Things Fall Apart: Chapter 64

This week is a bit of a short chapter, arguably only about half a chapter honestly, because I was at Supercon 2026 this weekend. I wrote what's here, there (because Supercon is basically 60 or so nerds in a ballroom parallel-playing) but now I'm pretty well out of brain. The joy of writing a serial is you can run with what you've got when you've got it! So, here it is!

Tau Ceti Outsystem, 16.8.775 CW

21 megaseconds since the catastrophe

Elyah Singer was impatient.

It was not a sensation she was recently accustomed to, but the long communication lag to Robinson Station was leaving her downright itchy. She had things to say, things to hear, things to do, and all of it had to wait on a communication cycle that would probably take an entire shift-day. Thirty kiloseconds for their login and reports to reach Robinson. However much time for whoever was in charge to assimilate at least the executive summary, then thirty kilos for whatever they had to say to get back to Zephyr.

It was maddening. It was why it as just as well there were so few worlds like Cherryh's World, easily terraformed but down a deep well. Deeper wells made everything so much harder.

So Singer sat in the hot seat and tried not to fidget as her people did their jobs around her. The tank told the now-familiar tale of destruction, highlighting the still-expanding debris clouds from the habitats that were gone. Kiloseconds-old broadcasts from Cherryh's world relayed news of mitigation and recovery efforts from the things that had blown up, literally or figuratively, planetside.

Singer would have been less than human if some of her impatience were not to find out how her own family were faring in all of that. The time lag meant that it would be quite a while before she knew.

The plot also showed three ships not far from their own orbit, at least, as far as distances in space went. Their IDs showed them to be freighters out of Thessaly, and they seemed to be basically sitting there, parked. To distract herself from the timer tracking the time since their last transmission was complete, Singer found herself returning to stare at those three dots, trying to figure out what their story was.

Lost in speculation, she actually jumped a little bit when one of those dots turned red. Singer glanced at Cordé, who was clearly reacting to something. A moment later, Cordé met her eyes. "Distress call, Captain. Long-story-short is that they arrived to find there was no anchorage to top off their reaction mass, so they can't jump home. Robinson apparently has no tankers to send upwell. It's not clear to me why they didn't just go downwell, though."

Singer knew, though. "Thessalian culture has deep taboos and strictures around interacting with others. Their freighters are absolutely forbidden from going further downwell than the anchorage. They genuinely believe they'll be contaminated if they do."

Cordé blinked. "Contaminated with what?"

Singer shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm not sure they do either. They don't really talk about it. David's Star may be insular, but Thessaly is outright xenophobic. They trade out of necessity, strictly barter. They almost never leave their ships. There's all kinds of speculation about them. Thessaly proper is kind of like Revi'i—not quite habitable. Some people think the Thessalians may actually have adapted themselves to the environment rather than the other way around."

Cadotte, sitting their station nearby, asked, "You've been there?"

Singer nodded. "To their system, once. Vespa made a very rare port-call. We were allowed shore leave on their anchorage, but we never actually saw a Thessalian. What they call the 'alien quarter' was all we were allowed to see, and it was pretty utilitarian. They weren't entirely inhospitable, but there was nothing to entice us to linger. Meanwhile..."

She looked at Cadotte, who had anticipated her. "We've got a pretty good stash at the moment, and our new engines are much more efficient than anything Thessaly floats. And of course the scoop is fully operational, while they have none. We could easily spare enough to get all three jumping, and then top off on our way through the disk, assuming we're going downwell."

"Even Haraldsdottir's last missive to me admitted we'd probably have to go downwell, given what the pattern of destruction has been, so that's a good assumption. Time to intercept?"

"About as long as it's going to take to get any answers from Robinson. If we drop a short relay into our orbit the answers should still find us."

"And will probably include some kind of request to go to the Thessalians' assistance, anyway."

"Seems likely."

Singer made a show of thinking about it, but she already knew what she was going to do. The actual distress call made the decision easy. She hit the all-call on her panel. "Attention all hands. Attention all hands. We have received a request for assistance from three freighters in nearby orbit, and will be moving to assist. Estimated intercept, twenty-seven kiloseconds. That is all."

She touched another control and waited for the answer. It was Alexander who responded, "Engineering, Alexander."

"Robin, those freighters are crying empty tanks. We're going to need to rig to transfer reaction mass, then plan on scooping later."

"Shouldn't be a problem, Captain. I'll double-check with Espinoza and give a shout if he squawks."

"Sounds good, Exec. Bridge out."

"Alexander out."

Goldsmith was at the pilot's station, and already had the intercept course up on the tank, so when Singer looked at her, she said, "Course ready at your word, Captain."

"Ensign Cordé, let them know we're on our way, then send a note with our plans downwell and deploy the short relay."

"On it, Captain!"

She looked back to Goldsmith. "Let's do it."

The other woman nodded, touched the controls, and said, "We're on our way!"