, or at a bookstore near you.From Chapter 20
* * *
A cloudless sky greeted the new day. The Palace halls quickly filled with the footsteps of servants, scurrying to ready the Grand Hall for the day’s feast. Outside, birds filled the air with song. In the garden, newly planted flowers lined the walks with bright colors, blues and purples, yellows and pure whites. Some plants even showed vibrant, brilliant reds—or so the Veshnans said. These, of course, were mostly for show, to honor the Terrans who were said to like the color. Such tones appeared dark and dull to the eyes of the g’Khruushtani.
Ga’Glish paced nervously in the garden. It had been fully twelve cycles since he last walked the grounds of home; ten cycles since he had taken a mate; nine cycles since he had taken the post of havenmaster and entered into a different world, of protocol and responsibility from which there could be no retreat. The distance he had come was nothing compared to what remained before him. He had not seen his father since leaving home, and as he paced he prayed that his tongue would not desert him, leaving him mute as a stone, should Ga’Glishek consent to a meeting.“It has been a long time, Ga’Glish,” called a voice from behind him.
Ga’Glish spun around to find Gal’Shenga, grinning broadly, standing no more than an arm’s length away. The centurion had been so absorbed with his own concerns that he had quite failed to notice anyone approach.
“Uncle,” smiled Ga’Glish, relief washing over his face.
Gal’Shenga laughed as the two clasped each other’s shoulders. “You have dragged us all through fits of worry, Ga’Glish. Your mother is in a state of exhaustion and will probably never forget my complicity in this whole affair.”
“In a different sense, neither will your nephew.”
The Expanse Minister bowed, accepting the compliment. “How are you, Ga’Glish? And how are Glishana and the small ones?”
“Glishana worries over me like my mother.”
“And the rest?”
“The small ones grow like weeds. And eat like Terrans.”
“Come,” smiled Gal’Shenga. “Let us walk.”
The two walked alone through the palace grounds, much as they had done when Ga’Glish was a boy, sharing insights and memories. Though neither gave voice to his innermost thoughts, Ga’Glish felt his uncle’s pride in the nephew’s achievements. And the elder Galgravina felt his nephew’s profound gratitude at having someone for whom independence did not mean betrayal.
At last, each felt the time had come to discuss matters of importance. They stopped walking, and came to rest upon a padded bench near the Imperial fountain. There, beneath a statue of Dr’Shenda LVIII, remembered in the capital as “Shenda the Portly,” their talk turned to matters of importance.
“Was your trip worth the trouble?”
“It was disturbing, but for reasons I will admit to none but you,” said Ga’Glish.
“One may not expect the Imperial Weathermen to be infallible.”
Gal’Shenga meant his remarks in jest. He was surprised to feel distress flooding his nephew’s heart.
“The storm was a boon, greater than I could have arranged myself.”
“I am listening, Nephew.”
“The Terrans have three classes of major space vessels,” Ga’Glish began, doubtful of his ability to relate the full import of his experience. “This Terran ship was from their top class, the one we call— ”
“‘Intruder.’”
“Exactly,” Ga’Glish bowed, impressed by his uncle’s command of detail. “This is the class of ship they send whenever they come to inspect our side of the Great Divide. Of the others, I know but little.”
“Continue.”
“These ships have a cruising speed a full energy level above ours. They keep and maintain a speed of two astronomical units a day, twice the pace a ship of the Imperator can sustain.”
“So I have heard.”
“As they neared the haven, I put to space fully two days before they passed, only to find myself chasing their wake. But then the Terrans slowed to a pace I could keep, as if inviting me to accompany them. And I followed them, as closely as I dared, until.... ”
“Until the storm intruded.”
“Yes,” said Ga’Glish. “Until the storm.”
He rose and paced, searching for a way to make his uncle understand what would follow. Gal’Shenga was well-informed on a wide range of topics, but his knowledge of the science of space had limits.
“For many days, the Terrans seemed to enjoy the company. They were almost playful, detouring from the indicated course to skirt the edges of star systems and engaging in maneuvers which were useless, except for amusing themselves, using their ship as a toy—or perhaps demonstrating its capabilities to me; I know not which. They even sought to make verbal contact on several occasions. Of course, given the edicts of the Foreign Ministry, I chose not to join them, and made no reply to any of their messages.”
“A silly loss that we must accept as payment for Cra’Jenli’s blindness. But, continue.”
“Then,” Ga’Glish said, his voice lowering to a whisper, “the storm showed on the monitors, and the haven directed us to emergency harbors. Separate, of course, and neither optimum for a disturbance of that magnitude. But each was quite sufficient and easily reached.
“Yet the Terran shipmaster would have none of it. He broadcast an inquiry asking whether my ship needed assistance. When the haven confirmed that I needed none, he requested information on another system, fully two units ahead but far better suited as a harbor, a binary system with two stars of brightest green. The Cloud’s full fury would have trouble disrupting the interior of that system, Uncle. As for the storm we were facing—why, once safely to port within the harbor of that system, the storm could be safely forgotten, like a gentle night rain upon the palace windows.”
Gal’Shenga felt his nephew’s heart fill with wonder.
“I myself raced right to the nearest star,” Ga’Glish continued. “But the Terrans.... ”
He paused, groping for a way to render what he had to say understandable.
“A space storm...of any magnitude...creates vast electrical disturbances that race through the heavens,” said Ga’Glish. “A major storm like the one we faced sends magnetic waves of incredible strength racing at interstellar speeds. A ship caught in the void faces catastrophe. The storm can drain power from the ship to help feed the storm until none is left for propulsion, or to support life on board. Circuits can overload until they fuse together, making maneuvering impossible. If struck by a burst of static electricity, the hull may rupture and the ship may explode. And yet proceeding to harbor in the midst of a storm is nearly as dangerous as the storm itself. Tarry, and you face the storm’s rage without cover; hurry, and you traverse the solar wind as the storm crashes into the system.
“In the face of all this,” Ga’Glish whispered intensely, “the Terrans showed no alarm, not even as the storm drew to within moments of ravaging their craft. They increased their speed until it matched the storm’s, and then led it to harbor, moments away from destruction all the while. They increased their speed only once that I could detect—shortly before entering the system, apparently to ensure a clean entry. And then their speed so far exceeded our own capacities that it was beyond measurement. Yet then they slowed to a crawl, as if awaiting the storm’s pleasure. And it was then that I realized what the Terran shipmaster was doing, and realized the extent of his ship’s capabilities.”
“I am afraid I do not understand,” said Gal’Shenga.
Ga’Glish smiled sadly. Few would understand, he thought; and fewer still would appreciate the depth of the dangers they faced. “The safest way to enter a star system is from a clear sky,” he explained. “You need fear only the star’s magnetic field and any debris you encounter.”
Gal’Shenga nodded.
“But the more powerful the star, the greater its field, and the more debris it will trail.”
“Of what use— ”
Ga’Glish raised his hand, pleading for patience. “A major storm whips a star’s magnetic field into a frenzy, dislodging any debris not firmly locked into orbit. So unless one arrives well in advance of a storm, the trip to the interior of a star system may be as dangerous as the storm itself.”
“But I thought— ”
“Yes, Uncle,” Ga’Glish smiled, reading the confusion in the mind of Gal’Shenga. “One must cross to the interior or face certain destruction. And when the storm arrives, it disrupts the star’s magnetic fields, as well as casting into chaos the rocks and iceballs that follow the star’s journey through the heavens. If caught crossing from outside to inside when the storm hits the star, your ship will be buffeted from all sides and torn apart just as surely as if you had simply surrendered to the storm in the interstellar void.
“So the solution,” Ga’Glish’s eyes widened as he spoke, “is to ride the currents. Uncertain of a clear passage to harbor, you await the storm’s arrival. As it nears, magnetic currents and eddies will manifest themselves along the star’s wake. You note them, and proceed to the interior along a downdraft. It is a perilous ride, and one requiring skill and a high degree of precision, but those arriving less than a half-day before the storm have little choice.”
“What does this have to do with the Terrans?”
“You do not see?” smiled Ga’Glish. “But then, I am not surprised. It was not until the Terrans disappeared behind the enveloping storm that I realized it myself.
“Uncle, the storm was more of a nuisance than a danger to the Terran shipmaster. He could have dashed to any of a half-dozen stars within easy reach of his ship, though the storm would have made itself felt through any of them. Instead, he chose the one perfect harbor within the sector, his choice showing that he deemed a proper harbor of greater importance than the fury of the storm. And the easy, effortless grace of the Terran ship as it sped along shows that its master had calculated his entry maneuvers precisely, timing his arrival to precede the storm by mere moments, and enabling him to proceed to the system’s interior without delay.”
“This is all very interesting,” Gal’Shenga said, “but I fail to see—”
”Do you not understand, Uncle? Our own ships cannot ride the early breezes of a storm. It is simply too dangerous. And riding electro-magnetic currents into the heart of a star system ahead of a storm is something we avoid whenever possible. Yet this was the Terrans’ maneuver of choice, undertaken merely to avoid the inconvenience of spending a few days shaking under cover as a storm passed by. Their ships are swifter than ours, and sturdier, and this places us in danger enough.
“But more importantly,” Ga’Glish lowered his voice to the barest of whispers, “it seems that the Terrans, like we, are at home in the heavens, and their ships can dance among the stars. And we delude ourselves by calling them children.”
© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky
