Jack McDevitt: Firebird

I heard Melissa's voice in the background, telling her that she hoped something wasn't crazy. Wasn't bonzo. I couldn't quite make it out.

The transmission shut down for a few moments. When it came back, Melissa was saying okay, it would probably work if they had enough time.

Alex was still on the circuit. “What's going on, Dot?”

“I can bring about twenty over. If there are that many. That'll overwhelm life support, so I'll have to transfer some of them to Cal.”

We were figuring the process. She'd brought two extra suits on her own, for a total of five. Plus suits for herself and Melissa. She'd have to go over with them. Get through the Antares's airlock. Which meant waiting a couple of minutes for it to pressurize. Get people into the suits. Hustle them back into the airlock. Depressurize and leave the Antares. Cross to the McCandless. Into the airlock. Pressurize again and take them into the cabin. Wait for them to climb out of the suits. Back into the airlock with the suits. Depressurize. Repeat entire process.

Et damned cetera. She'd never be able to pull it off.

“You won't have time to transfer twenty,” said Alex.

“Alex, would you please just leave me alone?”

“All right, Dot. How's your French?”

“My what?”

“Your French. That's going to be the language they speak.”

“I don't think we'll have a problem communicating.”

Cal called the McCandless and wished them luck. So did Michael. So did the others, one by one. Just be careful, they were saying. If the lights start to go out, get clear.

The images were numbing. There were faces at all the ports, and they were all terrified. I saw a line of black symbols on the gray hull. One was clearly intended to represent a comet. The others were apparently French characters from an ancient time, utterly unlike the alphabet we use today. “What does it say, Belle?”

Belle took a moment. Then: “Auric Federation. And below that, the Intrepide. The Auric Federation was an alliance of worlds that existed briefly during the fourth millennium. It came into existence during a politically unstable time. And it dissolved after less than a century.”

“Incredible,” I said. We were looking at the strangest find we could ever have come across, living artifacts.

Nobody said much, not anyone on the Belle-Marie, not the voices from the other ships. The Intrepide's image grew clearer. And, finally, we were looking at it close-up.

Michael called to assure us that the mission couldn't be in better hands. “If it can be done,” he said, “Dot will see to it.”

Suddenly we were looking at the inside of the McCandless airlock. The inside hatch was open, but Dot and Melissa were both in pressure suits. Dot was wearing an imager and a jetpack. “Thought you might want to watch,” she said. “Okay, Melissa, let's do it.”

Melissa walked out of view and returned a moment later with the extra pressure suits. They were tied together with a cable. Two of them, we knew, were small size flex, which meant they could be adapted for kids. She helped load them into the airlock. A light came on. We could no longer see anything except the suits and the outside hatch, but we understood that Melissa had shut the hatch and stayed on the bridge. Dot's hand appeared and pressed the START pad. “Depressurizing,” she said.

It was crowded in there with the suits, which began to drift off the deck. Melissa had shut down the AG. I had my doubts whether Dot and five other people could fit into the airlock.

The process was interminable. While it went on, we also watched the feed from the McCandless scopes, a riveting view of the ancient vehicle. It was difficult to be sure, but it looked no more than about thirty meters away.

I kept staring at the Antares, remembering how the Alpha had grown transparent. Had been gone so quickly.

Then Dot opened the airlock hatch, leaned outside, hooked the cable to a clip, and tied the other end around her waist. She pushed off, stringing out the pressure suits behind her.

The Intrepide opened its airlock. Dot crossed between the ships and landed smoothly beside the open hatch. She climbed in, and, one by one, removed the suits from the cable and pulled them inside with her. When she had them all, she untied the cable from her waist and attached it to the hull. It was apparently magnetized.

Then she squeezed into the airlock and closed the hatch behind her. Again, there was the long wait while the lock pressurized. Two minutes later she stepped into the interior and looked into the faces of the passengers. People who'd been born thousands of years ago. Some were in tears, others cheered, a woman tried to hug Dot but couldn't get her arms around the suit. Then a guy in uniform appeared. The captain. Average height, blond hair cut close, looking vastly relieved.

She removed her helmet and he said something, which was, I'm sure, along the lines of “Thank God.”

Dot looked at the captain and pointed at the suits. “Quick,” she said.

She didn't need a translator. The captain took over. You, he was saying. And you. Put on the suits.

The people he indicated, two women, three, came forward. Everybody else backed away. Made room.

“I count about forty people,” Dot said.

“Dot.” Melissa's voice. “Ready when you are.” I learned later that Melissa was a medical assistant. That this was her first off-world flight.

“This isn't going to end well,” said Alex.

“Damned StarCorps,” I said.

Dot showed them the flex suits, and they quickly decided on two small girls to wear them. One looked like the child we'd seen in the portal.

Another uniformed man appeared. Probably a flight attendant. He produced a sixth pressure suit. There were some efforts at communication, which included smiles, clasping of shoulders, Dot waiting while they decided who would go. Another woman. The choice brought some tears, and a lot of hesitation. She was young and frightened. And she resisted. No, I'll stay where I am. Stay here. Or maybe, Stay with you. In any case, she didn't want to go. More tears flowed.

Dot tried to show them that time was a factor. Make your call, and let's get started. They settled finally on a fourth woman, tall, dark hair, looking vastly relieved.

While they struggled into the suits, somebody did introductions: Lisa, young, maybe nineteen, trying hard not to look scared; Julie, middle-aged, brown eyes, reluctant to leave a male consort; Rowena, with black hair and lips pressed tightly together, not entirely sure she wanted to do this; and Michelle, the replacement.

The captain's lips formed questions, and we knew what they were. What the hell is going on? Where are we? But he didn't waste much time with it.

Back in the McCandless, Melissa, who'd been quiet, just trying to stay out of the way, whispered, “Please, God.”

Dot turned back to the passengers. The two girls had gotten into the flex suits. People around them were lowering their helmets into place. They both looked pale, scared. A tall, outwardly calm guy with a hairbrush mustache, probably their father, was talking with them, trying to reassure them. The girls were maybe twelve and nine. Sisters, I thought.

“We've got two younger children,” said Dot, indicating two who weren't much more than toddlers, a boy and a girl. But they weren't going to fit into the suits. “I'm. not sure how to handle them. Anybody have any suggestions?”

Michael's voice: “Think you can get the lander into the cargo bay?”

“We'll figure something out,” Shara said, speaking to the entire squadron. “Next time, we'll be ready for them.”

They clamped down the helmets, and Dot ran a quick check. She tried to reassure the captain with a smile and by squeezing his arm that, whatever happened, someone would be back. “We'll get you clear,” she said. Then she spoke to Melissa. “Okay, love, on our way.”