Starplex

“Possible that dark matter—or some portion of it—is alive?” The Waldahud shrugged all four shoulders. “Much of our science and philosophy tell us that the universe should be teeming with life. And yet, so far, we’ve only found three worlds on which life has arisen. Perhaps we’ve just been looking in the wrong places. Neither Dr. Delacorte nor I has yet figured out much about dark-matter meta-chemistry, but there are lots of complex compounds in those spheres.”

Keith spread his arms in an appeal for basic common sense, and looked around the bridge, trying to find someone else as lost by all this as he was.

And then an even bigger thought hit him, and he leaned back in his chair for a moment. Then he touched his comm control panel, selecting a general channel. “Lansing to Hek,” he said.

A hologram of Hek’s head appeared in a second framed-off part of the starscape. “Hek here.”

“Any luck pinpointing the sources of those radio transmissions?”

Keith imagined the Waldahud’s lower shoulders moving outside the camera’s field of view. “Not yet.”

“You said there were over two hundred separate frequencies upon which you were finding apparently intelligent signals.”

“That’s right.”

“How many? Exactly how many?”

Hek’s face turned to a profile view, showing his projecting snout, as he consulted a monitor. “Two hundred and seventeen,” he said. “Although some are much more active than others.”

Keith heard Jag, on his left, repeat the same bark of astonishment he’d made earlier.

“There are,” said Keith slowly, “precisely two hundred and seventeen separate Jupiter-sized objects out there.” He paused, backtracking away from his own conclusion. “Of course, gas-giant worlds like Jupiter are often sources of radio emissions.”

“But these are spheres of dark matter,” said Lianne. “They’re electrically neutral.”

“They are not pure dark matter,” said Jag. “They’re permeated with bits of regular matter. The dark matter could interact with protons in the regular matter through the strong nuclear force, thereby generating EM signals.”

Hek lifted his upper shoulders. “That might work,” he said. “But each sphere is broadcasting on its own separate frequency, almost like…” The Brooklyn-accented voice trailed off.

Keith looked at Rissa, and could see that she was thinking the same thing. He lifted his eyebrows. “Almost like separate voices,” he said at last, finishing the thought.

“But there aren’t two hundred and seventeen objects anymore,” said Thor, turning around. “There are two hundred and eighteen now.”

Keith nodded. “Hek, do another inventory of signals. See if there’s new activity at a frequency just above or just below the block of frequencies you’ve identified as being active.”

Hek tilted his head as he worked his controls up on deck one. “Just a second,” he said. “Just a second.” Then: “Gods of the mud and the moons, yes! Yes, there is!”

Keith turned to Rissa, grinning. “I wonder what baby’s first words were?”

EPSILON DRACONIS

Keith hadn’t seen Glass reenter the docking bay, but when he looked up, there he was, coming closer, transparent legs carrying him over the fields of grass and four-leaf clover. His walking was fluid, beautiful, giving the appearance of being in slow motion even though he was moving at normal speed. The hint of aquamarine—the only color in his clear body—was eye-catching.

Keith thought about rising to his feet but instead simply looked up at the transparent man, sun glinting off the latter’s body and egg-shaped head.

“Welcome back,” said Keith.

Glass nodded. “I know, I know. You’re frightened. You hide it well, but you’re wondering how much longer I will keep you here. It won’t be long, I promise. But there is something else I want to explore with you before you go.”

Keith lifted his eyebrows, and Glass sat down, leaning his back against a nearby tree. Whatever his body was made of wasn’t glass. His tubular torso didn’t magnify the patterns of the bark on the other side of it. Rather, they were seen with only slight distortion.

“You are angry,” said Glass, simply.

Keith shook his head. “No, I’m not. You’ve treated me well so far.”

The wind-chime laughter. “No, no. I don’t mean you’re angry with me. Rather, you’re angry in general. There’s something inside you, something down deep, that has hardened your heart.”

Keith looked away.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” said Glass. “Something that has upset you greatly.”

Silence.

“Please,” said Glass. “Share it with me.”

“It was a long time ago,” said Keith. “I—I should be over it, I know, but…”

“But it festers still, doesn’t it? What is it? What changed you so?”

Keith sighed, and looked around. Everything was so beautiful, so peaceful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat outside among the grass and trees, and just enjoyed the surroundings, just—just relaxed.

“It has to do with Saul Ben-Abraham’s death,” said Keith.

“Death,” repeated Glass, as if Keith had used another unknown word like “quixotic.” He shook his see-through head. “How old was he when he died?”