Starplex

Keith found the art on the walls strange and disconcerting: peanut-shaped images consisting of multiple, often distorted, views of the same object from different angles superimposed one atop the other. He couldn’t make out what the ones on the far wall showed, but he was startled to realize that the series of them nearest to him were studies of severely premature human and Waldahud babies, with stubby limbs, and strange, translucent heads. Boxcar was a biologist, after all, and alien life was probably fascinating to her, but the choice of subject matter was unsettling to say the least.

Boxcar rolled toward Keith from the far side of the room. It was nerve-racking to have an Ib approach from a good distance. They liked to accelerate to high speed and then stop with a jerk only a meter or two away. Keith had never heard of a human getting steamrollered by one, but he was always afraid he’d be the first.

The Ib’s lights flashed. “Dr. Lansing,” she said. “An unexpected pleasure. Please, please—I have no seat to offer you, but I know the gravity is too high. Feel free to rest on my comfort mound.” A rope flicked in the direction of the wedge-shaped construct at the side of the room.

Keith’s first thought was to reject the offer, but, dammit, it was unpleasant standing under this gravity. He walked over to the mound and rested his rear on it. “Thank you,” he said. He didn’t know how to begin, but he knew he would offend the Ib if he wasted time coming to the point. “Rissa asked me to come to see you. She says you are going to discorporate soon.”

“Dear, sweet Rissa,” said Boxcar. “Her concern is touching.”

Keith looked around the room, thinking. “I want you to know,” he said at last, “that you don’t have to go through with the discorporation—at least so long as you are aboard Starplex. All staff aboard this ship are considered de facto embassy personnel; I can try to arrange immunity for you.”

He looked at the being; he wished it had a face—wished it had normal eyes, eyes that he could try to read. “Your service has been exemplary; there’s no reason why you couldn’t continue to serve aboard Starplex for the rest of your natural life.”

“You are kind, Dr. Lansing. Very kind. But I must be true to myself. Understand that though I have not mentioned my impending discorporation to anyone, I have been preparing mentally and physically for it for centuries now. I have timed the events of my life to conclude now; I wouldn’t know what to do with the extra fifty years.”

“You could continue your research. Who knows? With another half century of work on the senescence problem, you might lick it. You might never have to die.”

“An eternity of shame, Dr. Lansing? An eternity of guilt? No, thank you. I am unalterably committed to my stated course of action.”

Keith was quiet for a moment, thinking. Arguments and counterarguments ran through his head; new tacks, new approaches. But he dismissed them all. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his place. Finally, he nodded. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you? Any special facilities or equipment you need?”

“There is a ceremony. Normally, most Ibs would not attend; to do so would be to have the guilty party end up wasting even more of their time. I imagine that only my closest Ib friends will come. So, on that basis, I have no need for a large venue. But, since you have offered, I would request, if possible, that I be allowed to use one of the docking bays for the ceremony—and that once the ceremony is completed, my component parts be ejected into space.”

“If that is what you’d like, then of course you have my permission.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lansing. Thank you very much.”

Keith nodded, and headed for the door. He made his way down the warm corridor, back into the CAGE conditions of the central shaft. Normally, when he exited an Ibese area into the lower gravity of the rest of the ship, he felt buoyant, light as a feather.

But not this time.

* * *

“Tachyon pulse!” announced Rhombus from the ExOps station. “Something coming through the shortcut. Small object, only about a meter in diameter.”

Most likely a watson, Keith thought. “Let’s have a look at it, Rhombus.” Part of the spherical hologram was set off by a blue border, and inside the border was a telescopic view of the object that had popped out of the shortcut.

“Welcome home!” said Thor Magnor, grinning broadly.

“Somebody better get Hek and Shanu Azmi down here,” said Keith.

“Will do,” said Lianne, then a moment later, “They’re on their way.”

The port starfield split and the Waldahud alien-communications specialist waddled onto the bridge. Almost simultaneously, the door behind the seating gallery opened up, and Shahinshah Azmi came in. He was wearing tennis shorts and holding a racket. Keith gestured at the magnified image. “Look what’s come back,” he said.

All four of Hek’s eyes went wide. “That’s… that’s wonderful!”