Starplex

Keith nodded. “But you said you were using starlight converted to electricity to power the attitude-control system?”

“Yes. But there’s almost no spare power for a beacon of any sort. We’re just going to have to assume that whoever built the shortcuts will have detectors that will find the cube regardless.”

“And if they don’t?”

Hek moved all four shoulders up and down in a shrug. “If they don’t—well, we’ve hardly lost much by trying.”

“All right,” said Keith. “It looks good to me. Is this a prototype, or the actual time capsule?”

“We’d intended it as just a prototype, but everything came together perfectly,” said Azmi. “I say we might as well go ahead and use this one.”

Keith turned to Hek. “What about you?”

The Waldahud barked once. “I concur.”

“Very well,” said Keith. “How do you propose to launch it?”

“Well, it has nothing but ACS jets,” said Azmi. “And I don’t dare put it out there on its own with those dark-matter creatures swarming around; it would probably get sucked into their gravity. But we’ve already seen that the dark-matter beings have some mobility, so I’m assuming they won’t be in this exact spot forever. I’ve programmed a standard payload carrier to take the cube away from here, but come back in a hundred years and dump it about twenty klicks from the shortcut. After that, the time capsule’s own ACS jets should be able to hold it in place relative to the exit point.”

“Excellent,” said Keith. “Is the launcher ready, too?”

Azmi nodded.

“Can you launch it from down here?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s do so, then.”

The three of them exited the bay, and took a lift up to the docking control room, which had angled windows that overlooked the interior of the cavernous hangar. Azmi took a seat in front of a console and began operating controls. Under his command, a motorized flatbed rolled into the bay, carrying a cylindrical payload carrier. Mechanical arms mated the cube to the clamps on the front of the carrier.

“Depressurizing the bay,” said Azmi.

Shimmering forcefield sheets started to close in from three of the four walls and the floor and ceiling, forcing the air in the bay out through vents in the rear wall. When all the air had been swept up and compressed into tanks, the forcefield sheets collapsed, leaving an interior vacuum.

“Opening space door,” Azmi said, operating another control. The segmented curving outer wall began to slide up into the ceiling. Blackness became visible, but the glare of the bay’s internal lighting washed out the stars.

Azmi touched some more buttons. “Activating time-capsule electronics.” He then tapped a key, initiating a preprogrammed sequence for the tractor-beam emitter mounted on the rear bay wall. The payload carrier lifted off the flatbed, flew over the floor plates, passed the spindly form of a repair skiff that was parked inside the bay, and headed out into space.

“Powering up carrier,” said Azmi. The cylinder’s end lit up with the glow of thrusters, and the contraption rapidly receded from view.

“And that,” said Azmi, “is that.”

“Now what?” asked Keith.

Azmi shrugged. “Now just forget about it. Either this will work, or it won’t—probably won’t.”

Keith nodded. “Excellent work, guys. Thank you. It’s—”

“Rissa to Lansing,” said a voice over the speakers.

Keith looked up. “Open. Hi, Rissa.”

“Hi, hon. We’re ready to take our first whack at communicating with the dark-matter creatures.”

“I’m on my way. Close.” He smiled at Azmi and Hek. “Sometimes, you know, my staff is almost too efficient.”

* * *

Keith rode up to the bridge and took his seat in the center of the back row. The holographic bubble was filled not with the normal space view but rather with red circles against a pale white background, a plot of the locations of the dark-matter spheres.

“Okay,” said Rissa. “We’re going to try communicating with the dark-matter beings using radio and visual signals. We’ve deployed a special probe that will do the actual signaling. It’s located about eight light-seconds off the starboard side of the ship; I’m going to operate it by comm laser. Of course, the dark-matter beings may already have detected our presence, but, then again, they may not have. And just in case the dark-matter beings turn out to be the Slammers, or something equally nasty, it seems prudent to have their attention drawn to an expendable probe rather than Starplex itself.”

“ ‘Dark-matter beings,’ ” repeated Keith. “That’s a bit of a mouthful, no? Surely we can come up with a better name for them.”

“How about ‘darkies’?” said Rhombus, helpfully.

Keith cringed. “That’s not a good idea.” He thought for a second, then looked up, grinning. “What about MACHO men?”

Jag rolled all four eyes and made a disgusted bark.

“How does ‘darmats’ sound?” asked Thor.