The TML PBeM

1993, Turn 1 - Part 4 (of 5)

Bridge - 03:27

As Ger finishes several long sequences of what is essentally hand-waving over the helm console, he addresses the room:

"General Broadcast, Pater, Low Priority we don't want to wake anyone up."

<< Helm to Crew: For your edification we have just executed the turn-around manoeuver. ETA 52 minutes. Ger out >>

INTERLUDE

"There is a saying among my people," Faohileh said mildly as she strode down the hallway.

"Oh, SPARE me," Randall Stubbs winced, raising a hand to his aching head. "There are six point oh two two up twenty-three sayings among your people, and sometimes I think you're going to make me hear every Goddamn one of them in order from start to finish."

"'If you wish to take the lion's cubs, you must enter the den,'" the tall, lithe Aslan woman continued, unruffled. "What that means is that a life without risk and ambition is a life that goes nowhere."

"How very profound," Stubbs grimaced. "So what you're really saying is that I should just shut up and be happy with my brand-spankin'-new promotion, and not gritch about it like this, especially when it's a bad reflection on YOU. Right?"

"Sir," Faohileh said softly, "You are troubled. I believe that what I am trying to say is that I cannot understand why."

"I know you can't, Fao." Stubbs looked out the wide glass viewport at the bustle of the Axis-- workerpods cartwheeling recklessly across the curving upsweep of the Horizon, vacc-suited figures bearing tools in the golden light, the ponderous hulk of a grain hauler moving out of the docks. "It's a Human thing, I think. We're superstitious, most of us, and Death bothers us more than it bothers your people."

"You fear the spectre that hovers over the Hamilcar?"

"YOU were there, Fao. You helped me move her. We were among the people who cleared all the corpses away. It was unnatural, the way they died; a massive psi-burst, like nothing anyone's ever seen before, here or Outside. Especially Outside. What the hell could DO that?"

"Unknown," Faohileh shrugged. "Unimportant. Unless you believe the Hamilcar is haunted by spirits...."

"Very funny." Stubbs glared at her.

"What troubles ME," Faohileh continued, "Is the other strange evidence we found aboard her. Perhaps it was less dramatic than a crew of dead Hisol'i rotting in their couches, but the implications are far more puzzling...."

"How can you be so callous about this? I AM a 'Hisol'i,' you know. I've got the Genetic Purity Certification, the SolSec clearance, the Party card, the whole nine meters. Those guys were fellow Navy men. I dunno much about Dietrich's fleet, but some of them could've been friends of mine."

"Dead is dead, Captain," Faohileh said sharply. "I have not been here so long as to begin mourning the deaths of Solomani kitten-murderers."

She paused, composing herself with a small sigh. "The other evidence is of far more interest to me. The flight recorder had been neatly removed, and the ship's logs show records of airlocks cycling, data being downloaded and erased from the main computer banks, and grav-lifts moving, all at about the same time as the recorder was taken. And nearly half the fuel in the Hamilcar's reserve tanks had been drained. But by WHOM?"

"We may never know," Stubbs sighed. "The Harkeir Gate can't stay up forever, and anyone who'd risk it has--" His voice broke off, as a coruscating flash of purple light suddenly burst out of nothing, making him wince. He peered through the window curiously. "Inbound or outbound," he wondered aloud.

"Must be inbound," Foahileh said. "Nothing is scheduled for--"

Her voice was interrupted by the blare of an alarm horn, and a frantic voice on the public address system. >>EMERGENCY! All hands, EMERGENCY! FlareShip on fire! FLARESHIP ON FIRE!<<

Stubbs turned white. "What the...?"

The voice blared, >>Inbound at point oh six five max, no attitude control, no braking, crew status critical! Medical and Fire Teams to the Main Stage Floodlock! ALL PODS AWAY!<<

Stubbs's eyes narrowed. He turned to Faohileh, who returned his gaze grimly.

"Orders, sir?"

"To the Main Stage," Stubbs barked. "We'll see better from there!" He kicked into a run, Faohileh close behind him.

A few minutes later, the pair arrived at the Main Stage, where a large crowd had already gathered at the huge bay windows, all oblivious to the possible danger. The tableau before them was horrifying-- a Type A Free Trader was hurtling toward the High Port, on fire and tumbling wildly. Workerpods, heedless of the danger, were matching courses with it and attempting to slow its dizzying spin.

"Who's out there," Stubbs gasped, pulling to a halt at the back of the crowd.

"Hard to tell at this range," a sanitech whispered back. "The usual team, I think; higher proportion of the pros, this time of day."

"Bets on who goes in first?" A burly dockworker looked over at Stubbs.

"My money's on Ohatopi," Stubbs grinned. "That is one CRAZY clam-eater."

"Not as crazy as Tliaqref," a nearby medtech said with a laugh.

"Or Finklestein," another dockhand put in. "He'll try to lasso the thing and haul it back on his own!"

"And be killed for his idiocy," Faohileh snapped. "I will not wager money on people's lives, but in my opinion this is a job for Flashgordon--"

Suddenly a cry went up from the front row. "Buy the lady a drink! FLASHGORDON'S GOING IN!" A cheer went up from the assemblage as a workerpod, painted eye-hurtingly bright blue and gold, darted in toward the pinwheeling inferno, clamped itself to the hull of the spinning ship near its axis of rotation, and flared its thrusters into life. The Free Trader shuddered spastically, and new fires erupted in one or two places, but the mad spinning slowed and stopped. Instantly, three more pods shot in and grabbed the craft, hauling it to a stop.

"God in Heaven," Stubbs gasped, making out the ship's paint job through the scars and burns. "That's the CERRITOS!"

"I shall notify Event Horizon at once," Faohileh snapped.

"You do that, Fao...." Stubbs said softly, only half aware of her.

>>FIRE TEAMS IN THE LOCK! MEDICAL TEAMS AT THE READY!<< People broke away from the window and ran toward the Flood Lock as the pods deposited the craft crunchingly onto its belly. The doors rolled shut, and the Lock was instantly filled with a howl of inrushing air, immediately followed by a thick cloud of smoke and firefoam as the "Dantes," crouching in their armor and brandishing foamthrowers, moved in fearlessly.

A triple klaxon sounded. >>EXTERNAL FIRES UNDER CONTROL. ALL HANDS STAND AWAY FOR TRIAGE.<< The inner door rolled open, and teams of medtechs rushed in through the knee-deep, slippery foam that poured out onto the deck. Stubbs, ignoring the orders to keep clear, ran into the chamber to stand anxiously by the wounded ship's main personnel lock as the Dantes went to work on the stuck iris valve.

Behind him, the pods settled to the deck and disgorged their pilots, each in a vaccsuit garishly painted to match the colors of the pods. Tliaqref paused after removing her helmet, turned away and modestly donned her veil and turban. Ohatopi tossed his helmet on the seat carelessly and jumped down to the deck, scampering on all fours to stand by Stubbs. The foam came almost up to his chest, but it didn't slow him down any. Finklestein joined him, unhooking his helmet and pulling it off as he walked.

"Hi, Fink. 'Topi," Stubbs said idly, not looking away from the lock.

"Hay'ya, Ran'tee," Ohatopi chittered, looking up at the smoking ship. "She a mess, is't she?" His whiskers twitched nervously.

"Yeah," Finklestein put in, not waiting for Stubbs to answer. "Look at those burn marks! She must have had a Tokamak blowout...."

"No...." Tliaqref glared hard at the damaged plates. "The edges are blown INWARD! This FlickerShip was FIRED UPON!"

"She is correct," came a perfectly modulated, calm voice from behind the group of pilots. "As I slowed the ship's rotation, I took note of the nature of the damage. My estimated modus operandi would be lasers and conventional missiles with contact fuses, implying combat at close range."

Stubbs spared the briefest glance at the blue-and-gold vaccsuited figure that trotted up to them, tentacles waving. "Neat flying, Flashy," he said.

"No more so than is customary for me," the Hiver responded through its voder. It looked up as the iris valve came open, and a medical team, fire techs in their wake, piled into the ship. Moments later, they began to file out again, bearing grav-pallets with badly burned, tossing bodies. Stubbs ran forward as they set down a gurney with the half-roasted form of a Vargr on it, and began to administer first aid.

Stubbs stared down at the apparition of charred fur and oozing pus that used to be one of his best friends. "Ighurnu?" He knelt by her side. "Can you hear me, sweetheart?"

One eye opened a crack. "Ran....dy......?"

"It's me, puppy dog," Stubbs whispered, tears in his eyes. "You okay?"

"I hurt....somethin'.....awful....." Her tongue came out, gently touched the tip of his nose. Her eyes closed.

"She's in shock," the medic snapped. "We have to move her!"

"Go," Stubbs waved them on, and stepped to the next gurney, where a technician was administering oxygen to a Human man, who was actually sitting up on his gurney and holding the mask himself.

"Gamiagaan! What happened?"

The man looked up at Stubbs, and managed a faint smile. He took off the mask and whispered, "Stamerra. The Nikaido. Jumped us at the Gate. We had to--" he tried to inhale, and was wracked by a series of coughing spasms. The technician forced the mask over his mouth again until the coughing fit subsided. He pulled the mask away again. "They shot the life out of us. Plant scrammed right after Jump, and we had to vent through the hole in the hull. Ardis and Louie were killed in the blast. Doctor Ighurnu is--" he began to cough again, and slumped weakly back onto the gurney. The tech tried to move him away, but he feebly signalled for Stubbs to come closer.

Stubbs knelt by the gurney, but Gamiagaan's voice was strong despite his seared lungs. "The Gate's starting to close. But there's been another phase change... there's a ship out there, maybe going to come through... transponder codes say she's called the Elissa, out of Tuvir, wherever THAT is...she's a beauty, Randy....a beauty....nowhere near big as the Hamilcar, but still huge.... but Stamerra's waiting for her....you gotta stop him...!" He collapsed back onto the gurney, spent by the effort. The tech hauled him away.

Stubbs looked up, to see Faohileh standing there before him. Beside her was Gn'x!!gir, seemingly oblivious to the remnants of foam spattered over his hooves. Stubbs glared at the K'Kree fiercely.

"Sir. I must strongly request permission to take the Hamilcar to the Harkeir Gate, to deal with the Nikaido and the possible new arrival."

Gn'x!!gir nodded. "This story of another large ship at the Gate intrigues us; if another FlickerShip is to be obtained from the Harkeir Gate, we will be doubly enriched. We will allow the rapid deployment of the Hamilcar. The Tower shall be ordered to allow you passage when you are ready. But proceed with caution, Captain; we do not wish to learn of your death at the hands of Captain Stamerra."

"Understood, sir. Fao, call the crew! RDP, doubletime!"

As he and Faohileh ran off amongst the swirling crowds surrounding the wreckage of the FlareShip Cerritos, she began to bark orders into her commdot.

"All hands report to the DazzleShip Hamilcar at once! Rapid Deployment Protocol, this is NOT A DRILL! I repeat, this is NOT...."

"You miserable bucket of old slops! YOU LET THEM GET AWAY!" Captain Stamerra's bellow was bloodchilling. Aedhakhne cowered before him on his back, tail tucked between his legs, whimpering.

"I'm SORRY, Sir! I did my BEST, but they must have had a partial charge on their Grid to get away so fast...!"

"They had NO partial charge, you quivering IMBECILE! They had ten whole MINUTES to charge up and get away! We should have knocked them FLAT in EIGHT!"

"But you said you wanted them ALIIIVE!"

"WHAAAAT?!" Stamerra reached down, got a good grip on the Vargr's muzzle, and hauled him to his feet. "Now it's MY FAULT?!"

"MM NVVER SDD THT!" Aedhakhne gurgled around his fist.

"BAH! IDIOT! *IDIOT*!" Stamerra pushed the quaking gunner into the hands of a burly man-at-arms, and turned to face the crowd of crewmen who had come to watch 'Akhne get his well-deserved beating. His voice dropped to a growl. "I do not tolerate FAILURE! We crab along like MAGGOTS, scrimping for every spare part and going without MEALS, while those fat slobbers at Event Horizon have the BEST of EVERYTHING! We can not afford to lose a prize...like THAT!" One thick arm shot out and pointed at the holoscreen dominating the Gunnery Deck. It showed the Gate, hovering just forward of the Nikaido's bow, and beyond it the starry expanse of the Outside. Far beyond the Gate, just resolvable in the long-range visual scanners, was the prize everyone had hoped for. A huge, almost-new starship with only a few missile turrets to protect it, a ship called "Elissa."

"Event Horizon may or may NOT have a Rapid-Dep ship available," he went on angrily, "And even if they do, the ship they send may not be a match for us. But WE CAN NOT AFFORD TO TAKE THAT CHANCE! YOU," and he pointed at the shivering Gunner, "Have just made our lives TWICE AS DIFFICULT. And THAT is one thing I do NOT need."

He turned away. "He can't shoot. See how well he can fly."

'Akhne's eyes went wide. "No! Captain, PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING! *ANYTHING*!"

"He will, too," one crewman whispered. There was a general snicker.

"NOOOOoooooo...." The men-at-arms dragged the Vargr away, and there was a moment of silence, then, throughout the room, the sound of an airlock being blown open.

"A moment of silence for the dead," The Captain intoned.

"And now," he cried, "BACK TO WORK, my lads! Our job just got a lot tougher-- we can't try to sweet-talk her now that Event Horizon's on us-- we have to TAKE her! I want all boarding teams ready to move on a moment's notice, and all gunners to size up suitable targets to render her dead in space. To your stations!"

---

In a rather determined straight line, the Elissa moves through space at 1.4 standard gravities, on a direct intercept course with 600 meters of nothing.

Cargo bay #1 is secure, the huge doors once again are locked closed, protecting the vacuum on the inside from the vacuum on the outside. Igor is parked, firmly attached to deck anchorpoints, patiently awaiting the return of his master.

Engineering is a scene of casual tension. Munro and her crew quietly exchange comments or the occasional joke, all the while hovering over the drive and powerplant read-outs, ready to pounce on the stray warning sign they hope they never see.

In the physical sciences compartment, Karl Morser oscillates between crooning at the abstract anomaly displayed in red in the huge holo- tank, and pacing frantically, muttering about why is it taking so long and can't the drives be turned up even more? Werner scowls at him a fair bit, when he isn't talking to Smythe, who constantly worries about the VLA drones being left further behind with each passing second. Sokuku says very little and occupies his time by puzzling over the sensor readings (which make virtually no sense to him at all) and snacking on the left-overs from the crew mess. Bishop is gone again. After returning from cargo bay #1, he spent a few short minutes with the scientists, before bidding them all a "see you later" and indicating he was going to the crew lounge to "get a better view". This seems particularly odd to Abuko, considering there are no external viewports in the lounge, and it's holo-displays are fair inferior to the unit here in the lab. However, other thoughts occupy his time, so he makes no comment.

Sickbay is also quiet. Those members of the medical team present, talk quietly among themselves, commenting on the present situation and exchanging anecdotes of obscure biological nature. Lucan and Dulinor sit silently in the corner, sensors glowing.

The bridge offers little additional activity. Having returned from the physical science compartment, Byyarrvouf sits hunched forward in his captain's chair, glaring at the center of the bridge holo-display and all its myriad tactical glyphs, almost *daring* the hole to vanish on him again. Akhouw stands nearby, arms folding, face impassive. Aiwi has moved from the communications station to stand behind Nishu, studying the nav console but making no comment. Ger sits at the helm, looking more than a little bored now that the course is laid in and the ship is under way.

And so it goes, for one hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds. Carefully, at 04:20:02, Ger neutralizes the last traces of deceleration for the 357,563 ton ship and brings it to a complete stop, relative to the hole, now sitting slightly over one kilometer from the bow.

Bhyarrvouf straightens up in his seat and gives a deferential nod to Akhouw. "No more running around for a while, siaenrra," he says with a faint smile. "Time to act the part of the dignified Commanding Officer. PATER," he says loudly, "All-Call, please."

_All-Call ready, Captain._

<< All hands, this is the Captain. We have arrived at the "hole" in space without undue incident; it is visible on Ship's Data Channel 3-01 for any crewman who wishes to view it. As you can see, with the backdrop of the Orion Arm behind it, it is quite striking.

<< Science Division, begin probe experiments. All personnel remain at current degree of alert status. Captain out. >>

10 minutes before the scheduled arrival time Shrike checks out his gauss rifle and along with his pistol and stun gun, which he was already wearing, head back down to wait just outside of cargo bay #1's forward airlock.

<< Shrike to Lazer, I'm in position outside of Cargo bay #1 >>

"Time to grab another chunk of floor and wait." says Shrike to himself.

"Captain", Ger finally speaks after observing the data available for awhile. "Do you think that this is a wise orientation relative to the hole? If something were to come out, the two-thirds of a mile we have might not be enough room to manoeuver."

"That's a good point, Mister Nanadh," 'Vouf nods, "But I don't think it's a matter of orientation so much as absolute position. I want to be nose-on to the 'hole,' but I agree that here at its center we don't have a small margin for sudden maneuvers...."

"I could plot us a course over to the edge right after we launch any probes..."

"No, do it NOW," 'Vouf says. "The probes will be attached to the Elissa by fiber-optic cables, and I don't want their anchor point moving. Just keep us in this orientation and scoot us over to the ege of the ''hole.' Sideshifting in this crate probably isn't too easy, so you can scoot forward a bit as you move aside. Maybe 45 degrees, so we make up three hundred meters of forward distance for the three hundred meters to the edge. When you're done, we should be pointed at the edge of the 'hole,' and seven hundred meters from it. Then we'll launch the probes. Best speed, please."

<< Capitain, zis iss Morrzer. Ve vill bekin immediately. Vielen danke. Morrzer out. >>

Rubbing his hands together, Morser turns to the rest of the science team and exclaims, "Unt *now*, ve vill make zome history, ya?" He nods to Werner, who leans over his console and begins configuration.

"PATER," says Werner, "ready a type one probe, and maintain fiber-optic umbilical."

_Please stand by._ There is a brief pause, then PATER concludes, _Probe number zero zero one is enabled and warm. Jettison port is clear and ready for launch on command._

"Yah, gut, gut." chortles Morser. His hands dance over the flat panel. Then he looks up at Smythe and Werner, the excitement welling up in him. "Ve confirm uplink. Manfred, pleazze conzentrate on ze vide band rezeption. Oztyn, you monitor ze VLA data for corroboration, yah?" Looking up at the huge, flat shape spanning the holo-display, he murmurs, "PATER, pleazze launch ze probe."

With a barely audible *thud*, a one and a quarter ton cylinder, festooned with lumps and blisters across it's surface, is ejected from the ventral hull of the Elissa, trailing a thin fiber-optic cable. Pivoting on gravitics, the probe quickly acquires it's target, and then gently begins to accelerate towards it. Four minutes and ten seconds later, all forward velocity ceases [*THERE*. Happy now? - Ref.] as the probe comes to a dead stop one meter away from the surface of the hole.

"Commenze scans... now." orders Morser.

Several seconds pass.

Werner frowns at the initial data. "Zero mass, zero energy emission, zero reflection on all wavelengths. There are no echoes at all."

A quick request for data from Smythe indicates the same information from the VLAs.

"Ya, ya, OK." nods Morser. Glaring at the holo, he mutters, "Ve haff you now. You tell us zomezink pretty damnt zoon." Selecting a subordinate display, Morser enables a new set of functions. "Go-ink active...*now*."

On the probe, several small directional antennas and horns deploy, and begin narrow-casting a multitude of selected signals at the hole.

"No doppler bounce," advises Werner, after a minute. "If the hull sensors didn't indicate otherwise, I'd hypothesize that the hole is receeding from us at lightspeed." Consulting yet another display, he adds, "Millimeter radar and ladar show the same result."

"Zo. It iss be-ink difficult." Morser frowns. "Spray it."

Werner nods and touches another contact. "Nozzle deployed."

One kilometer away, a small valve on the nose of the probe irises open and a tube extends ten centimeters out of the probe body. Then, a very fine jet of carbon dust is 'burped' from the tube, directly at the hole. The probe gravitics automatically compensate for the reaction thrust, keeping the large device precisely on station.

Puffy white clouds drift across an azure sky. The surrounding grasses stretch to the horizon, their scent in the warm, sporadic breeze. Laying in the grass, a yellow star warms a slightly upset tummy. The pleasant, sugary taste of a two day old pastry on the palate...

Pastry from the snack dispenser! Aolrkhea' wakes with a barely audible whine. A grimace reminds her of her age and disrupted sleep from the past week's duty schedule. And then there were those stale pastries which were delectable, but are still playing havoc with the digestive track. Snapping upright, fully awake, the gray, blank display of the Khtaliyr sensor pit displays a holo button with only the following text:

Program Crash. System halted.

The naked edge of a dewclaw thrusts through the holo button in a blur of frustration. The holo button vanishes forever as large fingers envelope and crush it. Aolrkhea' stomps out of the sensor station to the mess for something to cool her off. The unoccupied sensor display returns to a real time view, silently showing a black rent in space.

Nick Talon shambles into the crew lounge, wearing the bleary-eyed expression of someone who has just woken up after not very much sleep. Unusually for him, he is not wearing his bright red cap. Straggly bits of black hair stick up here and there.

He walks straight over to the holo-display and stands there gazing intently at the mysterious 'hole'. Without taking his eyes off the image for a moment, he folds his arms and in a hushed voice says merely: "Wow."

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Talon turns to find Adrian Bishop stretched out on one of the couches along the far wall, arms propped behind his head, eyes closed. By all appearances, he is napping. Only his voice belies this impression. Then Talon notices that he's not even facing the holo-display. At just that moment, Bishop opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Talon.

"Hello, Nick. Ready for the next great adventure?"

"Oh, hi Adrian. Didn't see you there. Adventure? Yeah...." Talon's gaze returns to fix itself on the display again. "Weird, isn't it?"

He plunges his hands into the pockets of his utility vest and rummages around for a while before producing a small packet, which he holds out to Bishop.

"Care for some gum?"

"No thanks." Bishop smiles and shakes his head. "I'm trying to quit."

Swinging his feet around, he sits up, then stretches and stands up. Gazing at the main holo-display, he nods absently and adds, "'Weird' is a pretty good word for it. Morser and Company are beating their heads against a bulkhead trying to get it to talk to them."

Glancing at Talon, he comments, "How does the old saying go? It's a 'puzzle, wrapped in a riddle, surrounded by an enigma'. I guess we'll find out eventually." He pauses, lost in thought for a moment.

"If that *is* where R-Alpha ended up going, I hope we *do* manage to follow it." The slight smile fades to a neutral expression. "I've got a microscopic benefactor I need to thank, and to confront with several thousand questions."

Plowing through a bowl of bloody chunkies, Aolrkhea' glances at a small monitor in the mess and stops in mid-chew ....

"Going... going... ", Werner follows the forward motion of the jet with his eyes, " ...gone. No effect."

Morser slumps, then straightens up. "Vell, given ze ozzer data, zat vas to be expected." He grimaces, "At leazt, ve didn't zee a matterrr to enerrr-chee converrrzion."

Gesturing once again to Werner, he adds, "Make contact. One zentimeter per zecond." Werner nods and adjusts a slider on his display.

Off the bow of the Elissa, the probe bobs forward, then slows just prior to contact, and gently slips up against the black surface.

"No resistance." reports Werner, "Forward motion of one centimeter per second confirmed." A second passes, then Werners eyes narrow as two conflicting readings leap out at him.

"Karl, we are showing zero velocity on the bow of the probe, yet the stern of the probe is still receeding from the ship! Look at this." Werner punches to buttons in rapid sequence and a flat window super- imposes itself on the holo-tank. "This is the probe bow video pick-up. Here," Werner twists a rotary selector, "the sensor is now pointed along the surface of the hole", he pauses and adds, "perfectly perpendicular to the hole. That's Orion arm we're looking at." He waits for two seconds and comments, "It is not moving at all, is it?" Looking down at his read-outs, he drops the bombshell. "According the the stern transponder on the probe, it has penetrated the hole by half a meter. This sensor should already be showing us whatever is on the other side."

"Unglaublich!!" exclaims Morser. "Zat is incredible! Ve haff a variable topology here!"

"I am thinking it is something like that." agrees Werner. "For whatever reason, the probe is sliding along the manifold represented by the hole, without interupting it. Until that interruption occurs, I would doubt we can gain anything useful from remotes."

"Ya, zo," mutters Morser impatiently, "ve speed up ze prozezz." Glancing at the display, he commands, "Increase acceleration to two meters per zecond."

"Karl," cautions Werner, "Maybe we are going too fast. This is completely unknown."

"Ach!!" Morser throws up his hands. "It is an eggzternalized Dalgliesh Manifold. Haff *you* everrr zeen vone outside a t'eorritical mat'errrmatics classrrom? It vill hurrt nossesink!! Ve *must* penetrate the zurrrface if ve are to collect any dezent data. Chust *do* it!"

Shaking his head, Werner moves the slider further. "Now thrusting at two meters per second."

"OK, gut." Morser rubs his hands together. "Hmm. Ve neet triangulation. PATER, please varm up a type two probe." Morser's hands dance in a quick calculation on his wristcom. Then he taps in a set of coordinates on the holo console. "Launch venn rrready, unt pozition it at ziss location."

_Type two probe powering up._ There is a brief pause, then PATER continues _Probe number zero zero six is enabled. Launching now._

With another slight vibration in the hull , a second cylinder, moderately larger than the first, leaps away from the ship and thrusts to a postion fifty meters aside of the first probe.

Eight minutes pass. The view of the Orion Arm remains motionless in the holo-tank. Werner studies a single telltale on the console and reports, "Now showing a virtual penetration of one point six kilometers. No change on any sensor." Then he casually adds, "Shipboard receivers show that the bow and stern transponders for the probe have been superimposed for eight minutes, thirty-two seconds."

Morser looks crushed. Heaving a terrible sigh, he mutters, "Ztop ze probe."

Werner moves with alacrity. "Velocity zero." Looking up at Morser, he offers an I-told-you-so look as he insists, "This is *not* a Dalgliesh Manifold. We would be showing a mirror topology by now if it were."

Morser's black gaze sweeps around the room, looking for a target, or at least, salvation. Finding neither, he slumps in his chair and says, "Bring it back."

"Affirmative." replies Werner. "PATER, bring back the first probe immediately."

_At once, doctor Werner._

Morser looks up with an uncomfortable light in his eyes. "Nein, nein. Brrring zem *both* back, PATER."

_Very well, doctor Morser. Recalling probes zero zero one and zero zero six immediately._

Werner looks instantly puzzled. "Karl, the second one can provide..."

Morser cuts him off. "It iss a mass crrriticality issue. Ve haff not ztrrrezzed ze manifold zufficiently. Ve vill use ze Elizz herzelf!"

"*That* is a singularly dangerous notion." argues Werner.

"Look at ze firrzt probe!" insists Morser. "No damage at all! Ve rizzk noss-ink."

There is a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Werner clears his throat and says, "Are you going to tell them, or would you like me to do it?"

Morser is already engrossed in reconfiguring the holo-console. "You do it. I muzt prreparre." As his hands fly over the the controls, he adds, "Chust haff zem bump it, OK?"

Glaring grimly at the downturned head of his team leader, Werner offers Smythe an I-knew-this-sort-of-thing-would-happen look, and taps his commdot.

Even with PATER to assist, the amount of communications switching is enormous. If Zben Blaine had time to think about it he'd realize he's being vastly overworked. However, not having the luxury of time, Zben is just very happy, doing what he does best. There are antennas to align, data channels to double, and double again, probes to track, concerned crew to placate... So, it takes quite a bit to get his attention. However, the announcement from Dr. Werner does just that...

<< Bridge, this is Werner. We have attempted a first pass data collection on the hole with negative results. It will not yield to penetration by our probe. Doctor Morser believes that mass criticality may be an issue. Captain, would you consent to moving the ship into contact with the anomaly? We may have better luck with ships sensors at point blank range. Doctor Morser is confident that there will be no danger from this approach, or at least, none that we would not already be exposed to at a distance of one kilometer. >>

Bhyarrvouf stares at the intercom as if it's just bitten him. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, then sighs. "At this point, Doctor Werner, I would be hard pressed to disagree with him as to the question of danger. Putting aside actually *learning* anything, it would seem that the 'hole' isn't going to allow us to play with it at ALL. I for one don't think that mass criticality is an issue here. But I'll defer to Karl on this one. Tell Ostyn I want the VLA hot and running for this, and that if we ARE separated from it the probes should continue to record data until power-conservation mode becomes necessary. Stand by...."

Zben note the change that comes over Bhyarrvouf and thinks `Boy, if it throws him, what'll it do to the rest of the crew...?'

"All-Call, PATER." commands Bhyarrvouf.

_Ready, Captain._

<< All hands, this is the Captain. We have been investigating the "hole" in space for several hours now, and some of you may be following the initial attempts to probe it in a physical manner. It is time to make a decision concerning a more direct exploration of the "hole".

"Well, I can guess what we're about to do..." comments Yorblin wryly.

Through all this Dr. Morton Limner has been glued to the viewscreen in front of him. In addition a data stream has been pouring out of his hand computer while he mutters such strange incantations as "topological singularity", "event horizon critcality", and "mass momentum sigma gamma disconstantsy"

<< To recap the results of the Science Division's initial test series for the laymen among us: the "hole" is emitting absolutely NOTHING. No energy, no matter, nothing at all. It seems to absorb 100% of all energy directed at it, including active sensor pings and neutrinos. It has no gravitational attraction, no mass to speak of, no electric or magnetic fields measurable by our instruments. However, we have succeeded in learning something of its history by examining the extremely faint traces of gasses in the area with the VLA sensors.

<< The "hole" has been moving in a straight line across the sky since its appearance here weeks ago, and has been steadily shrinking from an initial size of ten kilometers to now a diameter of about one half kilometer. We have traced puffs of gas along its path, areas of bad vacuum in the interstellar medium. From several of these puffs of gas, we have traced looping trails of gas particles through this region of space, particles whose characteristics hint at disturbance by thruster plates. The loops lead back to the path of the "hole" across the sky and end there.

Bhyarrvouf pauses for a moment. << I have discussed the meaning of these gas loops with the Science Division at some length, and have come to a startling conclusion. They are the result of spacecraft of some kind, powered by thruster plates, that have come OUT of the "hole" to collect the wreckage of the Solomani fleet and drag it back into the "hole." This includes, as you probably know by now, the tanker Hamilcar, which contained our fuel for the return trip.

Merkle listens to the Captain's summary of events without taking his eyes off the telltales quivering in front of him.

Merkle reaches for the bluefruit squeeze dangling around his neck, putting the nipple to his mouth and giving a firm squeeze.

<< The origin and nature of these scavenging ships is unknown. Doejin does not consider it likely that they are indigenous to R-Alpha. But two things seem clear: one is that the "hole" DOES allow the entry and exit of spacecraft without harm, and the other is that our only chance to return home, save a long wait for a small craft like the Aurora to go for help, is to retrieve our fuel from wherever it has gone. In other words, to enter the "hole" and try to ascertain the fate of the Hamilcar in the approximately 45 hours before the "hole" becomes too small to let the Elissa out again.

Merkle exhales explosively spraying a fine mist of bluefruit juice across the telltales and down the front of his Vacc Suit.

Taking a step back, and looking around him, he smiles sheepishly at his comrades, juice dripping from his chin.

"Sorry, it wasn't quite what I was expecting to hear."

"It wasn't?" haut-Frieder looks at Merkle coolly. "Oh, that's right. You don't know Captain Bhyarrvouf as well as we do. It's been obvious to me that he was going to nosedive us into that thing out there from the moment he asked us to sign on. He's too proud to turn his back on an opportunity like this. And too crazy to weigh the risks first."

"Nobody lives forever," Silvmane shrugs, wiping blue mist off his Walkman.

Fishing in side his suit, Boris finds a hankie and mops his face and the console as best he can, and taps a memo into his handcomp, to give the thing a good cleaning when events slow down a bit.

The Captains explanations drone on in Zben's ear. His Commo duties are handled by some autonomic reflex.

<< We will proceed slowly and with great caution. There is no evidence that the "hole" will exert any force on the Elissa; it should be possible to partially enter the "hole" and conduct observations without committing to entering the "hole" entirely. If our initial observations seem favorable, we will proceed to locate the Hamilcar or the individuals who have taken her.

<< All personnel remain on alert and watch the viewscreens. We may be treated to quite a show. Captain out. >>

Bhyarrvouf looks around the Bridge. "If anyone has an objection, now's the time to raise it...."

Zben opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then closes it and turns back to the panel. Anyone very close to him may hear a quiet mutter ending in ..."Holy Onsorik, guide our path!"

Bhyarrvouf settles in his chair and focuses his attention on the Hole. "I want to get up close to it, at say one meter distance, then slide into it say one meter deep..." He looks at Akhouw. "The first two meters of the ship's nose are bonded superdense hull and nothing else; if it's going to chew on us, we can back out before it does any real damage. Okay, Ger," he sighs, "Take us forward. One meter per second, full stop on my command."

Ger's hand makes a quick movement over the holodisplay. "Aye, aye, Sir, One meter per second velocity relative to the hole now in effect. ETA is 12 minutes."

Bhyarrvouf nods absently, watching the display as the hole grows to fill the sky forward of the Elissa, a black so deep it almost seems to glow....

"Kharrbyegh, open a line to Elissa bridge"

"Goughzar to Captain. Sir, I would like to detach the Paladin from Elissa for these manuever's Sir. If you intend to penetrate aekhae, I think it should be the Paladin to do so. If you do not, then the sensors of the Paladin would record everything from a different perspective.

<< Your self-sacrifice and initiative are noted, Mister Goughzar, >> 'Vouf replies, << But the answer is no. I don't want anyone separated from the Elissa for any reason if we can help it. We're launching unmanned probes to see things from a different perspective; it's safer. Sit tight and KEEP THOSE SENSORS RUNNING! Bridge out. >>

"Aye, sir," Zar sighs. "Goughzar out".

<< All hands,...

"What?" Mumbles Shrike sitting up.

<< ...this is the Captain...

"Hmm, must have dosed off." thinks Shrike as the captain continues.

<< ... We have been investigating the hole" in space for several hours now, and some of you may be following the initial attempts to probe it in a physical manner. It is time to make a decision concerning a more direct exploration of the hole". ...

Shrike listens intently as the Captain goes on.

<< All personnel remain on alert and watch the viewscreens. We may be treated to quite a show. Captain out. >>

<< Shrike to Lazer, I'm going to move down to the lounge if that's ok with you. If needed I can be back up here in just a few seconds anyway and in the meantime I can see what the hell's going on. >>

Andon then steps into the gravlift and drops two levels, then just a few strides down the hall to the lounge.

As the announcement ends, Nick Talon realizes that Bishop has turned away from the wall speaker, and is now facing the lounge holo-display, staring intently at the huge dark blot in space. He is smiling again, but now it offers no warmth. It is a cold, fearful thing, and a dreadful match for the light in Bishops eyes. A light that speaks of unthinkable thoughts, and unimaginable goals. There is a power, barely contained in that stare, barely controlled in that smile. It reaches beyond the display, beyond the hole itself, beyond to a place paved with the skulls of children and painted with the blood of innocent multitudes. A place where there is no surcease from the screams of the lost. A place where the smell of clotted blood and the rot of the abattoir hang cloying in the breeze. A place where no sane man would ever, *EVER* go voluntarily. It is a place from which Adrian Bishop struggles to escape, to no avail. For Nick Talon, the lounge has suddenly become a cold and alien place, and Adrian Bishop's unwavering gaze offers all the solace of an open grave.

Talon looks apprehensively at Bishop and tries unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver. Struggling to remain calm, he toys fleetingly with the question of whether he should be more concerned for Bishop or himself.

Finally, he settles for asking rather feebly: "Uhh... Adrian? What's the matter? Why are you looking like that?"

Somewhere, is some secret place, a switch is thrown. Bishop blinks, and the terrible smile vanishes. He turns towards Talon, away from the mesmerizing view on the holo-display, and speaks.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm fine. I was caught up in the... anticipation."

As Shrike strolls into the lounge, he announces his presence with, "Nick, Bishop, hope I'm not interupting, I couldn't see shit from where I was. So what's up now?" he says sitting down on a chair near the display. His gauss rifle, looking a bit out of place, is leaned up against the side of the chair.

Bishop slowly pivots towards Shrike as he enters the room, eyes locking onto the new form like a fire-control sensor. He barely glances at the deadly weapon in Shrike's hands.

"Hi, Andon. Nick and I were just watching the show and discussing..." Turning back to Talon, Bishop queries, "What *were* we discussing, Nick?" He smiles again, and to Talon's overwhelming relief, this smile looks like the same old Bishop he used to see on the 5 o'clock news.

Talon visibly untenses and manages a weak smile. "Hi Andon. We were just... 'anticipating' finding out what's going on in that hole." He jerks a thumb at the holo-display, but his attention is focused as much on Bishop now as on the scene outside.

Absently, he holds out a small packet to Shrike. "Want some gum?"

Bishop turns away from Shrike and Talon, to gaze at the holo-display once more. Slowly, the black disc grows to fill the display, as the Elissa moves steadily forward. Engrossed in the image, Bishop once again closes his eyes.

"Actum ne agas." he murmurs.

Talon exchanges glances with Shrike.

"Sorry, Adrian. What was that you said?"

"It's a very old language from Terra." Bishop comments, his eyes still closed. Opening them, he turns to Talon and Shrike. "It's called 'Latin'. The phrase means 'Do not do what has been done'." Colloquially, I suppose it would translate to 'expand your horizons', or maybe 'push the envelope'." Looking back at the holo, Bishop crosses his arms and sighs, "We seem to be doing just *that*."

"So we are." Talon nods, and a grin flickers across his face for a moment as he plays with the gum between his teeth. "Well, that *is* what we came here for."

Shrike says nothing during the brief exchange, however a fleeting scowl?, frown?, or something effects his expression. Shrike tries to concentrate his attention on the holodisplay but his eyes feel compelled to constantly glance over at Bishop.

Ungluing herself from the display, Aolrkhea' responds to Dr. Yorblin's request, << Aolrkhea' securing Khtaliyr, reporting to Engineering. >>

She turns to the sensor controls and sings several notes to the interface. Verifying automated sensor recording and the data link with Pater, she secures the Khtaliyr.

Grabbing a medical kit, hand comp, and tool satchel, she heads for engineering. Finding Munro, Aolrkhea' speaks to her back, "Good morning, Chief Munro. Aolrkhea' reporting for any assistance. Dr. Yorblin has requested that I check up on the crew that check up on the engines." She smiles at her word play in Galanglic.

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