to be a hoax. We need to avoid embarrassment, just in case.”

“Yes sir. Elections are next year and the embarrassment will not go well with the voters.”

“Yeah.” The President mused a bit more. Then he said, “And in case it is real, I don’t want to panic the public either. There are lots of voters out there who are going to feel anything like this is the work of the devil. I think panic is going to be a major concern, Bob.”

“Yes sir. We don’t want to stir up the public until we are sure it is legit.” Bob pulled another cigarette out, and lit it up.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for, Bob? Get your tail out there and get as many teams of astronomers working on this as you can. We need to be the first to make contact. I’ll appropriate the funds, you just get the astronomers.” The President coughed and waved both his hands. “Now get out of here and take that confounded cigarette with you.”

#                                              #

Demitri sat on the short wall by the Astrophysics Building despondent. Here I am the premier, the premier mind you, astronomer in Russia; and they cannot even spare a few hundred thousand rubles for the most significant search for new gamma ray sources since Hubble. He looked down at his rejection letter again and read, “The Ministry regrets to inform you . . .” Bah! They were funding Popov. That peacock! He was getting the money because he had found a new detection method for planets around even more remote stars than before. Not for the discovery of those, no! It would make some sense, except others did it last year. No, it was because now several thousand more stars were automatically being searched and their gas giants noted. It was quantity not quality those morons in the government understood. Hmmmph. Miserable little man. Cretin.

His mental diatribe was interrupted as a large man stopped in front of him. Demitri looked up at him. He was large, both in height and girth. He was standing only a few feet away and staring at him. This must be someone who recognized him from his pictures in the media, of course. “If you want an autograph, give me your paper. I am busy thinking,” he brusquely snapped.

“No Mr. Sakharov. I am not here for an autograph.”

Demitri appraised him again. This man apparently knew him well enough to pick him out on the University’s grounds. Moscow University was quite large and the Sternberg Astronomical Institute, just a small part of it. He had a long heavy grey coat, well made, and a fedora sat on top of a very short haircut. His gloves and scarf looked quite expensive. Demitri’s own clothes were a little ragged on his professor’s salary. His thin physique and long hair and beard made him quite the opposite of this man. The hat was an outlandish affectation he thought snobbishly. Nobody wore fedoras these days. He must be somebody with money who thinks the intelligentsia will cater to him. Hmmmph. “Well, I am busy. I must get back to work,” he stood up to move away.

The man raised one thick arm to block him and said, “You just lost your gamma ray funding, Demitri. But I have something which will obtain for you very much more funding.”

That captured his attention and piqued his interest, but he was angry at this peasant’s brazen approach. “”Who are you? What is it you want?”

“I am Ivan Bogaevskaia. In some circles, I am as famous as you, Demitri.”

“Stop calling me Demetri. I do not know you. What is it you want,” he demanded again peevishly.

“To make you even more famous than you are. Here, take this,” Bogaevskaia handed Demitri a data chip.

“What is this to me?” He started to throw the chip away petulantly.

“Don’t throw it away until you have seen it. I am offering you the chance of a lifetime first. If you are not interested, Popov will be.”

Demetri was incensed. “Do not mention Popov to me.”

“Look at it, Demitri,” the big man said reasonably. “It contains secret information about something the American astronomers are trying very hard to find. What they are after will open the deepest coffers of the Kremlin for you. The government will give you an entire astronomy program to run just so you can search for it too. Your gamma ray sources can easily be funded somewhere in the midst of these other ‘efforts’. They will beg you to take more rubles.”

“If this were true, why do you need me?”

“Why, because you are the most famous astronomer in all Russia. They will only want the best to do this search for Mother Russia.”

Sakharov felt flattered. Popov indeed. “True, I am the best. What is this thing the Americans are searching for?”

“Look on the chip. If I tell you, you will not believe me, but the data there will show you the information, with names and dates. It will help you verify it is truth. Then, you decide.”

“My time is too valuable for a guessing game,” Demitri replied haughtily.

The large man ignored him. “If you are interested, contact me. I have more proof of what the chip says. You will need it to get your funding. If you are not interested, as I said, Popov will be.” He turned to leave.

 “Wait!” Demitri called. The large man looked back. “What is in this for you?”

“I collect a finder’s fee from you. Every month, a little bit goes my way. You hire a couple of my accountants, and you are not even involved.” He smiled a confident smile and walked away.

Demetri stared after him. Bloody gulag hell! Demitri realized suddenly, he was one of the Russian mob. He had to be. He swallowed. Did he even dare to say no, whatever was on the chip? But, more to his concern, could he chance Popov would say yes? He shook his head. He would have to ask who this Ivan Bogaevskaia was. It sounded like a name he almost remembered. This could be bad.

#                                              #

BOOK ONE – Subjugation

Chapter 1: Emergence

            “Emergence in one decalon, 63, 62, 61 . . .” The mother-computer’s machine-voice began its drone. Lighting levels dimmed as all non-essential systems dropped off line to reduce power use. The ship prepared to emerge from the sacred Worm-hole it was traveling in. Like a chrysalis from a cocoon, it began to shudder as if in anticipation of its exit. The resistance forces to the sacred Act of Emergence building up as it moved to the edge of the hole.

            The bubble-eyed creature surveyed the flashing lights on the overhead wall panel. Its helmeted head appeared too large for the lithe form beneath it. Moving from the worm-jump indicator panel to a contoured chair, it efficiently began to “mesh-in” after first hooking its breathing tube securely into place. The numerous straps of the chair pulled a firm mesh around its bipedal body and prevented injury in the event of an accident. And “Emergence is fraught with accidents”, it thought.  A motto among the crew. 

It pulled its control console into place on its lap. Around it, other identical figures of the Swarm were strapping into other identical chairs. It watched its own movements mirrored tens of times at the surrounding consoles. The other large-headed, bubble-eyed shapes moved about efficiently preparing the ship to emerge. The silver bodysuits they all wore were the standard uniform on the bridge. Only a few red or blue suits passed among them. Proudly, it thought of how these same movements were being duplicated throughout the Flight; thousands of times in the hundreds of identical ships surrounding this one. “A Flight is magnificent in its splendor”, it intoned under its breath. It took comfort in the Words of Doctrine. The Words settled frayed nerves.

            Looking up at a three-dimensional screen over its head, it stared at the hundreds of little lights that showed against a black background. Each light represented a ship in the Flight. “A Flight is the sum of its ships,” it quoted to itself, half-aloud. All linked together in the computers, sister to sister, to this one mother-computer so that emergence for all was instantaneous. To do otherwise would scatter the Flight across parsecs of empty space. Dust motes in the interstellar winds, they’d never be able to regroup. Its job was to prevent this from happening. 

“I am Jump-controller for the whole Flight”, it repeated for the hundredth time, smugly satisfied. It was a great honor to be so chosen. Much Khree was gathered. The Ship-Mother, too, gained much Khree among the flight by having this responsibility given to one of her daughters. This would aid both her and her ship in their standing in the hierarchy of the Flight. As a neuter-female warrior of the Swarm, her rank as a mid-level officer was almost as high as she could expect to rise. Above her in line of command was the Ship-navigator, then Ship-first-daughter, and then Ship-mother. Another few turns, and she may make Nav, either here or on another ship. But for now, it was enough to be the entire Flight’s chosen Jump-controller. 

She began to recite the Mantra of Jump. “We Jump through the Worm-Holes of Galeta, our Act holy into itself. We praise the One-Mother, Galeta, by using Her Ways to cross the Great Dark of Space. We celebrate the Mystery of Physics. We advance Her Swarm and propagate it across the Heavens. The Worm-holes test our worthiness as daughters of Galeta. Worthy daughters travel the cosmos. Unworthy daughters are swept beyond the veil into the Singularity and are Unmade. Galeta, we commit the practical Act of Adulation, Emergence, that we may worship you and your Holy Universe. In the Worm-hole we pass in Holy Sacrament the Face of the Ultimate Mother, Galeta.” 

She snapped her attention back to the screen. One light was flickering to a sickly warning green. Adjusting a dial and tapping a few buttons on her console, she barked into the microphone. The flickering light answered in the voice of that ship’s jump-controller. Almost immediately the light firmed up its glow back to white. Satisfied, she confirmed the improvement to the voice. This one had already had trouble several times in the link-up. Obviously it had been damaged in the previous engagement. “Great Galeta, Mother of the Universe, hold them together long enough to emerge,” she prayed. Repairs would have to be a priority for that ship once they reentered real-space.

            Sitting, she saw the crimson suit of the Ship-Mother watching to see that all her charges were safely meshed in their chairs. Ship-mother Malen would be the last to strap in. Blaming the emergence-stress, she indiscreetly watched the Ship-mother out of the corner of her eye. To look directly at the Ship-mother would show extreme disrespect and court discipline. So she surreptitiously kept her helmet lowered as she watched knowing most of the bridge crew were doing the same. She knew, Malen was especially proud of the ship’s new position in the Flight. They were the Flight-mother’s own ship now. They had been ever since the debacle out in the spiral arm. The Flight-mother they’d started their journey with was gone, along with her Ship and the small group of Drones sent to accompany the expedition. 

Flight-mother Bruel had made an error in judgment as they Emerged from a Jump. Thinking the Flight adequately screened by the fluorescing gases of a nebula in that spiral arm, only a cursory scattering of scout ships were dispatched. She had done that to save time. The next Jump would occur quicker if they had to pick up fewer scout craft. A smart maneuver in not-so-risky space, she mused . . .  normally.

But The Enemy had used the nebula to screen its own fleet. The ambush was a complete surprise. Bruel’s dishonor was washed in the life-fluids of more than four-eights of ships. Luckily, linkage had been almost complete when they were attacked; and, though many of those ships lost went to buy time for the Flight to Jump, it had been accomplished swiftly. Great Khree was gathered by those fallen comrades, she thought with pride.

            Flight-mother Fayon assumed command after Bruel had embraced the Great Mother. Fayon was a fierce fighter and a cunning leader. So fierce was Fayon that her original ship was now one of those charred hulks, spinning dizzily around a nameless sun somewhere inside the nebula’s gas clouds. The Flight-mother had only just managed to transfer to this ship when the Jump occurred. Fayon immediately took the ship as the new flagship. In spite of being out numbered and surrounded, the Flight-mother had gotten the Flight out of the trap.  Malen, as Ship-mother of this ship, would be especially cautious with her new charge.

The cost had been high on that one. The final loss-count was four-eight’s and two of ships. All those ships of the Fleet were now just sparkling debris drifting past a red sun in her memory. How many officers had she known among those ships? Many faces would not be at the next Gathering. When the Hive had a Gathering, the Fleet’s Officers had the opportunity to meet to share their stories of Khree and to socialize during the Ritual Dance. She keened to herself softly for the lost friends she would never see again. Perhaps in the next life, they would again be arkuren, comrades-in-arms, if Galeta allowed.

            The bark of an order broke her reverie. The Ship-mother was berating one of the bridge crew for not looking alert enough at its station. Khree be damned, she wasn’t always sure she liked being on the Flight-mother’s Ship. Every standard routine had become overdone and shortcuts were no longer tolerated. Everything was by the book, and after all these years, the crew had had to go and find the book again. All this “hive-cleaning” was making the crew more quarrelsome. She hoped the coming assault would give them a break as all the senior mothers in the Flight turned their attention to the ground forces. Again, she checked the screens, and listened to the count-down to Emergence. The time to Emergence was getting close. “Holy Galeta, we are worthy to Emerge.” She recited the phrase over and over. It never hurt to say one of the Forms a few extra times.

            Her train of thought drifted again. The Flight had Jumped three times quickly after the ambush. Twice they’d Jumped backspin and core-wards, away from their destination. This last had been a long Jump, dangerous, but hopefully successful at losing the Enemy. It was a strain on the ships to be in the sacred Worm-hole so long, but her Flight was kept in the best of repair at all times. The Engineers and Techs were renowned for their worship of Galeta with their near-perfect machines. Even so, she felt the tension of Emergence in an unknown sector intensely. Would the Enemy have guessed their destination and beaten them here? Or would they stumble on an Enemy outpost watching for just such Emergence-ripples as they were about to make? They would make several hundred ripples, detectable for light-cycles with good equipment. She reasoned that they were probably far enough from the Enemy’s traveled paths to only show as an anomaly, and that only if they were watching. But, “The Enemy is always watching”. That was another motto in the Flight. 

            The voice droned on,”…28, 27. . .” Ship-Mother Malen sat and began to mesh in. She imagined being in the Ship-Mother’s seat. She had ambitions, if she lived long enough. War had a way of promoting rapidly, and she had already exemplified herself. She had been raised to a Junior-mother’s rank two expeditions back, after the thrust of the Medion Campaign had emptied so many seats. New clones were always made in the vats to fill the seats of missing bodies or to fill whole new ships; but the experience necessary to be a mother, an officer, could not be made in the vats by the Drones. It had to be learned and earned. Life was short in the Flight for most. A bit of skill at her position, and the luck of the Flight-mother choosing her ship had thrust her forward yet again. Now she could almost taste a ship of her own to mother. If she persevered and Galeta’s Luck and Khree be with her, she just might make it before she was called into the dark.

The time for Emergence was near now. The droning voice recited,”. . . 18, 17, 16 . . . ” Yes, it thought. Very near. It would be nice to be back in real-space.

            She turned her bubble eyes nervously towards the vid screen. It showed only the swirling confusion of the inside of Galeta’s holy Worm-hole. No one enjoyed either the Acts of Insertion or Emergence during a Jump. Real-space abhorred Worm-space and their own matter always seemed to rebel during the transitions. Not that being in the Worm-hole was particularly pleasant either. It left one… hard to describe, but jittery.  They’d scanned the space they were to emerge in, but only from five-eights of light years away. Small things like planetoids tended to be invisible from that distance. Even in cautious travel with Jumps under eight light years, things were missed sometimes. “The odds are with the jumper”, she reminded herself. “Space is large and the Jumper small”. There was lots of room for the whole Flight and several good sized planets in the emergence zone, but . . . “Entropy happens”.  And any losses the Flight might suffer were not just bad for the Swarm. They were bad for those of the Flight who were lost.

            She was startled from her daydreams by the renewed flickering of the troublesome light, just as the sequence was finishing, “. . . 3, 2, 1.  Emergence.” The sinful vulgarity she exclaimed in sick dismay was lost as holy Emergence turned everything inside out and back again.