Starplex

“No,” said Keith. Then, a moment later, “Well, actually, yes. I suppose I do. My parents were both quite argumentative, and had short fuses. You’d never know when one of them was going to blow up over something. Publicly, privately, it didn’t make any difference. You couldn’t even make polite conversation without risking an explosion from one of them. We’d have family dinners together every night, but I always was silent, hoping we could just get through it, just once, without it being unpleasant, without one of them storming away from the table, or yelling, or saying something nasty.”

Keith paused again. “In fairness, there were other issues in my parents’ relationship that I didn’t understand when I was a child. They’d started as a two-career family, but automation kept eliminating more and more jobs as the years went by—this was back before they outlawed true artificial intelligence. The Canadian government changed the tax laws so that second income earners in a family were taxed at a hundred-and-ten-percent rate. It was a move designed to spread out what work there was amongst the most families. Dad had been making less than mom, so he was the one who stopped working. I’m sure that had a lot to do with his anger. But all I knew was that my parents were taking out their anger and frustration on everyone around them, and even as a kid, I vowed never to do that.”

Glass was rapt. “Amazing,” he said. “It all makes sense.”

“What does?” asked Keith.

“You.”

Chapter XIII

Keith’s mind was reeling. So many discoveries, so much happening. He drummed his fingers on his bridge workstation for a moment, thinking. And then: “Okay, people, what now?”

The front row of workstations all rotated around on their individual pedestals so that they faced the back row: Lianne was facing Jag, Thor was facing Keith, and Rhombus was facing Rissa. Keith looked at each member of his bridge staff in turn. “We’ve got almost an embarrassment of riches here,” he said. “First, there’s the mystery of the stars’ erupting from the shortcuts—stars that Jag thinks come from the future. As if that’s not a big enough puzzle to try to figure out, we’ve also stumbled upon life—life!—made out of dark matter.” Keith looked from face to face. “Given the complexity of the radio signals Hek’s been picking up, there’s a chance—a small one, I grant you—that we’re even looking at first contact with intelligent life. Rissa, it would have been crazy to say this yesterday, but let’s make the dark-matter investigations the province of the life-sciences division.”

She nodded.

Keith turned to Jag. “The stars coming out of the shortcuts, on the other hand, may pose a threat to the Commonwealth. If you’re right, Jag, and they are coming from the future, then we’ve got to find out why they’re coming back. Is it by deliberate design? If so, is it for a malevolent purpose? Or is it just an accident? A globular cluster, say, colliding with a shortcut billions of years from now, and overloading it somehow so that its constituent stars are spewed back to here?”

“Well,” barked Jag, “a globular cluster wouldn’t pass through a shortcut. Only one of its member stars would.”

“Unless,” said Thor, sounding a bit feisty, “that globular cluster was enclosed in a sort of super Dyson sphere—a shell around the entire assembly of stars. Imagine something like that touching a shortcut billions of years from now. The shell could break apart while traversing the gate, and send the component stars scattering out of different exit points.”

“Ridiculous,” said Jag. “You humans always reinforce each other in even your wildest fantasies. Take your religions, for instance—”

“Enough!” snapped Keith, bringing his open palm down loudly on the edge of his workstation. “Enough. We’re not going to get anywhere squabbling.” He looked at the Waldahud. “If you don’t like Thor’s suggestion, then make one of your own. Why are the stars coming back here from the future?”

Jag was facing the director, but only his right eyes were looking at Keith; the left pair was scanning the surroundings, an instinctual precursor to a fight. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“We need an answer,” said Keith, his voice still edged.

“Interrupting in all politeness,” said Rhombus. “Offense not intended and hopefully not taken.”

Keith turned to face the Ib. “What is it?”

“Perhaps you are asking the wrong person. No slight is intended of good Jag, of course. But if you want to know why the stars are being sent back in time, then the person to ask is the person who is sending them back.”

“You mean ask some person in the future?” Keith said. “How can we possibly do that?”

The Ib’s mantle twinkled. “Now that is a question for good Jag,” he said. “If material from the future can exit the shortcut in the past, can we then send something from the past into the future?”