Starplex

Matters are at an end rightnow — unless you humans wish to prolong them.

Where do we go from here, Lansing? Is it over? Or do we go on fighting? I am prepared to act as if-"

"As if nothing had happened?"

"The alternative is war. I do not want that, and I had believed you did not want it, either."

"But-"

Jag's barks were sharp. "The choice is yours. I have volunteered a peaceful coexistence. If you want your — what is the human metaphor? — your pound of flesh, I refuse to grant it. But finding the child and getting it home will require the utmost skill in shortcut mechanics. Magnor is good at such matters, but I am better. Indeed, there is no one better in all the Commonwealth. You know this to be true; if it were not, I would not be assigned to this ship."

"Thor is trustworthy," said Keith simply.

The Waldahud's two right eyes were already locked on Lansing, and a moment later the two left ones converged on him as well. "The choice is yours. You have my report." He gestured at the datapad Keith was still holding. "I have suggested we send a probeship to find the child. I should be on that ship."

"All you want," said Keith, "is access to the darmats for your people.

Bringing home their child would earn you much gratitude."

Jag moved his lower shoulders. "You do me a disservice, Lansing.

Indeed, the darmats do not yet know that there are a thousand entities aboard this ship, let alone that they represent a quarter-sixteen of races."

Keith thought for a moment. Damn, he hated being pushed. But the bloody pi — but Jag was right. "Okay," he said. "Okay — you and Longbottle, if he's up to it. Is the Rum Runner in any condition for another mission?"

"Dr. Cervantes and Longbottle had it serviced at Grand

Central," said the Waldahud. "Rhombus has confirmed that it is spaceworthy."

Keith looked up. "Intercom: Keith to Thor."

A hologram of Thoraid Magnor's head appeared floating above Keith's desk. "Yes, boss?"

"How are we for travel through the shortcut?" "No problems," said Thor. "The green star is far enough from it now to allow just about any entrance angle. You want me to program a run?"

Keith shook his head. "Not for the whole ship. Just for the Rum Runner and a one-person travel pod. I'm going to have to return to Grand Central for a meeting with Premier Kenyatta." He looked back at the Waldahud. "Despite what you just said, Jag, there's going to be hell to pay."

It was the ultimate grand tour: around the galaxy in twenty shortcuts — a quick survey of all the active exit points. The Rum Runner, with Jag and Longbottle aboard, zoomed away from Starplex's docks and, after Longbottle's requisite joyride, headed for the shortcut.

As always, the exit point expanded as the ship touched it.

The purple discontinuity moved from bow to stern, and then the ship was zooming through a different sector of space.

There were no spectacular sights to be seen at this first exit: just stars, somewhat less densely packed than they had been on the other side.

Jag was intent on his instruments. He was doing a hyperspace scan, looking for any large mass within a light-day of the exit. Finding the darmat child would be hard. Dark matter, by its very nature, was very difficult to detect — all but invisible, and the radio signals it put out were very weak indeed. But even a baby darmat was going to mass 1037 kilograms. It would make a dent in local spacetime that should be detectable in hyperspace.

"Anything?" asked Longbottle.

Jag moved his lower shoulders.

Longbottle arched in his tank, and the Rum Runner' curved back toward the shortcut.

"Again we go," said the dolphin. The ship dived toward the point — and popped out near a beautiful binary star system, streamers of gas flowing from a bloated, oblate red giant toward a tiny blue companion.

Jag consulted his instruments. Nothing. The Rum Runner did a loop-the-loop and came down upon the shortcut from above, diving through, a burst of Soderstrom radiation washing over the ship, the spectacle of the binary pair being replaced by a new starscape, with a great yellow-and-pink nebula covering half the sky, a pulsar at its heart cycling dim and bright over a period of a few seconds.

"Nothing," said Jag.

Longbottle arched again, and plunged toward the shortcut.

An expanding point.

A ring of purple.

Mismatched starfields.

Another sector of space. A sector dominated by another green star pulling away from the shortcut.

Longbottle maneuvered furiously to avoid it.

Jag's scan took longer; the nearby star overwhelmed the hyperspace scanner. But, finally, he determined the darmat child was not there.

Longbottle rotated in his tank, and the Rum Runner did a corkscrew flight back into the shortcut. When they popped out this time, it was through Shortcut Prime, near the galactic core, the initial shortcut that had presumably been activated by the shortcut makers themselves.

The sky blazed with the light of countless tightly packed red suns.

Longbottle nosed a control, and the ship's shields increased to maximum.