would swear this was organic.”
“It appears to be. Akin to cellulose, if you can believe it. I thought you would find that interesting, as a biologist.”
“Colonel. You’re telling me this is a
tree
?”
Valens laughed, working to make it seem charming and easy. “No, it’s a starship.”
“The other one was carbon, ceramics, and alloy, though. That tells me—two different civilizations. Or years of tech development. They lost one ship here and sent another looking? Which raises the unsettling question of what they ran into.”
“I’m not going to tell you that the hull wasn’t
grown
, Dr. Forster. It incorporates nanotube technology in addition to the organics, however. Carbon, like the space tethers.”
“Strong. And it’s held up for some thousands of years, based on areological analysis. Do we have any indication that there
was
a pilot, rather than this being the remains of some autonomous starfaring vegetable?”
“Other than it being laced with tunnels and chambers, and some things that might be furniture? There’s not adamned thing that looks like an instrument panel, if that’s what you mean.”
“Hmmm.” Forster reached past the hanging lights in their yellow cages and ran his gloved fingers along the knobby ridge at the center of the double-arched ceiling. “Colonel.”
Valens licked his lips behind the faceplate. “Something?”
“These are handholds. Colonel, I’m going to go out on a big old limb with a hypothesis. This appears to be a ladder.”
“Why would you want a ladder on the ceiling?”
I bet I know the answer to that.
Charlie was reasonably fresh off the shuttle from Friendship Station. “For freefall, Colonel. Something to haul yourself about with.”
“Ah.” Valens tilted his head back, reaching up to push one of the work lights to the side. “Come on. Let’s go look at the thing that might be a bridge.”
It was a long walk. Valens didn’t see how the echoing space could have housed a command crew’s instruments without some sign of where they had been removed, and he was wary of jumping to conclusions, no matter how tempting. For one thing, presuming that the engines were aft, this large chamber wasn’t anywhere near the front of the ship—despite cracked and shattered crystal panels that had once hung against the walls. “Those look like view screens or interface panels. But I don’t see anything like controls.” He shook his head inside his helmet. “So how did they fly the damned thing?”
“And why aren’t there any bodies on this one, either?” Forster wandered in slow circles around the diameter of the room, footsteps stirring swirls in the rust-colored fines that blanketed the chamber. As large as the center ring of a circus, the “bridge” contained nothing except those panels and a number of raised concave structures that invited comparison to unpadded papasan chairs. Or perhaps bowls onstilts. Here, there was metal—flexible coils like segmented snakes lay across the floor or dangled over the papasan chairs, tangles of hair-fine wires drooping from the tips.
Forster selected one and raised it in a gloved hand, holding it up to the light. “Interesting.”
Valens wandered over, leaning into Charlie’s light. “Some of the wires are sheared off. Broken,” he commented after a minute. “What’s that dark stain?”
“Given that—without oxygen, in the cold, without microbes—it could have lasted this long …” Forster laid the cable down on the papasan and reached into his kit for scrapers and sample envelopes. “Blood, Colonel Valens. I think it’s blood.”
0930 hours, Wednesday 6 September, 2062
Jefferson Avenue
Hartford Hospital Medical Offices
Hartford, Connecticut
“Did it bother you to be called a baby killer?”
I shrug and start unbuttoning my shirt. “No more than it might bother you, Simon. What the hell brought that on?”
My neurologist—who also happens to be a friend—shrugs and turns his back
“It appears to be. Akin to cellulose, if you can believe it. I thought you would find that interesting, as a biologist.”
“Colonel. You’re telling me this is a
tree
?”
Valens laughed, working to make it seem charming and easy. “No, it’s a starship.”
“The other one was carbon, ceramics, and alloy, though. That tells me—two different civilizations. Or years of tech development. They lost one ship here and sent another looking? Which raises the unsettling question of what they ran into.”
“I’m not going to tell you that the hull wasn’t
grown
, Dr. Forster. It incorporates nanotube technology in addition to the organics, however. Carbon, like the space tethers.”
“Strong. And it’s held up for some thousands of years, based on areological analysis. Do we have any indication that there
was
a pilot, rather than this being the remains of some autonomous starfaring vegetable?”
“Other than it being laced with tunnels and chambers, and some things that might be furniture? There’s not adamned thing that looks like an instrument panel, if that’s what you mean.”
“Hmmm.” Forster reached past the hanging lights in their yellow cages and ran his gloved fingers along the knobby ridge at the center of the double-arched ceiling. “Colonel.”
Valens licked his lips behind the faceplate. “Something?”
“These are handholds. Colonel, I’m going to go out on a big old limb with a hypothesis. This appears to be a ladder.”
“Why would you want a ladder on the ceiling?”
I bet I know the answer to that.
Charlie was reasonably fresh off the shuttle from Friendship Station. “For freefall, Colonel. Something to haul yourself about with.”
“Ah.” Valens tilted his head back, reaching up to push one of the work lights to the side. “Come on. Let’s go look at the thing that might be a bridge.”
It was a long walk. Valens didn’t see how the echoing space could have housed a command crew’s instruments without some sign of where they had been removed, and he was wary of jumping to conclusions, no matter how tempting. For one thing, presuming that the engines were aft, this large chamber wasn’t anywhere near the front of the ship—despite cracked and shattered crystal panels that had once hung against the walls. “Those look like view screens or interface panels. But I don’t see anything like controls.” He shook his head inside his helmet. “So how did they fly the damned thing?”
“And why aren’t there any bodies on this one, either?” Forster wandered in slow circles around the diameter of the room, footsteps stirring swirls in the rust-colored fines that blanketed the chamber. As large as the center ring of a circus, the “bridge” contained nothing except those panels and a number of raised concave structures that invited comparison to unpadded papasan chairs. Or perhaps bowls onstilts. Here, there was metal—flexible coils like segmented snakes lay across the floor or dangled over the papasan chairs, tangles of hair-fine wires drooping from the tips.
Forster selected one and raised it in a gloved hand, holding it up to the light. “Interesting.”
Valens wandered over, leaning into Charlie’s light. “Some of the wires are sheared off. Broken,” he commented after a minute. “What’s that dark stain?”
“Given that—without oxygen, in the cold, without microbes—it could have lasted this long …” Forster laid the cable down on the papasan and reached into his kit for scrapers and sample envelopes. “Blood, Colonel Valens. I think it’s blood.”
0930 hours, Wednesday 6 September, 2062
Jefferson Avenue
Hartford Hospital Medical Offices
Hartford, Connecticut
“Did it bother you to be called a baby killer?”
I shrug and start unbuttoning my shirt. “No more than it might bother you, Simon. What the hell brought that on?”
My neurologist—who also happens to be a friend—shrugs and turns his back
Similar Books
