Noumenon Infinity Read online

  All they had to do now was orient themselves to—

  A mass cry swelled and burst on the bridge. People shot out of their seats.

  Their screens were filled with ships. Not just aft, but fore. And off either side and top to bottom. So close, it was a wonder that their bursting SD bubble hadn’t caused a problem with the corral.

  “Dive again!” Tan ordered immediately. There wasn’t time for a carefully curated list of possibilities to scroll through his mind. He simply reacted. “Dive, dive, dive!”

  A rushing roar filled his ears, his vision sparkled on the edges. The shock had stolen his air, and he listed slightly to the side—but not far enough for Moscovici to notice. He kept himself steady, his posture tight though he was cursing inside.

  White, to purple, to white again. They were in an SD bubble once more.

  “What the hell was that?” his aide shouted, gruff and booming, German accent thicker than usual.

  Tan’s mind flitted through ideas, trying to land on the most logical. Wouldn’t they have noticed a second fleet? How could they have jumped into the middle of a storm of ships? Thank whichever ancestors were watching over them—his grandfather, his parents, whoever—that they hadn’t appeared inside a ship. It would have been another disaster.

  His heart paused, then thumped heavily—the excess blood punching through his veins. He grabbed at his chest momentarily, before striking his solemn pose once more. He had to maintain his command, his sense of strength. He had to do it for them, everyone on the bridge, everyone in the convoy.

  “Five minutes only!” he ordered. Then they’d surface again, figure out from a distance how they could have missed those other ships or whatever they were.

  An image of Ming-Na flashed in his mind and he pushed it aside. She would be fine. They would all be fine.

  “Three . . . two . . . one . . . surface!”

  Instead of shouts, this time the entire bridge gasped. Everything stilled. Their brains couldn’t keep up with what reality was throwing at them.

  It was like they hadn’t gone into an SD at all, like they were stuck in the same location in time and space, forced to hold steady. But they had dived—they had.

  Tan was positive.

  And yet they were once again surrounded. And the ships all maintained the exact same positions as before. It was like they’d all jumped together, as though they were synced. But they hadn’t jumped together. Tan would have been able to see ships sharing the same bubble.

  “Did we move?” he asked. “Are they keeping us in place?”

  “Coordinates have shifted. We traveled, but they—they traveled . . . the same?”

  This was beyond them. Everyone knew it. Whatever had just happened, there was no explanation. No human explanation.

  Everyone turned to him, their expressions sick. Some looked like they might faint, others appeared pained. It was all wrong and they were looking to him for guidance.

  A strong, weighted beat of pure stillness followed. Tan centered himself.

  “Again,” he said evenly. “Dive again.”

  At first no one moved. Brows furrowed, mouths frowned.

  “I said dive again,” he barked, shocking them into action.

  One more time. He had to see. He was giving reality one more chance to play by the rules. And if it didn’t work . . .

  It had to work.

  Now the black-light-esque purple glow carried a new connotation. It no longer felt like a benign indicator. It felt like a panic button had been pressed. Code red had been transformed into code purple. Purple for confusion, for a hasty retreat, for a scattered battalion.

  I will change that. Purple will be good again, he told himself. It meant progress, and hope, and it will once more.

  But for now it made his insides coil and draw against his spine. It made him feel small, and helpless, but it did not break the line of his shoulders or shake the firmness of his footing.

  They did not wait five minutes this time.

  “Now!” he shouted abruptly. “Surface now!”

  He’d wanted to see stars—had willed there to be nothing between them and the vastness of the black pseudo-sea. But no. Large, bulky white-and-copper hulls rolled in their vision. They looked like half-dissolved shells on a weathered beach. Some had an opalescence, like the mother-of-pearl sheen on the inner spiral of an invertebrate’s home. Some looked rough and tumbled, like dead coral, and had the branches to match. He could note no uniform ship design, only that they all vaguely seemed to belong together. There were themes, nuanced design similarities, but little more.

  So, this is it, he thought. We meet our fate, light-years from home, lost in time. Lost to anyone but these unknown.

  “Again, sir?” asked his second officer.

  He could. They could keep trying, for a while at least. Diving and surfacing were the most energy consuming parts of subdimensional travel, though. And while the other convoys had been created with constant SD travel in mind, theirs had not. It was there to get them to and from Earth at the beginning and end of their mission, and for possible ship checkups in between. He’d only used it initially as an emergency tactic.

  And look where that got us.

  Subdimensions weren’t the answer now.

  Had they ever been? Was this entire mission a folly?

  Now was not the time for existential questions. Now was the time for step two.

  If we can’t outrun them . . .

  “Lieutenant, I want you to hold.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We are going to wait, see what they want. We won’t dive again unless there are signs of hostility, understood? Böhm, get me a security detail, and anyone with experience in ship design or engineering. Anyone who can give me any insight into these crafts. I also want all comms personnel to brainstorm the best way to contact them, all right? What channels, what message. Everyone needs to be focused on this.”

  “Yessir” echoed throughout the room.

  As the hours scrolled by, every little shift or cough on the bridge had him prickling, wondering if any individual crew member’s sudden intake of breath or turning from their station was an indication of contact.

  But the ships remained silent.

  In his ready room, his assembled team of experts scrutinized what little data they had. Tan needed to know exactly how many ships there were, and to identify their functionality if possible. Were these warships or mining drones? Cargo planes, or pleasure cruisers?

  Outside, on the other levels, the security teams went door-to-door, reassuring everyone, doing their best to keep the meager population calm. So far, people had mostly taken to cowering in their quarters. He couldn’t blame them.

  All shuttle traffic had been put on pause—just until Tan was sure they weren’t going to be snatched off their flight paths like fireflies on a summer’s eve.

  By the end of his shift, though, there was still no response and no new revelations. He was loath to leave the bridge, but his first officer entered fresh and determined, ready for her shift. It was time for a break, at the very least. He could go see Ming-Na, explain what was happening.

  But then Böhm sauntered up behind him and bent to his ear. “Sir, I received word from the medical bay. Your wife has gone into labor.”

  Tan blinked slowly, like he couldn’t have heard his aide correctly. With everything going on, this couldn’t be happening.

  “What, now?”

  Böhm looked at his touch pad, avoiding the Captain’s eyes. “Actually, six hours ago. The message begged me not to say anything until you were off duty, she didn’t want to interrupt—” he made a sweeping motion with his arm “—this.”

  Tan cursed under his breath in Cantonese. His exterior mask cracked, bits of it falling away. His eyelid twitched under his brow. His tongue grew heavy and hot.

  Oh, So Gwa, little one, couldn’t you have waited to say hello?

  It was a short trip to the med bay, but it felt like centuries. He tapped hi
s foot anxiously in the lift, allowing his nervous energy to finally escape. Böhm side-eyed him, but said nothing. Which was good. Tan needed this brief release, because once he saw Ming-Na he would have to rein himself in again. She needed him to be strong. What she was going through right now took so much strength, so much work, and she did not need the distraction of his frayed nerves.

  When the chime dinged and the doors split open, he practically poured himself into the hall beyond, hurrying just short of running.

  “I’m here,” he declared breathlessly in the medical wing. “I’m here, where is she?”

  The medic wore a calm, cool expression, despite what was going on outside. That was good, that meant the doctors were focusing on his wife and not the objects closed around them like a giant bear trap.

  “She’s in here, Captain, follow me.”

  The medic took him into a private room that was a somewhat off-putting robin’s-egg blue. Inside, Ming-Na was seated in a birthing chair, her pelvis pointed downward so that the baby could drop down into the waiting arms of a supine medic below.

  She reached for him as he entered.

  “Look at you,” he said proudly, taking one of her hands in his and wiping across her brow with the other. Sweat had gathered near her temples and on her upper lip.

  “I feel like a car,” she said.

  He forced a laugh, trying to block out everything except her shining eyes. “What?”

  “You know.” She gestured to the wheeled cart the medic would lie on to slide beneath her. “It’s like the doctor’s a mechanic working on my chassis.”

  He kissed her forehead, at a loss for words. Normally he might play into her joke, but right now he had no headspace for clever quips.

  Böhm quietly crept in behind Tan and seated himself in the corner.

  “How are you?” Tan asked her. “How do you feel?”

  “Hurts,” she said honestly. “But I’m fine. Will be, once it’s over. What was all that diving about? Those lights turn this room eggplant, and I have to tell you it’s not the most comforting color.”

  No one had told her?

  Irritation bubbled in his esophagus. He wanted to bark at the nearest medic, scold him for keeping his wife in the dark.

  But even as his lips parted to tell her the truth, his tongue stumbled.

  “I . . . You shouldn’t have to worry about it right now.” The words caught in his throat, and he had to gulp dryly after spitting them out.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’m nervous for you, that’s all.”

  “Orlando,” she said warningly. “What’s happening?”

  “There are . . . are ships,” he said softly, frankly. He knew he sounded patronizing, but he wasn’t sure how else to say it. It wouldn’t come out any other way. “They’re very close. We’re trying to hail them. First contact is imminent, I think.”

  “Ships?” she said, excitement setting her eyes aglow. “Did Earth receive our distress call? They’re here to help us?”

  She looked so hopeful, he didn’t want to kill her sudden enthusiasm. But he had to tell her the truth.

  “I don’t think they’re our ships. They came from the megastructures.”

  “What?” she shrieked. But it was a composed shriek, a how dare you not say something the moment you came in here shriek. “Then what are you doing here?”

  She wasn’t going to ask what kinds of ships, or who they were, she just wanted to know why he was by her side for the birth of their first child?

  He nearly laughed at the absurdity. “Are you joking? You’re in labor—your mother isn’t here, no one you need is here—how could I not be here? Besides, nothing is happening. They’re here, but they’re . . . quiet. Still.”

  “I don’t care. You’re telling me there are—” her voice dropped to a whisper “—aliens—” she said it like some people say cancer “—out there and you’re spending your time worrying about me. What if they respond while you’re gone? You should be the first to speak to them. Who will lead the ship if you don’t? You have to—”

  She took a sharp breath through her teeth, dark eyes screwing shut as a contraction hit her.

  He rubbed small circles over the back of her hand, waiting for her features to soften—to let go of the pain—before responding.

  “Give me ten minutes to worry about you. Then I will go back to worrying about the rest of the universe, I promise.”

  It could have been overwhelming, too much to take in at once. But he found the anticipation of his daughter to be a welcome distraction from outside. This, in front of him, was a human trial. A familiar struggle that he could comprehend. Instead of adding to his stress, being able to focus on his wife was a comfort. He needed this, to be here. He needed the strength of his growing family to fortify him against the unknown he was about to face.

  Only seven of his allotted minutes had passed before Böhm piped up from his corner.

  “What?” Tan snapped.

  Böhm didn’t shrink away, just frowned in defense. He understood the gravity of everything happening at once like this, knew how to stay firm.

  He’s a better man than I am, Tan groused at himself. “I’m sorry. What is it?”

  Böhm had a walkie to his ear. The comms system had only been recently reactivated and was unreliable. “The bridge says there’s still no answer. But—” he paused, clearly listening for further information “—but there is a small craft. It emerged from one of the larger ships and appears to be on an intercept course with Pulse.”

  “You don’t mean a torpedo or a—”

  Böhm shook his head. “Bridge thinks it’s either a probe or a shuttle.”

  “Time’s up,” Ming-Na said affectionately.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gravely.

  “Don’t be. Your being the one to make first contact is far more important than this. I know, I know that hurts to hear, but it is. We don’t know what it means for us, and you can’t leave it up to someone else. You have to meet that craft—probe, shuttle, messenger pigeon, whatever it is. For the ships. For humanity. We will be here when you get back.” She searched his face, eyes roaming over every centimeter as though she weren’t sure she’d ever see it again.

  He sniffed, filling his lungs, holding his breath until it felt like they’d burst. “Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth, before diving in to kiss her on the lips. It wasn’t the chaste sort of kiss they’d normally share in front of someone, but nor was it lewd. It was intense, possessive. It held sincere-if-hasty promises. He would be back. He would celebrate their daughter’s first day when he got back.

  She drew away first, just a breath’s distance, to whisper, “Make us proud.”

  “I will,” he promised. With one last peck, he let her go.

  As he left the room, he felt like a long thread was tugging at his heart, was caught on its valves. The twine ran through his ribs and past his spine, tethering him to his family. Rather than a leash, though, it felt like a ribbon, comforting and secure.

  He made his way to the docking bay’s control booth with Böhm by his side. It was a relatively cramped space, boxed in by glass, set high in the bay’s stage left.

  “I need one volunteer to stay,” he told the three crew members on shift. “Then I need everyone else out. Mr. Böhm, see that all personnel within five floors of the bay are evacuated.”

  “Yessir.”

  He wasn’t going to block this probe or whatever it was from coming aboard. If he refused to open a viable access point, he risked the newcomers tearing into Pulse to sate their curiosity. Hopefully they’d see this grant of access as a peace offering.

  There was no question the convoy was up against more advanced technology. Either they’d prevented Convoy Twelve from diving into subdimensional space—which seemed unlikely, given the evidence of his own eyes—or they’d somehow been able to anticipate the human’s surfacing time and location with psychic-like accuracy.

  Truth be told
, that also seemed unlikely, given physics itself. But Tan was no idiot, he knew their convoy tech did not reflect any sort of pinnacle of understanding. They were one step in a human technology ladder, one that had likely acquired many rungs in the interim since their accident.

  And who knew where this invading tech came from? Were humans of this time more advanced than these new ships, or less?

  The bay manager on duty elected to stay. He brought up an image of the area directly outside on his monitor.

  Beyond the thick interlocking metal doors, the small craft hovered. It sat at the bisection of the doors, appeared to be waiting for them to open like a pet waiting to be let in from the cold.

  The probe was a perfect sphere in principle shape, but was covered in myriad sensors and wires and protuberances of unknown usage. It was stark white, and seemed to glow.

  Please be patient, Tan chanted to himself. He had the comms channels on all evacuation floors open, waiting for security to give him the all clear.

  There’s going to be bedlam after this. Everyone must have seen by now—must have looked out a window. There’s going to be chaos.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now. One step at a time. He had to get over this hill first.

  When the floors were empty, and his first officer had reassured him that everything was still a go on the bridge, Tan nodded to the bay manager. “Let it in.”

  The man’s hand drifted to the first button in the depressurizing sequence. “I know it’s not my place, sir—”

  “I don’t have time to hear concerns,” Tan said firmly. “This is not a democracy and I’m not going to argue with you. You do your job, or leave and send me someone who will.”

  “Yessir.” His hands flew over the console, and the air withdrew from the shuttle bay.

  Tan held his breath as the outer doors unlocked, sending tremors through the walls of the booth. He wasn’t sure where to look—his gaze continuously flickered between the monitor and the open staging ground below.

  The probe moved seamlessly. Its means of propulsion weren’t identifiable, yet it didn’t move with the stutter-stop of jet-based directional changes.