Тим Пауэрс - Bugs and Known Problems

Then Hawke came in range and began pouring in its own laser fire. For a sickening instant, Takeda thought they had been too late, for the new arrival could now no longer maneuver; gravity was taking control and drawing it inward. But it could still put out a certain volume of fire. Under that fire and Hawke ’s, the enemy was visibly wilting. Then they were within fusion gun range, and blinding discharges of star-hot plasma blasted down the last of the Gharnakh ship’s defenses. All at once, its force shields went down and a rapid-fire series of secondary explosions consumed it.

A series of damage control reports were rolling in, But Takeda hardly heard them. He was watching the nav plot, staring at the icon of the ship that had rescued them, as gravity pulled it down toward the enigmatic center of the vortex. It had already passed within the Primary Limit. There was absolutely nothing they could do for it. Even if it had some form of escape pods for the crew, those would also be drawn in. “Mr. Chandra, hail that ship if you possibly can.”

“I’m trying, sir, but the interference—”

Takeda strode over to the comm officer’s station, nudged Chandra aside, and punched controls. A shriek of raw static answered. He spoke loudly. “Calling the unidentified ship in the Tau Ceti system: this is Her Majesty’s Space Ship Hawke , Captain Ian Takeda. Please acknowledge, and identify yourself.”

He repeated it several times. Occasionally there were snatches of what might have been speech. Then, for an instant, there was a brief break in the static, and a voice was heard. It was speaking in English, but in an undefinable way there was something odd about it. Only a few words could be heard.

“—and we’re fighting the Gharnakh’sha too. Who the hell are you? What’s—”

Then, abruptly, the voice ceased as the static closed in again. An instant later, the viewscreen went blindingly white as what looked like a small nova flared into existence deep in the vortex. Then it faded out, leaving their eyes dazzled.

“Their powerplant went critical,” Malone said quietly.

And even as he said it, various readouts ceased to register the findings of the sensor suite. The gravitational anomaly, with its accompanying field of unidentified exotic energy, was no longer there.

Willett sighed.

“I was right. The effect wasn’t entirely self-sustaining. That explosion destroyed the physical object at the center—presumably Yoder’s device. Now the vortex is gone, permanently.”

It was true. Where it had been, the stars beyond now shone serenely, without the previous shimmering distortion of light-waves. Hawke lay all alone in an undistinguished region of what might as well have been interstellar space, with Tau Ceti no more than a superlatively bright star.

The damage control teams had contained all the ravages of combat, but some repair work still needed to be done. While it was in progress, Takeda ordered a search for any wreckage that might be adrift in the vicinity. A few chunks of the Gharnakh ship were found, but they yielded no useful information.

Then something more interesting turned up.

“Captain,” Malone reported, “remember those two light attack craft, or whatever they were, that the second ship launched?”

“Yes. One of them was a total loss, but the other merely broke up.”

“Well, we think we’ve found part of that second one’s tail section. The tractor-beam crew is hauling it aboard now.”

“All right,” said Takeda absently, not looking up from the report he was reading. “You’d better go down and check it out.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The first officer departed. After a moment, Takeda turned to Willett.

“You know, Doctor, we still don’t know what happened to Yoder. And where did those two ships come from?”

Willett continued to stare at the empty viewscreen. He had been doing that a lot lately. “We’ll never know, will we?”

Silence reigned for a time. Then Takeda’s communicator chimed for attention. It was Malone. On the tiny screen, her face wore an odd expression.

“Captain, I’m down in the hold with the wreckage. I think you should come here and take a look at it. And… I definitely think Dr. Willett should too.”

Takeda and Willett exchanged a puzzled look. Then, without a word, they left the bridge.

Malone showed them a sheet of metal, its ragged edges carbonized from heat. “It seems to be part of a vertical stabilizer,” she explained. “Evidently the craft had aerodynamic flight capability.”

Takeda studied it. There was a meaningless alphanumeric designation printed on it. But what caught his eye was an obvious flag. A curious flag, though, mostly occupied by horizontal stripes—thirteen of them, alternating red and white—except for a blue rectangle in the upper left-hand corner with rows of white stars. Curious indeed… although it seemed to speak to something elusive in his memory.

“What kind of flag is that, Captain?” asked Malone.

“I don’t know. Although… it seems to have a vaguely familiar look.”

“It should,” said Willett in a flat voice that caused both officers to turn and look at him quizzically. His eyes were haunted. “After all, Captain, you mentioned your interest in history.”

All at once, it came to Takeda.

“The flag of the First American Rebellion’s ‘United States of America’ was something like this,” he said slowly. “Although, as I recall, the blue area had a circle of stars.”

“Thirteen, for the thirteen rebelling colonies,” Willett affirmed with a nod.

“This one has—” Takeda did a quick count “—fifty.”

He met Willet’s eyes. Neither of them spoke. A shudder ran through him.

Malone looked from one of them to the other. Her look was almost pleading “Sir, what can it mean?”

“That’s unknowable… and meaningless, really, because the vortex is lost forever. Whatever was beyond it doesn’t exist, as far as we’re concerned.” Takeda took a deep breath and drew himself up. “Let’s get back to the worlds we know.”

The Chained King. Flaming Goat. Moon of Day.

Jane pinched the squares of heavy paper hard enough to turn her fingertips white. She’d finally drawn the hand of cards that would end her years of searching.

Or she’d drawn the hand of cards that would damn her to a lifetime of sorrow. She couldn’t say which it’d be just yet.

“Make your play, Indian woman,” the graying soldier across the table grumbled, just loud enough to be heard above the string quartet playing in one corner of the saloon.

Jane studied the illustrations’ hard black lines and whirling brushstrokes of color. Her eye could barely make out all manner of stars and charms that promised fortune but never delivered. That was nothing new to Jane. Fate had dragged her along one dusty horse trail after the next for near on two years, always whispering that what remained of her tribe was just one more town away, always promising that her daughter was almost within reach.

She placed Moon of Day face down on the table but didn’t take her fingers off it just yet. The card was powerful, but mighty unpredictable.

Jane looked up, hoping to read something in the expressions of her opponents. The soldier wore a tattered cavalry jacket and a six-shooter on his hip. His dark eyes darted endlessly around the room and every time the batwing doors thumped open his hand jumped to his gun. To Jane’s left was an emaciated man whose slim suit hung loose, as if God forgot to add meat and fat before stretching skin over his bones. He sat still as a corpse. The woman to her right wore a schoolmarm’s buttoned-up navy blue dress, her hair in a tight bun. She dabbed tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief, but smiled relentlessly, like a showgirl on stage. The players’ faces gave away nothing.