Hex by Allen Steele Page B

GONE THROUGH hyperspace, never once had she completely closed her eyes. Oh, she’d blinked, all right, at the moment when a starbridge’s zeropoint energy generators opened its torus and a silent explosion of defocused light rushed through the wormhole. That no one could look at without squinting. But she always kept her eyes open during the fifteen seconds it took her ship to make the jaunt from one star system to another. Although she told herself that, as captain, she needed to be aware of what was happening, the truth of the matter was that she was fascinated by the near-instantaneous transition from one place to another even though she’d experienced it dozens of times.
    So the retinal afterimage of the spacetime kaleidoscope hadn’t yet faded when the Montero completed its plunge through Starbridge Coyote. Peeling a sweaty hand from her armrest, Andromeda pushed back her hair as she let out her breath.
    â€œEveryone okay?” she asked, speaking to no one in particular.
    Around the command center, her crew groaned and muttered. Jason’s face was pale, but at least he hadn’t vomited; it had taken Montero ’s first officer a long time to learn how not to get sick during jumps, and he still kept a plastic bag discreetly hidden beneath his seat. A weak smile and a shaky thumbs-up, then he prodded his mike wand and called below to check on the passengers. Only Zeus seemed unperturbed; perhaps it was only machismo, but the chief petty officer insisted that hyperspace didn’t bother him. Andromeda had watched him in the past, though, and had quietly noted that he closed his eyes like everyone else. He just recovered more quickly than the others.
    â€œNice work, Captain.” From behind her, Andromeda heard Thomas D’Anguilo’s voice. “In fact, that was just about the smoothest jump I’ve ever had.”
    She half turned in her chair to look back at him. D’Anguilo was seated at the remote survey station, hands calmly resting at his sides. His complexion was normal; there wasn’t so much as a drop of sweat on his face. She was impressed. Most passengers were upchucking by then, but D’Anguilo was as placid as if they’d only taken a gyro ride.
    â€œThank you,” she said, then returned her attention to her crew. “Stations, report. Engineering?”
    â€œAll systems nominal, ma’am.” Rolf didn’t look away from his screens. “No structural damage. Main engines on standby, life support functional, ditto for all comps and primary AI.”
    â€œVery good. Mel?”
    For a moment or two, Melpomene didn’t respond. She was focused entirely upon her board, her hands moving across the console. “Melpomene?” Andromeda repeated. “Status, please.”
    â€œAye, skipper.” The helmsman finally heard her. “We’re at our expected arrival point... HD 76700, 1.5 AUs from the primary. But...” Apparently puzzled by something on her screens, she hesitated. “Skipper, I don’t get it. I’m not finding any planets.”
    â€œNo planets?” Andromeda was confused. “Are you using the optical imaging system or the infrared rangefinder?”
    â€œBoth, but...” Melpomene pointed helplessly at her station’s largest screen. “Well, see for yourself. No planets, only the starbridge in sight... but there’s something else out there.”
    Andromeda didn’t rise from her seat but instead tapped commands in her lapboard that linked the wallscreen to Melpomene’s console. The forward bulkhead disappeared, replaced by a floorto-ceiling starfield so realistic that it seemed as if a section of Montero ’s outer hull had simply vanished. Distant stars against black space, all marked by translucent red numerals identifying them by their catalog numbers. None were unfamiliar, yet as Melpomene pointed out, neither were any of them planets.
    Then the starfield slowly