Jeffrey A. Carver - Starstream 2 - Down the Stream of Stars

Down the Stream of Stars

Jeffrey A. Carver

An [e - reads] Book

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy,

recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First e-reads publication 1999

www.e-reads.com

ISBN 0-7592-0670-8

Author Biography

A native of Huron, Ohio, Jeffrey Carver has lived in New England since graduating from

Brown University in 1971 with a degree in English. In 1974 he earned a Master of Marine

Affairs degree from the University of Rhode Island. He has been a high school wrestler, a scuba

diving instructor, a quahog diver, a UPS sorter, a word-processing consultant, a private pilot,

and a stay-at-home dad. He lives with his family in Arlington, MA, where he divides his

writing time between fiction writing and instructional design/technical writing. He is a

member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy writers of America, and The Authors Guild. His

interests include his wife and kids, science, religion, nature, underwater exploration, and flying.

For Alexandra,

With wonder and anticipation

“For I dipped into the future,

far as human eye could see,

Saw the Vision of the world,

and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce,

argosies of magic sails …”

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Contents

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part Two

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Part Three

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Chapter 34

Down the Stream of Stars

Prologue

Starship Elijah

Alpha Orionis A (Betelgeuse) Remnant

Year 181 Sp.

Clouds of ejected star matter billowed luminously into space like the breath of a mythical

god. The ghostly ball at their center was all that remained of the once-mighty sun, Betelgeuse.

Three years before, the supergiant had blazed forth in a vast supernova explosion, transforming

itself from a living star into a funeral pyre that had briefly outshone the Milky Way. Its ghostly

appearance now betrayed the unusual nature of its death. No ordinary supernova—even one

ending, as this had, in a black hole—would have contracted and darkened in quite this way. Its

smoky translucence spoke eloquently of the invisible forces that had bound it into an oddity of

cosmic proportion, an object of Promethean power and mystery.

Its outer layers blazed in the viewscreen as the starship sped inward through the remnant

clouds. The display changed every few seconds, highlighting various aspects of its structure.

Many on the bridge found their glances drawn repeatedly to the image on the viewscreen.

Starship Elijah was diving toward the stellar remnant through the shifting reality of K-space,

and tremendous computing power was at work creating that image out of the streams of data

pouring into the ship.

Most of the crew were busy at their consoles. But one person, seated at the rear of the

bridge, ignored all else but that irresistible vision of the star’s ghost. She faced it with her eyes

half closed, focusing on its presence with her memory, her imagination, her inner vision.

Tamika Jones cared not at all about the astrophysical data streaming across the consoles. She

was searching for just one thing, and that was the touch of a mind—a mind that she hoped still

lived out there in the remnant of a once-living star. It was a mind she had not felt in three

years, not since the moment of the star’s death.

In that moment, she had felt him die, too—had mourned his death. But in the midst of her

grief she had hoped, prayed, felt that the man without whose genius this strange,

unprecedented thing would not exist, had somehow passed through the shadow of death,

through the heat and fury of a supernova, and lived. And that was why she was here now, to

search for this man who had perhaps survived death. She was here to find Willard Ruskin.

She felt the stirring and muttering of her shipmates’ minds around her, like memory-voices

chattering and distracting her. That was the effect of the continuous altering of the K-space that

carried the ship inward toward the unknown. Transitions through K-space boundaries

produced an involuntary cross-linking of neighboring minds—which could be alarming when

unexpected—but they were counting upon it now to join them with Willard, or his

companions, or whatever might remain of them. She hardly knew what the mind she was

seeking might feel like—reaching to her across the gulf of space that separated them from the

star, and from whatever lay in the twisted continuum beyond it.

She hardly knew, really, what she was hoping to find.

What her shipmates hoped to find deep within the supernova remnant, close to the black

hole inhabiting its core, was the opening to a new interstellar gateway—a structure that would

whisk Elijah and untold ships to follow at some unimaginable speed toward the galactic center.

It was for that gateway that the majestic Betelgeuse had died at the hands of Project Breakstar.

It was for that gateway that a fantastically stretched loop of flawed space had been caught and

anchored to the resulting black hole. It was for that gateway that a man named Willard Ruskin,

and his best friend Max, had died…

Elijah was flying headlong toward a singularity where known space-time ended and

something else began. No one knew precisely where the passage into the gateway lay. Eight

robot probes had failed to find it, or to return. At a nearby console, astrophysicist Thalia

Sharaane was studying the data streams with ferocious concentration. Possibly she would find

clues to the gateway’s opening on those consoles, but her friend Tamika had no such hope.

And yet Tamika knew that if she could just reach out to the mind of Willard Ruskin … if she

could locate and touch once more the man she had loved … she might, just might learn from

him the way to enter the gateway.

She squinted at the changing image of the sun, growing visibly larger by the second, and

searched outward with her thoughts, desperately trying to ignore the jabber and clamor of

human intelligence around her.

A movement by the captain made her aware of an announcement. “Sixty seconds from

go-around point. Let me know, people, if you’re getting anything.” He queried the individual

bridge officers, then Tamika. “Ms. Jones?” Not answering, Tamika strained to reach out …

beyond the prison of her own skull and her own mind … to reach beyond the bounds of this

ship with its clamoring crew…

The captain’s voice became urgent. They dared not venture too close to the black hole, not

even in K-space. “Thirty seconds, Ms. Jones. If you don’t have anything, we’ve got to get out of

here.”

She drew a deep breath and exhaled with exquisite slowness, listening to the meaningless

jabber around her, and was about to tell him, No, nothing, do what you have to do—

And then she saw it.

Saw him.

Saw the face of Willard Ruskin, peering at them out of the viewscreen. She pointed, unable

to draw a breath, unable to speak. The captain turned, opened his mouth. “What—” And when

he checked the time again, his face tightened with indecision.

Tamika, it is you …?

Was that her imagination, or had she actually heard—

Tamika … and Thalia! Yes!

That was not her imagination. Thalia had risen at the sound of her name. And then she

seemed drawn back to her console. And Tamika heard, and felt, Thalia tell the captain, “Keep

going! Turn the nav-control over to me. I think I can get us through!” And Tamika heard, “You

think—” and saw the captain gazing fiercely at Thalia, with only seconds to decide.

And then she was aware only of the mind that was welling up out of space and merging

with her own…

So long it has been …

… how long?

Can we even know?

My children, do you sing?

Can you know?

Who are you? Willard, is it you? And who else?

I / we know you

Other life … entering us … so strange

but welcome

so new

Is it you? Willard?

Tamika

I love you

we loved you

yes

and

Thalia

I don’t understand … what is happening?

Who are we?

and you?

Be with us

Come

Tamika was suddenly aware of a flood of thought and knowledge pouring into Thalia,

through Thalia … was aware of Thalia’s connection to the cogitative console, and the knowledge

streaming through her, the mapping of the gateway entrance passing through her and into the

nav-control.

And Tamika was aware of the K-space fields changing dramatically, and the ship altering

course, shifting through the tricky matrices of unknown space, diving perilously toward the

core of what had once been a star and was now an opening in space-time itself…

She was aware of space slipping and altering its very nature around her … and she felt

Willard Ruskin’s presence, and his love, or something very much like his love, now with

staggering power and clarity. But it was much more, he was not just Willard now; he was

different, astonishingly different, there were others present with him, or were they part of him

…?

She heard the exclamation “N-space!” and felt the ship passing through a turbulence, and

then into a smoothly flowing something—and she had the distinct feeling that they were

speeding down a fast-moving channel, and she heard cries of amazement and fear. And when

she opened her eyes she actually saw in the viewscreen an ethereal channel opening like a

tunnel to receive them, its banks stretching backward past them, and all around them the

blurry shapes of what looked like star clusters and clouds.

As she saw all of this, her mind was filled with greetings and joy and surprise, and she felt

the presence not only of what-had-been-Willard, but also a Logothian named Ali’Maksam, and

an assassin named Ganz, and the mind of a sun named *Bright*. And all of her pent-up hopes

and fears and joys fell away like spilling tears, and she felt herself opening to receive memories

and feelings that she could not have dreamed of…

And she knew, dimly, through the choir of voices and thoughts, that they had succeeded.

Their starship had passed into the gateway and was speeding inward now into the galaxy …

inward toward what, they could scarcely imagine … speeding down a fabulous, glowing river

of stars…

|Go to Contents|

Part One

Year 269 Sp.

Claudi

“All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.”

—Ecclesiastes 1:7

A word of explanation …

I should make one thing clear at the outset, and that is that I am not the hero of this story.

It is true that I followed the story and its aftereffects with great interest, and on occasion took

certain actions to steer events; so I can hardly lay claim to perfect objectivity. But much of what

follows I did not fully understand myself at the time, and much has been reconstructed from

long, later conversations with the principal actors. If I seem defensive about certain of my

actions, it’s because, I guess, I am—but please understand that I was only trying to make the

best decisions that I could under difficult circumstances.

Now, I know that many have blamed me for what happened to Willard Ruskin in the

matter of Project Breakstar … in the bewildering events that opened up the inner galaxy to all

of Greater Humanity. Rightly or wrongly, I took much of the blame for the nano-agents that

played havoc with his memory, and even the blame for his death. And I accept a share of that

responsibility. But I ask you to remember that what happened to Willard Ruskin in the

creation of the gateway wasn’t altogether bad.

May we talk about the gateway itself?

Unquestionably, the starstream, as it has come to be known, has been a mixed blessing for

the galaxy and for Greater Humanity (a term I will use for now, if I may, to include all

members of the Habitat). It has brought both wonder and peril, and who is to say which is the

greater? I confess I cannot. War, for example, is a terrible thing to contemplate; and yet, was it

a price worth paying so that our peoples might inhabit vastly larger tracts of space? Was it

worth war, and penalties even more terrible, for the knowledge and opportunities gained, for

the newly discovered races? How can one weigh such gain for all of civilization against the

deaths of billions, and the devastation of at least one entire planetary culture?

That is a question that I have been trying to answer for the better part of the last century.

If I may briefly review:

This story starts, really, with the creation of the gateway structure by Willard Ruskin, et al.,

back in the year 178 Sp. The details of the political fallout from that event have filled volumes.

Following Project Breakstar, two years passed before the debris from the Betelgeuse supernova

cleared enough to allow even the earliest tentative efforts to chart the gateway structure. But

with the famous first passage by Tamika Jones and Thalia Sharaane (and, coincidentally, the

discovery that the gateway was alive and sentient), the new diaspora of Humanity into the deep

galaxy had, for all practical purposes, begun. The gateway soon became the greatest

thoroughfare in the history of Humanity, or of any other known race.

Within thirty standard years, dozens of star systems previously well beyond the reach of the

Habitat already sported burgeoning colonies. Six intelligent races had been discovered, two of

them spacefaring. In general, the interracial contacts had been friendly, or at least not actively

hostile. Most of the hostilities that existed during this period could be traced to preexisting

tensions among the various old factions of the Habitat of Humanity.

Then in the thirty-second year, a planet known as Riese’s World was discovered orbiting an

unstable sun, near the inner edge of the Orion galactic spiral arm. Also discovered was the

remains of the Riesan civilization. Their world had lain almost directly in the path of the

gateway. Before Breakstar, their sun had been as stable and trustworthy as any. Not so, after.

The Riesans, who coincidentally had been on the verge of achieving spaceflight, had been

unintentionally decimated by Breakstar.

Guilt and self-recrimination resulted from that discovery. But not war. War came later.

Forty-one years later, when the Enemy, the Karthrogen, the Throgs, came storming up the

starstream from somewhere even deeper toward the heart of the galaxy. What the Karthrogen

wanted, no Human knew. Where they came from, no one was sure. All that was known was

that when Karthrogen and Humans met, Humans died. Usually in large numbers. Planetary

numbers.

This story is about that war. But it’s also about other matters—the settlers of one of the new

worlds, for starters.

Even in the face of the Enemy, Human expansion into deep space continued

unabated—slowed a little by the war, maybe, but only a little. One was generally at greatest

risk during passage through the starstream, because that was where the Karthrogen were most

likely to appear. But despite the losses, most people never saw, or ever would see, a Throg. It

was often said that one was statistically at greater risk riding a shuttle into orbit than riding the

starstream. (It was untrue, to be sure; but it was often said. Sometimes what is said is more

significant in human terms than what is true.)

There came a time when a particular colony-ship was making its way down the starstream,

stopping off at a few systems along the way. An interstellar circ-zoo was on board, along with a

full complement of colonists. Among the latter were a young Human girl traveling with her

parents, and a young boy who became her friend. This story is about them, and about some of

their friends at the circ-zoo. And the reason their story is important is because of what they

learned about the Throgs. And because of what they learned from, and taught, the starstream.

It’s also about Willard Ruskin, and about *Bright*, once known to Humanity as Betelgeuse,

and about the others who died with them—or what they became. And yes, it’s about me,

Jeaves, a cogitative intelligence.

If you want to know more than that … well, I suggest you let the story unfold.

May I freshen that drink for you? As you wish. I’ll be right here if you need me. Just give a

call.

|Go to Contents|

Chapter 1

The starship’s deck hummed beneath Claudi Melnik’s feet as she stood in the empty

corridor, looking both ways. There was a certain stealth to her look, because this section of the

ship was not yet officially open to passengers. But Claudi (eight years and some of age,

standard) was curious, and on an exploratory mission. She wanted to see what was down here,

where all kinds of signs pointed to a “circ-zoo” that would be opening soon. All of the main

doors to the circ-zoo seemed to be closed; but there was a small door down the corridor from

the others, and that one had winked open at her casual touch on the control plate. The room

beyond beckoned silently.

Like most children her age, Claudi was driven by an insatiable curiosity, and she had very

little sense of fear. As far as she was concerned, if she got caught, she got caught. It wasn’t as if

she was doing anything wrong, after all. She was just looking.

She still had a little time left before she had to get to deck-school. And that room looked

extremely interesting. After a momentary hesitation, she crept through the open door. Her

heart beat faster as she looked around. She saw clear-domed enclosures of the sort used to hold

animals in zoos. Most of those near the door looked empty and small but she glimpsed larger

ones in the next section of the room. And where there were enclosures, surely, there would be

animals.

Animals!

She tiptoed forward, peering around hopefully.

Something was moving out beyond the enclosure. It was a blur, and it shifted first one way,

then the other. Lopo, squinting nearsightedly, could only hope that whatever it was would

come closer. Something danced in his mind, a fleeting image of a small keeper; it seemed

connected somehow with the blur outside. It was a startlingly pleasing image. Then it was

gone. Lopo blinked in puzzlement.

The teacher, behind him, was making hrrrrmph ing noises, trying to get his attention. But

the lupeko was bored with his teacher. He was more interested in learning what was outside.

He strained to pick up the movement and the scent. But the enclosure blocked out most

scent—and now the thing was retreating, fading to a blur of nothing.

In disappointment, Lopo turned back to the rear of his enclosure. A pile of comfortably

musty blankets lay heaped in one corner. In the other corner were two basins, one for food and

another for water. The keepers were not feeding him much lately, which made him a touch

grouchy; but the water, at least, he could control. He pressed a small pedal with his forepaw,

and a stream of water swirled into the bowl. Lopo lapped at the water—then raised his head,

thinking he had sensed movement again. Or was he just imagining?

There it was! The blur, coming closer. And a voice, tiny and high-pitched: “What is it? A

dog? Or a fox?”

It was almost near enough to see. It was just a little taller than Lopo was when he sat up on

his haunches. The creature stepped closer, and finally came into focus. It was a keeper—and a

small one! How extremely odd. Lopo wrinkled his nose, sniffing. The smell of the thing wafted

only faintly to his nose, but he could tell that it was different from the usual keeper’s—a lighter,

almost flowery smell. It moved very close to the enclosure wall now, putting its face close to

Lopo’s. Lopo cocked his ears and studied the face, topped with yellow hair and dotted with

bright blue eyes. “Hi,” it said. “Are you a dog? What are you doing in there? My name’s

Claudi. What’s yours?”

Lopo blinked, tipping his head one way and then the other. He understood the

words—some of them, anyway—but he couldn’t reply to them, and so he just peered back at

the keeper, hoping it would say more. Hi, he knew. Dog, he knew. Name, he knew. But how

the words worked together, he wasn’t quite sure. Nor did he understand why the little keeper

was asking him about dogs. Claudi, he didn’t know at all.

The keeper glanced furtively to one side, then the other; then it pressed a small hand to the

side of the enclosure. Lopo wished that the bubble-wall would go away.

Another voice came from somewhere out of sight—the voice of the regular keeper,

Joe—loud with surprise. “What are you doing in here?” Joe’s familiar large shape appeared

behind the small one.

“I was just looking at your dog,” said the small keeper, turning. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Joe put his hands on his hips. “You’re not supposed to be in here, you know. Just circ-zoo

people are supposed to be here. Anyway, that’s no dog. That’s a lupeko.” He pronounced the

word “Loo- peek -oh.” Then he went on, “Do you know what lupekos are?”

“Nope,” said the small keeper.

“You haven’t seen the big one we have on display out in the zooshow?”

The little one shook its head, back and forth.

“No, of course not. We haven’t opened the galleries yet. Well, we’ll have to get you a look at

it. They’re very smart animals. And they like little girls.”

Little girls! thought Lopo. So that’s it.

“What’s your name?” Joe asked.

The little girl pointed at the lupeko without answering. “What’s wrong with this one?” she

asked.

“Why, nothing’s wrong with it. He’s just very young, and hasn’t learned to talk yet.”

“Talk?”

Joe nodded. “That’s right. Say, don’t you want to tell me what your name is?”

“Uh-huh.” The little girl smiled, swinging her arms. “What did you say it was called?”

“A lupeko.” The keeper chuckled. “And you are—?”

She ducked her head shyly, and in Lopo’s mind her face suddenly shone, sparkling and

vivid. He’d never met a keeper like this! His heart welled up. She seemed so … likable. “Why is

it called a lupeko?” she asked.

“To make little girls ask questions.” That brought a giggle, and Joe added, “Fair’s fair, now.

Won’t you tell me your name?”

There was a moment of silence. Then very softly she said, “Claudi.” Of course, the lupeko

thought. She had said that before.

“That’s a nice name. Claudi what?”

“Melnik.”

“Claudi Melnik. Well, hi—I’m Joe. Joe Farharto.”

She swung back and forth. “Hi.”

Jeffrey A. Carver - Starstream 2 - Down the Stream of Stars

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