it was bizarre—on Trask, water’s in no short supply—these days I appreciate the fact that it really gets you clean.
After a few minutes, I reluctantly shut it off, then find a fresh uniform. When I slip into my suit and run a diagnostic, it’s in miraculously good condition.
I make my way out to the bridge, feeling the usual settling that comes with full gee—everything protesting a little bit at the extra work. I find my squadmates seated around their consoles, eating breakfast. Auri slides a foil pack down the table to me, and I inspect the label, then wish I hadn’t. I don’t know what Brunchtime Savory Mix!!TM is, but I’m pretty sure the extra information isn’t going to help me feel better about it.
I glance at Scarlett, shaking my breakfast to warm it up. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”
She winks. “Some of us need less beauty sleep than others.”
“Any news?” I smile.
“There are official statements out from Terra, Trask, and several nearby systems. Nobody wants a war. Everybody knows they might not get a vote. The Unbroken haven’t said anything yet, but their fleet is still mobilizing, and it’s looking huge.”
That adds a grim note to breakfast. Kal in particular looks troubled. We finish eating, and Zila and I settle in to find whatever it is we’re actually looking for.
“Compensating for drift over the last century,” I report, “we should be on-site now, plus or minus a thousand klicks.”
“Scanning now,” Zila says to her screen.
“Processing data,” I murmur as it begins to flow through to me. It takes less than two minutes before something jumps out from the rest. “Is that … ?”
“Confirm,” Zila says, turning from her console to the pilot’s controls. “Unidentified object detected. Altering course.” I grin at the others. “Picked it to within thirty-seven klicks, my friends!”
This announcement of unmatched prowess is met with polite nods.
“Oh, come on,” I protest. “This is like finding … what do you dirtchildren say? A beetle in a haystack?”
Auri giggles. “A needle.”
“Well, even smaller, then. And in this case, whatever a haystack is, it would take about a day to walk across it. And I just led us straight to our destination.”
“A commendable effort,” Zila says without turning her head.
“High praise,” Scarlett says, trying to hide her smile.
“Is it dangerous?” Kal asks.
I shake my head. “It’s got almost zero energy signature. Looks totally inert. We were lucky to even find it out here, to be honest.”
“Kal, how’s your shoulder?” Scarlett asks.
“Well enough,” he reports. “You wish me to prepare the docking bay?”
Scar leans back and chews her lip, a small frown on her brow.
“Yeah. Let’s bring this thing aboard and see what we can learn.”
· · · · ·
We can view the docking bay through a plasteel porthole, and we all cluster around it to peer at the object Kal has tractored inside. It’s teardrop-shaped, about half as tall as me. It appears made of … crystal, maybe? It’s cut like a piece of jewelry, a thousand facets, brilliant light dancing on its surface. There aren’t any other markings or details to be seen.
It settles as the rear doors close and the bay starts to equalize, somehow staying upright, floating a few centimeters above the deck.
“That’s it?” Aurora asks, saying what at least most of us are thinking.
“That’s it,” I reply.
“Do you sense anything from it, be’shmai?” Kal asks.
Auri frowns in concentration but finally shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“It’s kind of small,” Scarlett adds, peering at it.
“Your point being … ?”
There’s a long pause. As one, we all look around, then down. Those words just came from Zila, our smallest squad member. Was that …
Did she just make a joke?
“I CONCUR WITH LEGIONNAIRE MADRAN!” says a tiny, chirpy voice in Aurora’s pocket. “SIZE ISN’T USUALLY AN INDICATOR OF PERFORMANCE.”
“Hush, Magellan,” Auri murmurs.
“YOU KNOW, I SHOULD PROBABLY POINT OUT AGAIN THAT I’M THREE TIMES SMARTER THAN ANY OF YOU, AND YOU’RE CONSTANTLY TELLING ME TO BE QU—”
“Silent mode,” Scarlett orders.
“HUMANS,” comes a muttered complaint before the uni shuts up.
“… Can we go in there and take a look at it?” Auri asks.
“That is not advisable,” Zila replies, busy at the docking bay enviro controls. “The external temperature is minus 270.45 degrees Celsius.”
“Maker’s breath,” I say, looking over specs. “What is this thing made of?”
“It is defying our scanner’s ability to analyze its molecular structure,” Zila says, eyes roaming the data. “But I am detecting no harmful radiation or microbes. I will attempt to increase the object’s temperature. Please