Aurora (17 page)

Before anyone could answer, the view closed on the two stars and became either a computer-style animation or possibly a sequence of time-lapse photographs. A symbol like a tiny paintbrush appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen.

The two stars seemed as real as before, and Beaumont's linking stream of gas could now clearly be seen flowing between them. The stars began to revolve ever more rapidly around their common center of gravity. As they grew larger in the screen, the surface of the more massive star could be seen to be churning like a pan of boiling liquid. Great evil-looking black whirlpools welled up, burst and shrank, to be replaced by others. Around the star's limb, huge scarlet flames came into being like fantastic ferns, changing shape as though blown by an invisible wind and reaching for the other star before shredding and fluttering into nothingness.

The view disintegrated and, for a whole minute, the screen was dark. When the picture returned, a night scene was visible. The watchers were back on the planet, standing on a hill. The city sparkled with lights, though there was none of the wasteful commercial glare of a modern Earth city, no neon colors or waving, laser-writing beams. The sky was full of stars.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aurora saw Beaumont nudge Orlov.

“Orion's Belt!” he whispered. “There's Andromeda. Cassiopeia. All the constellations we see from Earth. And the stars! There's Antares. Sirius. Betelgeuse. This star system can't be too many light years away from the Solar System.”

“Sssshhh! Later.”

It seemed that dawn was approaching, for the sky lightened to pink in what might have been the east. It brightened so rapidly that again they knew they must be watching a simulation of some kind. As if to confirm this, the paintbrush appeared once more in the corner of the scene.

The two suns rose. They were now so close that the eye could hardly separate them, and they seemed wreathed in swirling vapor. Then, as they rose perhaps five degrees above the horizon—

All four of the watchers reeled back, involuntarily bringing their arms up in front of their eyes. A globe of searing, violet-white light burst outwards from the double sun. Within seconds, steam burst from all the city's waterways, leaving cracked trenches. Trees burst into flames and were gone. The city as a whole vanished in smoke, shrouds of which streamed away from the blazing glow that hung above the horizon.

Gouts of orange flame burst from the central volcano. Then it split apart and the view was obscured by steam and smoke. Other balls of fire rose from various points. In moments, everything had gone, virtually vaporized.

It was almost exactly like the effects of a hydrogen bomb, but multiplied many times. Yet evidently the planet still remained, a blackened husk, the surface they could see sterile and barren, smoking. The sky was now almost black, the atmosphere having been driven off.

Dominating the inky night now was an object which was awesomely beautiful, despite the destruction it had wrought. A tiny, bright star, surrounded by expanding shells and streamers of gas which fluoresced in a spectrum of colors—red, green, blue, violet—in what must be a flood of ultraviolet radiation.

The view pulled back swiftly, and the horizon became clearly the curve of a rocky ball, a crescent of ghastly, shifting light. No moon was visible as the planet shrank until it was like a tiny marble in the center of the screen.

The surrounding stars shone coldly, unchanged, uncaring, the Milky Way a pearly band.

The scene faded, and once again a blank blue-grey screen faced them.

* * * *

There was silence in the cabin. Everyone was stunned. Nobody wanted to be the first to break the spell. All felt that they had just witnessed a disaster of colossal and overwhelming proportions. Minako's eyes were brimming with tears, and the men too looked close to weeping.

Aurora was affected most strongly. She sat as if paralyzed, her eyes wide open and an expression of horror on her face. It was as though she had experienced a personal tragedy.

Finally Verdet said softly: “
Sic transit gloria mundi.
”

“Yeah—but
what
world?” muttered Lundquist.

Beaumont spoke slowly. “It was only a simulation, wasn't it? Perhaps a warning of something that could—or was about to—happen but hadn't happened yet? Otherwise, how could they have recorded it?”

Aurora abruptly came to life and shook her head impatiently. “That's irrelevant. By now it
has
happened—you could tell it was inevitable.”

“We're all familiar with the scenario,” said Verdet. “It's been in stories and movies often enough. An inhabited planet's star goes nova, and the indigenes—the aliens—are forced to emigrate. Perhaps they didn't have time to build a lot of ships. Or they sent them out in lots of different directions, in the hope that at least some would arrive at a suitable planet. This one we're in failed, or went astray. And of course, if nothing else, they'd try to save their babies....”

He looked at Aurora, the light of revelation in his eyes. “Of course! At least one ship
did
reach Earth. And you—
you
were one of those babies! That explains all your—differences. We could see the people looked like you....”

She nodded. All of this had of course already passed through her own head. And it made some sort of sense. Yet....

“There are still lots of problems to solve,” said Orlov. “How those people can appear so human. Why this ship seems too small to have come from another star. Why....”

“Once we get the people back on Earth onto the problem, we'll find the answers,” said Beaumont confidently.

EXPLANATIONS

The team resumed their work in the alien ship in an atmosphere of unreality. The world they had seen blasted to destruction on the screen seemed to stay with them, somehow more real than the one they were on. A feeling of imminent disaster hung over them, even though they knew it was illusory. The catastrophe they had just seen must have happened long ago—hundreds or perhaps even thousands of years in the past.

As they worked they all removed at least the upper portion of their suits, as it had become warm inside the ship.

Aurora made two discoveries, one merely interesting, the other of more immediate importance to them.

“The ship must somehow be tuned to people of the race who built it; that's why I'm the only one who can operate it, and why the Beacon, or remote control, only works for me,” she had said early on. Trying other keypads on the control desk she found that one key caused what were clearly numbers—many were even familiar—to appear on the two black rectangles, confirming the impression that they were digital readouts. But the numbers made no sense, and flickered through apparently random sequences.

Another key, though, caused the red glow of the band around the upper sphere of the Beacon to brighten or diminish.

“It's drawing power from somewhere to recharge itself,” suggested Beaumont. “If the power's lasted this long, there must be a good chance that it's virtually inexhaustible.”

“Hmm. Maybe,” said Orlov. “All the same. let's keep an eye on that black band and make sure it stays red. If we're now draining power at a higher rate, it could be it'll fail suddenly, and then we'd all be trapped in here.”

“Optimistic sod!” said Beaumont cheerfully.

Orlov returned to the wall of the outer compartment, which seemed to intrigue him. “There's a lot going on beyond here,” he said. “This room occupies only a fraction of the entire ship—even allowing for that damaged storage compartment. Ah!”

On the flat bulkhead just beyond the capsules and their tiny pathetic contents he had found another slight depression.

“Aurora!” He realized that he had used her real name. It seemed obligatory to do so now, somehow. “Could you drag yourself away and work your magic over here, please?”

She left the control desk and looked at the recess. “Are you sure it's safe?” she asked. “You remember what happened last time. Or suppose there's some sort of dangerous fuel in there, or something?”

“I don't think there's any need to worry. Whatever fuel there is—if there's any left—it's bound to be safely contained; these people weren't stupid. If you're worried about radiation, don't be. Robert has checked for that already, and found only slightly more than the background count.”

“OK.” Aurora placed her hand in the depression, and as before a rectangular opening appeared. At first it was dark within, but when she stepped over the threshold a reddish light suffused the area.

Inside was machinery. It looked highly efficient, the construction seemingly simple—almost certainly deceptively so. A gleaming cylindrical tube, almost two meters in diameter, ran in a curve which followed that of the ship's exterior; it reminded Aurora of a proton accelerator she had once seen, though on a much reduced scale. Its surface, though smooth and coppery, reflected green and bluish whorls which swirled in continuous motion like oil on water. There were other metallic humps, plus some plumbing and cables, all tidily aligned across the floor and running up the walls.

Orlov was right behind her, avidly recording everything with his video camera, and almost immediately Verdet appeared with his holo recorder.

Then there was a cry from the cabin behind them.

“This one's empty!” Lundquist had been examining the egg-shaped capsules, mainly in an attempt to see what sort of life-support system had been attached to them. Previously they had opened only at Aurora's touch, but now an extra one lay ajar.

“I just put my hand on this one at the far end of the top row, and its lid felt loose,” Lundquist explained. “So I put a fingernail in the groove and lifted—and it just swung up. There's no baby inside. You can tell that there used to be one—see the depression where it lay? Incredible that it's still visible.”

The others came to look, but there was little comment. Just one more mystery to be solved, seemed to be the general feeling. Aurora was filled with a certainty that she knew only too well who the occupant of that cocoon had been, and from the glances the others directed towards her it was pretty obvious that they'd come to the same conclusion, but no one felt ready to put it into words.

“I want to take a look outside this ship, now that I know where the power plant is,” announced Orlov, clearly desperate to say something—anything at all—to break the silence. “There are still sections that are partly buried.”

Lundquist looked at his wrist, then shook his head in annoyance and picked up his suit. “It's getting quite late,” he said. “That...picture show took quite a while. Let's finish up now, shall we? You could take a look at the outside tomorrow when you're fresh?”

“Good thinking,” said Orlov. “Home, everyone!”

* * * *

Earth was equally excited by the new wonders revealed during that day. Mission Control agreed that it provided some answers, but also posed more questions. Their first priority was to have the data and the “movie” analyzed by their top experts, using the most powerful computers, in the hope of discovering something about the star and planet from which the alien ship and its human-seeming occupants must have come.

Among the public, hysteria had reached epidemic proportions. Not that this was causing any real problems for the authorities—yet. Bill Emmart, who seemed to be on constant duty of late, reported:

Crank organizations and nut cults are crawling out of the woodwork everywhere you look. The ufologists are having a field day, saying “I told you so!” to anyone who will listen. And a lot of the great unwashed
are
listening, now.

You know, sometimes I wish you guys had just found some nice deposits of ice or maybe useful minerals we could mine. Even a fossil or two, some microbes perhaps. But no.
You
have to go and find a flying saucer full of babies, and scenes of the Apocalypse with special effects that make Spielberg look like Méliès. All you need to find now to make the public really happy is a fluffy animal or a cute robot with a squeaky voice! You do that and I'm resigning.

Mission Control, out.

There were many smiles at this, but Orlov did not join in. Although his words would not arrive for many minutes, he spoke into the microphone as though holding a face-to-face conversation. “If you'd been here you wouldn't treat it as a joke,” he said sternly. “Simulation or not, by now a world and all its people have been destroyed. Why does God allow...?”

He choked off any further words, but it was obvious to all that his faith had been deeply shaken.

Beaumont put a hand on his shoulder. “Not
every
inhabitant of that planet has died, it seems,” he said softly, with a nod towards Aurora, who was sitting on a chair removing one of her indoor slip-on shoes. “There may be many more, scattered throughout the Milky Way. There may even be more of them on Earth.”

In an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, he turned to Aurora. “What's up? Feet hurting, love? Want me to rub them for you?”

“I've never shown anyone this before,” she said. “I've always been a bit ashamed of what I thought was a deformity, but....”

She raised her leg to show her bare foot. The toes were stubby and boneless looking, just like the astronaut's and the babies'. “I thought you all ought to know. There's not much doubt that I'm one of them, is there?

“But the point is: no matter how human I—
we
—appear, we're
not
human,
can't
be. Do humans regenerate new limbs? Do humans usually look like me when they're nearly eighty years old? Can they heal people with a touch? Yes, OK”—as she saw Bryan open his mouth to speak—“I know some people do claim to be healers, laying on of hands and all that. But they've hardly replaced doctors and modern medicine, have they? Isn't that right, Bob?”

Lundquist nodded. “There do seem to be substantiated cases, but, like all the so-called psi powers—including telepathy, clairvoyance, and Bryan's dowsing—they seem to be fugitive, and recalcitrant when it comes to testing under scientific conditions. Which reminds me: I hope you're prepared to be a guinea pig for quite a while when we get back to Earth, Anne—er, Aurora.”

“Huh. We'll see,” was her only answer.

Beaumont got a card game underway—something which Aurora normally avoided whenever possible, seeing little point in such pursuits. However, there was a mood pervading the Refectory and anything which would help to dispel it should be encouraged, so she was the first to join in with him.

They played for a while, with Beaumont winning easily. After a while Minako, discouraged by a run of hopeless hands, dropped out and sat aside, obviously brooding on something.

Orlov tried casually to cheer her up, but she turned away his remarks. Then she said: “We have some unfinished business, I think, Dr. Beaumont.”

Beaumont's face whitened. “Oh. That.”

“Yes—
that
. I think you owe me some explanation for what you said?”

Seeing that the others were looking from one to the other in puzzlement—except for Verdet, who clearly had at least some idea of what was going on—Beaumont explained, haltingly, about the misunderstanding between Verdet and Minako during their journey alone.

When he'd done there was a long silence. All eyes were on him.

Averting his eyes from Aurora, he said, haltingly: “OK. Yes, there's more to it than that. I'm sorry. You have to know.”

He drew a deep breath and looked up at the Igloo's ceiling, as if a merciful Fate might—might
just
—do him a favor by sending a meteorite crashing through it to obliterate him.

“It was me all the time.”

No one else spoke. No one took pity on him.

“I—I leaked the news to the media—or at least to a contact of mine in the media—on Earth.”

There was another long pause and then Aurora's violet eyes blazed, a fearsome sight.

“Bryan, you
bastard
! How
could
you? After all we've been through together! I thought you were my.... You
swore
to me it wasn't you!”

“Well, I couldn't find a way of just letting you all know, could I? Drop it nonchalantly into the conversation over the cornflakes in between asking you to pass the milk, sort of thing?”

His flippancy wasn't working, and he realized it quickly.

“I mean, it didn't really matter, after all—not until someone else was accused.”

He shrugged, the sort of shrug an arrested criminal gives when he recognizes that the cops know everything, that the game's up.

“Oh, it's the old story. I got into bad financial difficulties. Those credit cards—they make it so easy, don't they? And I happen to like really expensive hi-fi equipment, and flashy cars, and top-of-the–range computers.... It's amazing where it goes, isn't it? Well, they were threatening to sue me, and that could have ended my career in space if it was found out. Especially if I went to prison! I was lucky to keep it from them as long as I did.”

He looked as if he were about to burst into tears.

“Yeah, I know it's a mug's game, but then I met this guy from a media company, and he said they'd pay off all my debts, with a bit on top—OK, quite a lot on top—if I'd report back any snippets of information that were, you know, exclusive. And all confidential, of course. They had no idea how lucky they were going to be!

“Anyway, I was offered big money if I came up with any ‘scoops', and my contact had authority to act as my agent. They could have ruined my career if it got out, too.

“I suppose it all sounds a pretty poor excuse....

“Sorry, Minako,” he said intensely, suddenly turning to her.

Then he looked directly at Aurora.

“I'm even more sorry it had to affect you. But you
were
the big news, weren't you? You can see, can't you? I had to do it.” As though they were now totally alone, he added quietly. “It doesn't make any difference to—you know—us? I do love you, you know.”

After a long moment the lines of Aurora's face relaxed, and she leant over and hugged him. “You great big softie!” she said, her Scottish brogue coming through. “It isn't really that important. They were bound to get hold of the news sooner or later, weren't they? But you
should
have told me about your problem. You should have been honest with me—with us all.”

Beaumont now looked embarrassed. So did the others, though for different reasons.

Orlov, trying hard to look stern, said: “I can't say what action may be taken back on Earth—it's out of my hands, you understand. And now”—obviously keen to get out of the Refectory as quickly as he decently could—“I think I'll turn in.”

“Yes, I'm feeling a bit of a raspberry, too!” said Verdet with something halfway between a grin and a leer.

“That's ‘gooseberry',” said Lundquist.

“
Comment?
” asked Verdet earnestly. There was a twinkle in his eye as he left.

Now alone in the Refectory, Beaumont and Aurora hugged each other. Soon the hugs developed into passionate embraces. After half an hour it was Aurora who said: “Do you think we could risk going to, you know, just
one
of our rooms tonight?”

* * * *

Much later, Beaumont startled Aurora by suddenly sitting up straight in her bunk, nearly dislodging her onto the floor, and saying: “Of course, you realize we'll have to get married now?”