The Lone World

(Ark Royal, Book XIV)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: Ark Royal
Book Two: The Nelson Touch
Book Three: The Trafalgar Gambit
Book Four: Warspite
Book Five: A Savage War of Peace
Book Six: A Small Colonial War
Book Seven: Vanguard
Book Eight: Fear God And Dread Naught
Book Nine: We Lead
Book Ten: The Longest Day
Book Eleven: The Cruel Stars
Book Twelve: Invincible
Book Thirteen: Para Bellum
Book Fourteen: The Right of the Line
Book Fifteen: The Lion and the Unicorn
Book Sixteen: Fighting For The Crown
Book Seventeen: Drake’s Drum
Book Eighteen: Endeavour
Book Nineteen: The Lone World

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Cover by Justin Adams

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Cover Blurb

On her first deep-space mission, HMS Endeavour discovered two alien Dyson Spheres: one shattered, apparently nothing more than rubble orbiting a dying star; one seemingly intact, maintained by ancient super-technology so far advanced it may be beyond comprehension, inhabited by humans kidnapped from Earth hundreds of thousands of years ago.  

Nearly trapped within the sphere, Endeavour barely escaped, leaving behind a disturbing mystery.  It is a mystery that must be solved – and quickly.

Now, months later, a multinational task force is heading out to the spheres.  It’s mission: to unravel the secrets of the alien technology, to determine who built the spheres and why and, perhaps most importantly, if they are still watching their creations, silently judging the visitors to their worlds.  But with the secret of super-tech up for grabs, and human nations and factions gambling everything on getting the tech first, everything hangs in the balance …

… And the spheres are waiting to see who’ll be the first to take what they can for themselves.

	
Contents
Prologue I
Prologue II: Beijing, China
Chapter One: London, United Kingdom
Chapter Two: London, United Kingdom
Chapter Three: London, United Kingdom
Chapter Four: HMS Endeavour, Sol System
Chapter Five: HMS Endeavour, Sol System
Chapter Six: HMS Endeavour, Sol System
Chapter Seven: HMS Endeavour, Sol System
Chapter Eight: HMS Endeavour, In Transit
Chapter Nine: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Ten: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Eleven: Shuttlecraft IV, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Twelve: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Thirteen: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Fourteen: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Fifteen: North Mountain, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Sixteen: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Seventeen: Marine Landing Shuttle, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Eighteen: Alien Structure, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Nineteen: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty: HMS Endeavour/Shuttlecraft One, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-One: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Two: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Three: Shuttlecraft One, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Five: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Six: PS Pennyfathing/USS Curtis/Nanchang, Dyson System (Exterior)
Chapter Twenty-Seven: North Mountain Base Camp, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Alien Structure, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Twenty-Nine: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty: The Hatch, Dyson System
Chapter Thirty-One: The Hatch, Dyson System
Chapter Thirty-Two: The Hatch, Dyson System
Chapter Thirty-Three: Local Settlement, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Four: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Five: HMS Endeavour/The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Lone Planetoid, Dyson System (Interior)
Chapter Forty: The Hatch, Dyson System
Afterword
How To Follow
If you liked The Lone World, you might like …

Prologue I

From: Admiral Paul Mason, Director of Alpha Black, Special Projects
To: Admiral Susan Onarina, First Space Lord
Note: Personal Message, Top Secret

Susan,

I wish I could offer you a preliminary report on the Dyson System and the Dyson Spheres – one intact and populated, one seemingly in ruins – based on data gathered by HMS Endeavour during her voyage to Dyson.  Unfortunately, I cannot.  The sheer volume of data gathered – which has almost certainly not scratched the surface – makes it impossible to draw any real conclusions.  We are left, instead, with a disturbing mystery.  Frankly, I feel like the fisherman who went fishing for minnows and somehow dragged from the water a very angry shark.  Even if there is no guiding intelligence surviving within the sphere, the fact remains the mere existence of alien supertechnology – still working, after untold millions of years – will upset the balance of power, as well as our understanding of the universe, beyond all hope of repair.

It is hard, even, to know when and where to begin.

Certain things are clear, right from the start.  The Dyson Aliens – termed the Builders – developed gravity control to a level so far in advance of our own that the Catapult, the most advanced gravity manipulation device we have designed and built, looks like nothing more than sticks and stones.  The material they used to build the spheres – termed Unobtainium by someone who clearly had too much time on his hands – has defied analysis, but is effectively indestructible, at least to human technology.  They use focused gravity beams to steer objects around the interior of the sphere – including solid spheres termed Fists, which appear to be designed to protect the surface from falling rocks – and, we assume, laid down an extended tramline.  We can also deduce that they are capable of both opening wormholes on a planetary scale – every star system near Dyson has been largely swept clear, with nothing larger than a small comet logged by human probes – and using gravity beams to tear apart planets and asteroids for raw materials.  I submit to you that it is not in Britain’s interests to let anyone get their hands on such technology.

Worse, however, is the presence of human settlers on the intact sphere.  

They are clearly human, although there are some divergent traces in their DNA that suggests they were taken from Earth hundreds of thousands of years ago.  (Their architecture bears a certain resemblance to Native American designs, specifically Aztec, Inca and Maya, but we believe this is merely a coincidence.)  The simple fact we encountered them on the very first – unplanned – landing on the sphere suggests human settlements are widespread, although we cannot be sure.  The possibility of running into other species – known and unknown – cannot be ruled out.  Long-range sensors were inconclusive and indeed, there is some speculation that the Builders were actively interfering with the sensors.  It cannot be proven one way or the other.  

We don’t know why these humans were taken from Earth and settled on the sphere.  We do know they were placed in a trap.  They lack the raw materials to develop anything more advanced than bows and arrows – before our team arrived, they didn’t even have the wheel – and there was no hope of them ever managing to climb out of the gravity well.  It is true that certain mountains on the sphere reach up into low orbit, or the local counterpart, but anyone without proper survival gear would perish well before they reached a point where they could launch themselves into space.  Even if they did, the automated defences would likely fire on them.  It was very lucky, to say the least, that Endeavour was able to recover her crewmen and escape before she was destroyed.  

It is easy to argue that the Builders passed through the Sol System hundreds of thousands of years ago and that they are no longer around today.  The apparent collapse of Dyson One – and the presumed death of its entire population – certainly suggests the Builders are no longer interested in maintaining their technology.  That may be true, although the mere fact that someone kidnapped a breeding population from Earth should be worrying even if they became extinct long before we had even the merest hint of their existence.  Did they want to preserve samples of our biosphere (and presumably others)?  Did they want to save us from ourselves, as some insist, or did they want to put humans in zoos?  We have done as much, to species we considered lesser – and to a species that builds on their scale, we must look very lesser indeed.

And yet, we are left with a disturbing mystery.  The Builders were clearly interested in monitoring the Virus, without seeming to do anything to stop it.  They left artefacts of unknown purpose within a number of systems, artefacts that were only discovered through chance.  (I should add, at this point, that some researchers believe it wasn’t chance; the artefacts chose to reveal themselves to us.)  If there are similar artefacts within our own systems, and those of our alien allies, they have yet to be found.  I am not optimistic about locating them, if indeed they exist.  They may be remarkable, but they are little more than dust mites on the scale of an entire solar system.

I believe that solving the mystery behind the Dyson Spheres and their Builders must now become our priority.  It is vitally important we track down the Builders to ask them some pointed questions or confirm to our own satisfaction they are truly gone.  A secondary priority, of course, is to master their technology for ourselves.  If we succeed in doing so, there will be no limits; contrariwise, if someone else masters it first, the entire Royal Navy will become obsolete overnight.  The alien energy weapons, observed during the first exploration of the sphere, are powerful enough to slice through a battleship effortlessly … and that, I’m afraid, is only just scratching the surface.  We could be on the brink of a full-fledged Lensmen Arms Race – or about to be crushed effortlessly.  It did not take even a day for my researchers to come up with interesting and lethal uses of observed alien technology.  I dare say other countries are already coming up with their own ideas.

With that in mind, I have the following suggestions …
	
Prologue II: Beijing, China

There were no visible security measures, as Admiral He Tianya stepped into the government penthouse, but he wasn’t fool enough to think they didn’t exist.  The city had been the core of China’s government for so long the security forces had no trouble in controlling everything from the government complexes to the universities, factories and the slums beyond the security barriers.  There was no privacy, not even for the elite.  Nothing was said or done, nothing at all, that was not recorded in a government database and cross-checked by algorithms primed to watch for potential dissidents.  It was impossible for dissidents to exist, he’d been assured; the slightest hint of dissidence was enough to get someone exiled to the work camps, or simply blacklisted until they saw fit to submit themselves for re-education. And the algorithms were never wrong …

He schooled his face into a mask as he looked around the luxurious office, promising himself – once again – that one day he’d have such an office himself.  No expense had been spared, from the wooden desk to the comfortable chairs, drinks cabinet and fancy paintings lining the walls.  A couple had been changed, he noted, since his last visit.  His eyes lingered on the missing faces, all too aware it was the only clue he’d have to how power had shifted over the last few months.  The Committee’s inner workings and debates were never shared with outsiders.  Their decisions, when made, were presented unanimously.

“Admiral,” the Chairman said.  His voice was soft, almost polite, with nary a hint he could have Tianya – or anyone – dragged away and shot on a whim.  He looked like a businessman in a simple black suit, but it was so elegantly tailored that anyone who looked at him would know he was a man of wealth and power.  “Please.  Be seated.”

Tianya took a seat, bracing himself.  It was unlikely he’d been summoned for a dressing down from the Chairman himself, not when he knew he’d done nothing worthy of a private scolding.  Besides, if he had, he’d have been quietly escorted away and disappeared.  No one would have lifted a finger in his defence, if the Committee wanted him gone.  And that meant …

The Chairman said nothing for a long moment, then tapped his console.  A holographic image appeared in front of them, a pair of Dyson Spheres.  Tianya fought to keep his expression under tight control.  The spheres were a work of engineering so far in advance of humanity’s that he knew there was no way they could be matched, not now and perhaps never.  He’d heard the early reports, passed through international communications channels, and wondered – despite himself – if they were hoaxes.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had reported something incredible, and impossible.  Giant alien starships, omnipotent entities bent on testing humanity … none, somehow, allowing themselves to be recorded.  But if the Chairman believed the spheres were real.

“The British dispatched a deep-space survey vessel into the region beyond Virus Prime,” the Chairman said.  “Our intelligence suggested they knew something and so we assigned a starship to shadow their ship at a safe distance.  Haikou followed them through an impossible tramline and found an even more impossible pair of Dyson Spheres; one cracked and broken, the other with a human population.  I would not have believed it if we hadn’t had reports from our own ship.”

“Yes, sir,” Tianya said.  His mind raced.  Why was the Chairman discussing the matter with him?  It had been highly-classified, of course – he hadn’t heard anything about the spheres on the public datanet and he doubted he ever would – but it didn’t need the Chairman’s personal attention.  “The report is quite remarkable.”

“Yes,” the Chairman agreed.  “Advanced technology, at least thousands of years old, and still functional.  Could anything of ours last so long?”

Tianya considered it, briefly.  “No, sir,” he said.  “Certainly nothing on the same scale.”

“And the potential of the technology is staggering,” the Chairman added.  For the first time, there was a hint of emotion in his voice.  “What could we do with such power?  What could we not do?”

“It would be incredible,” Tianya agreed, studying the hologram.  The largest man-made structure was the Heinlein Shipyard, put together by the United States Navy … and the Dyson Spheres made it look like a children’s toy.  “We could do anything.”

The Chairman nodded, slowly.  Tianya looked at him and had a sudden flash of insight.  The Chairman was as close to omnipotent as any human ever became, a man with more personal power than anyone else on the planet.  The American President or the British Prime Minister were powerful, too, but their power was hedged by checks and balances designed to prevent them from becoming tyrants.  The Chairman had no such formal barriers to supreme power.  As long as he was careful, and kept the Committee from uniting against him, he could do pretty much whatever he liked.  China was lucky, Tianya supposed, that the Chairman had few vices.  He could have surrounded himself with wealth beyond the dreams of the empires of old, a harem of women, or … or anything, anything at all.  Power was his one real vice …

… And the Builders made him look like an ant.

Tianya had been a spacer too long to risk deluding himself.  The Builders had casually dismantled a number of planets, just to build a pair of Dyson Spheres.  The Builders had warped space itself, laying down at least one extended tramline, and swept the known universe and beyond for intelligent life to populate their spheres.  He had no idea if the dismantled worlds had had intelligent life of their own – intelligence was relatively rare – but there was no way to be sure.  China was a superpower, one of the three most powerful nations on Earth and beyond, and the Builders could crush her effortlessly.  They might not even notice!  And the Chairman, the most powerful man on the planet, was nothing to them.

It was hard, even for an experienced officer, to keep his thoughts under control.  The sheer size of the sphere was daunting.  How much worse must it be, he wondered, to climb to the top of the tree, only to discover it wasn’t the biggest tree in the wood?  He’d wondered, once, why so many of his ancestors hadn’t tried to adapt, when the westerners arrived to impose unequal treaties and threaten to carve up their country into colonies.  He knew now.  And the gulf between China and the West had been tiny, compared to the gap between mankind and the Builders.  It might never be surmounted.

“You have been selected for a very special mission,” the Chairman said.  “If you succeed, and return in triumph, you will be rewarded with a seat on the Committee.  If you fail, and survive, you will be disavowed.”

Tianya felt his heart begin to race.  A seat on the Committee …?  A chance to take his place amongst the most powerful men in the country?  A wife from a powerful bloodline, children educated amongst the elite and groomed to replace them?  He’d kill for such a reward.  It was worth any risk …

The Chairman kept speaking.  “The British have technically broken the Solar Treaty.  Technically.  We have kindly refrained from making a fuss, save for lodging a single diplomatic protest.  Indeed, we have pretended to accept their excuses on the matter and agreed to let it rest.  For now.  We have chosen to do so because we want to send our own people to Dyson, in the spirit of international cooperation.  You will assume command of our team and, possibly, receive a position within the Multi-National Force command structure.  We will make a big show of cooperating with the rest of humanity.”

He paused and met Tianya’s eyes.  “No one will know you have other orders.”

Tianya took a breath.  He wasn’t blind to the risks.  If the mission failed, there would be no rewards.  Not for him.  He’d be blamed for the catastrophe, declared a rogue agent and effectively unpersoned.  His victories would be given to someone else, his family would be told they no longer had a son, his friends and enemies alike would know to pretend he’d never existed … if the reward was so high, the punishment for failure would be truly dreadful.  No wonder the Chairman was giving Tianya his orders in person, rather than letting them be passed through the regular chain of command.  If the mission failed, no one outside a very select circle would ever know it had ever been attempted.

The reward is worth the risk, he told himself.  If he failed, it would be better to eat his own gun than return home.  I can do it.

The Chairman smiled, very slightly.  His tone was very formal.  “Admiral.  This is what I want you to do …”
	
Chapter One: London, United Kingdom

“And thank God that’s over,” Admiral Lady Susan Onarina said, as she strode into her suite and closed the door behind her.  “I thought it would never end.”

“Cruel and unusual punishment?”  Admiral Paul Mason sat on a sofa, reading the latest set of reports from the Alpha Black team.  “How badly are we fucked?”

Susan shrugged off her jacket and switched on the kettle.  Technically, as a flag officer, she was entitled to a private steward, but she’d never been particularly comfortable around servants.  Having one onboard ship was a marvellous time saver yet having one in London bred indolence and bad attitudes.  Besides, it wasn’t as if she could take her servants with her when she finally retired.  She didn’t have the funds to maintain them.

“Not as badly as you might expect,” she said, as she found a pair of mugs and dropped teabags into them.  “The Russians have lodged a series of formal complaints, demanding everything from monetary compensation to our exclusion from the research team, but they’re more or less alone.  The Americans have tut-tutted and the French have muttered angrily, yet there’s no appetite for any real sanctions.”

Mason caught her eye.  “The Chinese said nothing?”

“They just lodged a single protest,” Susan said.  It was odd, to say the least.  The Chinese government was known for being prickly, although it was also known for evading the spirit of the law whenever it thought it could get away with it.  “The Foreign Office believes the Chinese don’t want to have to explain why they didn’t blow the whistle on us, given that they clearly knew we were up to something.  We could certainly hint we let the Chinese find out deliberately, or so they argue.”

“No one would buy that,” Mason objected.  “It’s insane.”

Susan made a face.  MI5 had been going through the handful of people who knew about the artefacts, and the map leading to Dyson, but so far they’d drawn a blank.  The spy, if there was one, remained resolutely unidentified.  And that meant … she hated the thought of the Chinese corrupting one of her people, but if they’d managed to break the navy’s encryption codes it would be a great deal worse.  How many secrets had been accidentally shared, because the navy thought its codes were unbreakable?  The Chinese had hinted it was just a coincidence – Haikou just happened to be following Endeavour – but Susan would believe that the day she had her head cut off and replaced with a cabbage.  No one would dispatch a cruiser on a long-term shadowing mission like that unless they expected the survey ship to find something a great deal more interesting than an uninhabited or infected world.  

No, she thought grimly.  They knew the mission was more than just a routine survey flight before the vessel was dispatched.

“People have been known to believe seventeen impossible things before breakfast,” she said, pouring boiling water into the mugs.  “It might make the Chinese a little more suspicious of anything they get from their spy.  If there is a spy.”

“Hah,” Mason said.  “They already know the bastard’s reliable.”

He took the mug she passed him and sat back on the sofa.  “So … how bad is it?”

“There are already a bunch of private parties heading out to the spheres,” Susan said.  “The Admiralty has declared a no-entry zone, and the other countries have followed suit, but hardly anyone is paying attention.  The Belters don’t recognise our authority in such matters, the lesser powers feel excluded and the big corporations think they can get away with defying us if they find something within the system they can use as a bargaining chip.  It’s only a matter of time before the Tadpoles or the Foxes get involved – they probably have ships on their way already.  The government intends to act decisively.”

Mason shrugged.  “They do realise just how big the binary system is, don’t they?”

“Um … maybe?”  Susan smiled, although she felt little real humour.  “They don’t know what to think.  They’re hypnotised by the thought of someone stumbling across an alien database, unlocking it and finding a complete how-to-build-a-sphere guide.”

“And the odds of that are …?”

“Incalculable,” Susan said.  “If you picked up a book on Earth, what are the odds of it telling you how to build a starship?”

She sighed as she sipped her tea.  Groundhogs didn’t – couldn’t – understand the sheer size of a star system.  The biggest starship humanity had built and launched was infinitesimally tiny compared to Earth, let alone the rest of the system.  The two spheres encompassed a vast amount of space and sorting through the ruined sphere alone would take centuries, if they were lucky.  It might be impossible to catalogue and survey every last piece of debris.  The odds of finding a database, and working out how to read it, were low.

But the politicians think it isn’t impossible and they might be right, Susan thought.  We simply don’t know.

“You could learn a lot about us from reading a random book,” Mason pointed out.  “Our hopes and fears.  How our culture works.  What we can imagine … maybe not the best example, but still …”

“It depends,” Susan said.  “Remember those books that got passed around in the academy?”

Mason snorted.  “The aliens will take one look … and declare war.”

“Probably.”  Susan took another sip of her tea.  “Bottom line is, we’re going back to the sphere.  Quite why it took two months to make a decision every last member of the international community knew was inevitable right from the start is beyond me, but…” she shrugged, “we’re going back.  Once we get there, the MNF will assume control of the twin system and chase everyone else out, then proceed to investigate the spheres.  Everyone who takes part in the mission will have full access to everything we find, which probably won’t keep people from cheating if they think they can get away with it.”

“Of course not,” Mason said.  “And the plan to settle the sphere?”

“Discarded, for the moment,” Susan said.  “Hopefully, no one will ever try.”

She scowled as she remembered the landing party’s report.  The sphere was a trap.  The locals lacked metals and chemistry and could never progress beyond a certain point, let alone climb out of the sphere’s gravity well and into orbit.  They were completely at the mercy of whoever had built the sphere, unable to escape if the technology failed a second time.  Susan had spent longer considering the implications of that than she wanted.  Was the sphere a wilderness preserve, a zoo, or a prison?  The latter worried her.  Who would want to lock up the human race?

“The Americans nominated Admiral Dismukes as Mission Commander,” she said, changing the subject.  “We supported them, as did the French, so he’ll probably be in overall command of the deployment.  The Chinese are pushing hard to nominate his deputy and they’ll probably succeed.  The Russians are backing them and the French are likely to do so when the time comes.  I doubt we’ll be able to get someone in the higher chain of command.  We already have the ambassadorial post.”

Mason looked thoughtful.  “Admiral Dismukes?  Do we know him?”

“The files are a little vague,” Susan said.  “There’s no mention of any major naval commands during the wars.  Apparently, he was in command of the Foreign Technology Division until recently.  My guess is he’s your counterpart.”

“Probably,” Mason said.  “Alpha Black and the FTD do pretty much the same thing.  He’s a good choice, if he’s deeply invested in their work.”

“Perhaps,” Susan said.  “He may be more of a bureaucrat or politician than a military leader.”

“Or a diplomat,” Mason pointed out.  “He’ll have to get people from at least five countries working together and keep them reasonably honest, even when they have one hell of an incentive to cheat.”

Susan scowled.  “Quite.”

She leaned forward.  “What do you make of it?”

“Truth is, I don’t know where to begin.”  Mason stared down at his empty mug.  “The Tadpoles were more advanced than us, when we met them, but we closed the gap fairly quickly.  The Foxes and the Cows were at roughly the same level, save for the FTL transmitters.  So was the Virus.  The Vesy, of course, were a long way behind when they discovered us, or – more accurately – we discovered them.  And the result was shattering.”

Susan grimaced.  There’d been loud voices demanding that the Vesy be left alone, to grow and develop on their own, but they’d been drowned out by people insisting the Vesy be uplifted to match humanity and the other known intelligent races.  The results had been mixed.  There had been some improvements, but the native culture had taken a beating and there was a very real risk it would never recover.  Susan suspected the Vesy might never make something of themselves, not now.  They’d just grow into a carbon copy of their human masters.  

“You think that could happen to us?”  Susan didn’t want to believe it, but she had to admit the possibility.  Her ancestors hadn’t coped well with meeting a more advanced society.  “That we could be just … overshadowed by the Builders?”

“They built a pair of Dyson Spheres,” Mason pointed out.  “They extended a tramline or created one … somehow.  What else can they do?  Could we do that, if we tried?”

“No.”  Susan didn’t have to think about it.  “Not yet.”

“Yes,” Mason agreed.  “And they took humans from their homeworld and set them up on the sphere.  There’s already people claiming the Builders built us.”

Susan snorted.  “Don’t they know how evolution works?”

“No.”  Mason chuckled.  “Why do you ask?”

“They’re mad,” Susan said.  “The idea of humans being created by an alien race …”

Mason stood and poked the terminal.  “The concept of creator gods has been around for a very long time,” he said, softly.  “We used to believe in gods that were bigger and nastier humans.  Some think those humanoid gods were actually eldritch creatures who were shaped into something more palatable by the force of our belief.  Later, we came up with the idea of a single all-powerful creator god, surrounded by a host of angels and threatened by devils.  When we came up with the concept of aliens, the idea of aliens watching over us – or threatening us – was easily worked into the myths.  There were quite a few stories of aliens kidnapping humans over the years.  They faded and died shortly after we started exploring the solar system.”

Susan gave him an odd look.  “And your point?”

“My point is that everyone wants to believe in something watching out for them, even if it is Grandfather God looking down from on high or a benevolent alien race keeping an eye on us from a safe distance,” Mason said.  “And now we’ve discovered the spheres, it is clear that at least one alien race did keep an eye on us.”

The terminal came to life.  Mason switched channels quickly until he found a news program and turned up the volume.  “… Protesters clashed in New York today, between groups that believed the Dyson System should be left completely alone and their rivals, who want to be transported to the sphere to join their comrades in safety.  The Mayor has made an official statement warning that rioting will not be tolerated; the National Guard is reportedly mobilising to clear the streets.  Similar protests were reported in London, Paris, Berlin and …”

“Charming,” Susan said.  “And what do we do about it?”

“I doubt we can do anything about it,” Mason said.  “It’s something deep within the human mind.  All we can do is try to cope.”

“I see,” Susan said.  “And what if they’re just super-advanced aliens?”

She scowled as the images shifted, showing protesters clashing with counter-protestors and then being overwhelmed by the police.  “If the Builders saw that, what do you think they’d think?”

Mason shrugged.  “The Tadpoles don’t understand our politics, any more than we understand theirs,” he said.  “The Builders might not understand what’s happening either.”

“At a speech today, Professor Justice Billycock insisted the human race must prepare itself for meeting a far more advanced species,” the TV presenter continued.  “He stated we must attempt to fix our problems, rather than exporting them into space and infecting the rest of a pristine galaxy.  The speech …”

“Turn it off,” Susan said.  She sat back in her chair and finished her tea.  It was bad enough being lectured by her fellow officers, but at least they knew what they were talking about.  Academics, in her experience, knew little about the real world and cared less … and then acted all surprised when their grand plans ran into reality and shattered.  “The Builders are advanced, true, and somehow their technology is still active even if they’re no longer with us.  But they are not gods.  The gap is not insurmountable.”

“The Vesy might disagree,” Mason said, dryly.

“They could match us, given time,” Susan objected.

“They don’t have time,” Mason said.  “It took us … what …?  Three hundred thousand years to climb from the earliest days of the human race to the stars?  If that … there’s a lot we don’t know about what happened that long ago, or how things really were back then.  Even if we count from the birth of Jesus, it still took over two thousand years to reach the stars.  The Vesy won’t have much of their culture left by the time they join us …”

He scowled.  “And what’ll happen to us if we meet a race so far advanced their tech might as well be magic?”

His eyes narrowed.  “There was a comic book I read once, when I was ill.  Very ill.  It was very silly.  King John and his baddies were facing an alien invasion, or so they thought.  They came up with a bunch of truly silly ideas to fight the aliens, from nets carried by pigeons to … even sillier ideas.  None of them would have worked for a moment, if the aliens had been anything other than a figment of their imagination.”

Susan raised her eyebrows.  “And how old were you when you read this book?”

“My point is, the king in the book couldn’t even begin to comprehend what he was facing,” Mason said.  “The most advanced piece of technology in his world was a crossbow.  He knew nothing about steam power, let alone atoms and nuclear power and … I don’t even think he knew the Earth was a sphere.  He might not have.”

“They knew the Earth was a globe far earlier than we think,” Susan pointed out.  “The king might well have known the truth.”

“It would have been played for humour,” Mason said.  “Point is, the Builders know things we can imagine without truly understanding how to turn them into reality.  But what are we missing?  What do they know that we can’t even imagine?  I can’t imagine!”

Susan had to laugh.  “We will catch up with them,” she said.  “One day.”

“Yeah,” Mason agreed.  “And what will they do if they think we’re catching up?”

He made a face.  “They took humans from Earth, years ago.  Why?  They then put those humans on a sphere specifically designed to forestall the development of anything more advanced than bows and arrows.  The poor bastards have very few ways to advance and almost all of them require a mindset they lack, a mindset they have been deliberately prevented from developing.  I don’t know if the sphere truly is a zoo, but … what would we do if a lion escaped from the zoo and started prowling the streets?”

“We’d hunt the beast down, and quickly,” Susan said.  “Are you saying you think they might be hostile?”

“The lion would think we were,” Mason said.  “One moment, he’s strolling down the street; the next, some bastard shoots him in the rump with a tranquilliser dart and he wakes up in the zoo, wondering what happened to him.  The poor beast doesn’t understand modern society – in fact, he might not even realise he was in a zoo until he broke out.  There are horror stories about that, you know.  They’re required reading in Alpha Black.”

“I think I’m going to audit your department,” Susan teased.  “Do you spend all your time reading?”

“No.”  Mason grinned.  “We watch old-timey television too, sometimes.”

“I’m definitely going to audit you,” Susan said.  “What’s your point?”

Mason met her eyes.  “We know nothing about the Builders.  Their tech is so advanced we can barely comprehend half of it and we cannot hope to duplicate it.  They may think we’re nothing more than zoo animals.  They may even have assumed we’d blow ourselves up, or the virus would have overwhelmed us, or something – anything – other than climbing the ladder into space.  The odds might even be on their side, too.  It took us a long time to get into space and there were a lot of false starts.  They might have assumed the humans they took and preserved would be the only survivors and be surprised to discover they were wrong.”

He scowled.  “And what will they do if they find out we’re poking around the spheres?”

Susan looked back at him.  “One of their spheres died,” she said.  She didn’t want to think about the uncounted millions who might have perished with the sphere.  “They are powerful, but they are not gods.  They may not even be around any longer.”

“Perhaps,” Mason said.  “It would be wiser to leave the spheres alone, wouldn’t it?”

“Wiser?”  Susan shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter.  Ships will be going to the spheres, whether we like it or not.  All we can do is try to keep control of the process … and ensure that everything discovered is shared, before someone tries to do something stupid.”

“Like summoning the Builders,” Mason said.  “Or … who knows?”

“That’s the problem,” Susan said.  “No one knows.”
	
Chapter Two: London, United Kingdom

The fantasy snapped out of existence, as if it had never been there at all.

It hadn’t, of course.  Captain Staci Templeton knew it had been about as real as Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the mysterious black starships that were only ever spotted by half-drunk asteroid miners who forgot to take a recording before the ships vanished again.  It was still disorienting.  The real world seemed to shiver around her, grim and disappointing compared to the fantasy she’d embraced so deeply she could almost believe it was real.  She took a deep shuddering breath, reaching for the water bottle and drinking deeply.  It always took time to centre herself after terminating the fantasy.  

She closed her eyes for a long moment, gathering her thoughts.  The cubicle was tiny, little more than a simple room with a VR set and a simple comfortable chair.  The air was fresh and clean, faint traces of something within the atmosphere helping to galvanise her thoughts.  The operators probably wanted her gone – and quickly, so they could offer their services to someone else.  It was technically illegal to kick someone out, at least before they’d reminded themselves of the difference between reality and fantasy, but hurrying clients out the door wasn’t quite the same.  Quite.  Staci snorted to herself as she opened her eyes and stood on wobbly legs.  She’d paid enough, in her estimation, for years in the fantasy world.

No, she told herself.  That would be the end of everything.

The thought haunted her as she donned her jacket and keyed the console, purging the records before heading for the door.  The VR parlours were supposed to be private, with no public records of who used them or what fantasies they embraced, but she wasn’t that trusting.  She’d been a minor celebrity well before she’d stumbled across the Dyson Spheres and she doubted the media would hesitate to offer huge bribes, just for a record of where she’d gone and what she’d done.  Some egghead with more degrees than common sense would probably use the information to write articles questioning her fitness for command, pointing out the dangers of VR addiction.  Idiots.  She’d come to the parlour because it provided a chance to escape the modern world, at least for a few short moments that felt like hours.

She put the thought aside as she stepped through the door and into the corridor.  It was as drab and grey as the cubicle, the other doors closed and presumably locked.  She’d been cautioned to pay no attention to other clients, if she saw them.  She’d only seen one, a sad little man who’d kept his eyes firmly on the ground.  She wondered, idly, what worlds he was embracing now.  The parlour offered more than just fantasies of adventure in worlds of magic, or romance, or starships right out of science-fantasy.  There were some of happily married lives … she suspected, deep inside, they weren’t healthy.  The dreams weren’t real and could never be.

The locker bleeped as she pressed her hand against the scanner, allowing it to read the chip embedded under her skin.  She pulled it open and removed her terminal and wristcom, strapping the latter to her wrist.  A message was already blinking, reminding her that she had an appointment in the Admiralty in an hour.  She sighed, checked her appearance in the mirror, then turned and walked into the lobby.  The receptionist studiously ignored her.  She was paid very well not to notice anything, even one of the most famous faces in the world.  It was a relief.  Staci’s former CO had loved the limelight, but she hated it.  It didn’t help that half the tabloids had declared her the most eligible bachelorette in the world and ran long articles about who she was going to marry, from aristocrats she’d never met to famous people she’d never heard of.  She supposed it beat being called a career woman or a spinster, but still …

She tapped her wristcom, hailing a taxi.  The cab materialised within seconds.  They weren’t permitted to wait on the parlour’s grounds, but from what she’d heard they tended to wait just outside.  Clients weren’t meant to drive themselves and they tended to tip well.  Staci clambered inside, spoke briefly to the driver, and sat down as the cab drove through the gates and out onto the streets.  The real world looked drab and dull, compared to the fantasy.  She reminded herself, sharply, that London had always been dull and grey.

It could be worse, she thought.  London did have a certain elegance, in places.  The wars had done a considerable amount of damage, some of which had yet to be repaired, but the city centre was still striking.  It was just a shame they’d had to set up blocks upon blocks of temporary prefabricated housing.  It was the sort of temporary measure that tended to become permanent.  I could be trapped in the slums.

She put the thought aside and keyed her terminal.  Thousands of messages, almost all spam or requests for interviews, the latter worse than spam.  She snorted as she scrolled through the list, making sure the spam filter hadn’t accidentally trapped something important, then deleted them all with a certain vengeful pleasure.  The Admiralty’s PR department had been nagging her to do more interviews, but she’d taken advantage of her momentary celebrity to turn them down as much as she could.  Going back to school long enough to tell the students they needed to work hard to join the navy was one thing; talking to reporters who would twist everything she said to suit their agendas was quite another.  She didn’t know why they bothered to interview people first before making shit up.  The nonsense they’d written about her former CO …  It was nothing more than a waste of time.

The cab slowed as it neared the centre of town.  Staci scowled as she saw the protest marches – some demanding an immediate return to the Dyson Spheres, some insisting the alien superstructure should be left well alone – and the policemen escorting them.  The police had cautioned her to stay well clear of both sets of protesters, pointing out that one group saw her as a hero and the other as a villain.  She hadn’t been sure which was which and, judging by the weirder news reports, neither were they.  It was strange.  Some thought the Builders were gods, who’d saved humanity from itself; others, perhaps with more reason, thought the Builders were kidnappers who needed to be stopped.  Staci suspected neither side truly understood what they were saying – or demanding.  It was impossible to grasp the sheer scale of the Dyson Spheres unless you saw them with the naked eye.

“Lots of madmen out there,” the driver commented.  “They think the world is going to end.”

“And the gods are going to come back to rescue the elect before the world dies in fire,” Staci added.  She’d watched a religious scholar insist that Noah’s Ark was actually a racial memory of the Builders taking humans from their homeworld and seeding them on the Dyson Spheres.  His peers had immediately denounced his words as blasphemy.  “They just don’t know who the elect is, not now.”

She snorted at the thought as the cab picked its way through the crowd and paused in front of the checkpoint outside Whitehall.  The MPs spoke briefly to the driver, checked Staci’s ID and then waved the cab through the security barriers.  Staci allowed herself a moment of relief.  Mobs could get very nasty, even if one was armed.  She was entitled to carry a pistol, as a commanding officer, but she hadn’t bothered to bring it with her.  Perhaps that had been a mistake.  The government claimed they’d wiped out the last lingering pockets of viral infection – and regular blood checks were supposed to ensure the remnants of the virus never built up another foothold on Earth – but Staci didn’t believe it.  The virus was just too well adapted to be wiped out so easily.  The moment humanity turned its back, the virus would strike.  There were already demands for the security edifice to be dismantled as soon as possible.  It was a clear and growing threat to civil liberties.

So is the virus, Staci thought, as the cab pulled to a stop in front of the Admiralty.  The guards showed no reaction, but she could feel them bracing themselves.  If it had won the war, that would have been the end.

She paid the driver, careful to add a tip in cash, and stepped out of the cab.  The guards checked her ID, then waved her into the building.  A junior officer appeared as soon as she stepped into the lobby, giving the impression of bowing and scraping even though all he did was salute, and escorted her to the First Space Lord’s office.  Staci wasn’t entirely pleased to note the checkpoints had been dismantled.  They should have checked her blood, just to be sure she wasn’t infected.  She thought she wasn’t, but who knew?  No one could be sure.  The virus was insidious.

“The First Space Lord will see you shortly,” her escort said, showing her into a waiting room.  “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” Staci said.

She leaned back in her chair and studied the walls.  They were lined with paintings of naval vessels, from wet-navy sailing ships to giant spacefaring supercarriers and battleships.  It seemed oddly fitting to have Lord Nelson’s Victory placed next to Admiral Smith’s Ark Royal, even though the gulf between them was so vast it was difficult to imagine how it could be surmounted.  Lord Nelson had been a great hero in his time and, in truth, Staci suspected he’d have been a naval star in almost any time.  Admiral Smith had been a little more controversial, yet without him the First Interstellar War would have been lost very quickly.  She let her eyes wander from picture to picture, drawing strength from the paintings.  The Royal Navy wasn’t just an institution.  It was a tradition.

It takes three years to build a ship, she thought, recalling Admiral Cunningham’s dictum.  He was another naval star who’d do well in the modern world.  And centuries to build a tradition.

Her escort cleared his throat.  “Captain, the First Space Lord will see you now.”

Staci’s lips twitched – he hadn’t brought her any tea – as she was shown into the office.  The First Space Lord had two offices, from what she’d been told; a fancy chamber that had been passed down from admiral to admiral and a second inner chamber she could decorate as she pleased.  Admiral Lady Susan Onarina was surprisingly minimalistic, Staci noted, as she saluted the woman behind the desk.  Her office could have easily passed for a businessman’s suite, in one of the corporate towers only a few short miles down the river.  The only hint of whimsy – or military tradition – was a single painting hanging behind her desk, a dark-skinned man in army garb.  Staci wondered, idly, if it was a subtle poke at military tradition.  Surely, a naval officer would have been more suited …

She put the thought out of her head.  “Admiral.  It’s good to see you again.”

“Captain,” Admiral Onarina said.  “Please, take a seat.”

Staci sat.  Her escort poured tea for them both, then withdrew.  That was probably a good sign.  It was traditional for senior officers to provide tea, to put juniors at ease, and a very bad sign indeed when tea wasn’t provided.  She took a sip, then forced herself to sit back in her chair.  Admiral Onarina was a heroine, at least to Staci, but she was still a flag officer.  She’d come to the point in due time.

“Captain,” Admiral Onarina said.  “I trust you enjoyed your shore leave?”

“It was interesting,” Staci said.  “And nearly everywhere I went was infested with reporters.”

The admiral’s lips twitched.  “I’m afraid it’s part of the job,” she said.  “But it could be worse.  They could be adoring brainless celebrities instead.”

Staci shrugged.  She’d heard, once, that reporters had become convinced that the opinions of sports stars and celebrities were actually important.  Perhaps they had been in their own field – Staci would happily accept the opinion of a famous footballer on football – but the idea they had anything important to say about anything outside their competence was just absurd.  One might as well demand the opinions of young children or senior citizens so old they could still remember the days humanity thought it was alone in the universe.  There’d even been a theory that the Troubles owed much to celebrities who pushed popular causes without bothering to think about the long-term implications.  Personally, she thought it was silly.  The British Government had never needed celebrities to screw up spectacularly.  It could do a perfectly good job of that on its own.

The Admiral sipped her tea.  “It was not easy coming to any sort of consensus.  The unity forced upon us by the war is fracturing.  Certain parties want to keep pushing towards Amalgamation.  Others think we no longer need unity.  There’s no single authority with both the remit and the ability to handle everything, which means the last month has been largely consumed with achingly polite diplomatic arguments.”

Staci frowned.  “The Chinese aren’t happy?”

“No one is happy,” Admiral Onarina said.  “But we have hammered out a rough agreement.”

She met Staci’s eyes.  “You’re going back to Dyson.”

Staci sucked in her breath.  It had crossed her mind, more than once, that the government might turn her into a scapegoat, even though the decision to bend – if not break – the Solar Treaty had been made at the very highest levels.  Hell, the fact she was a celebrity might have - perversely – made it an easier decision.  She could be given a formal slap on the wrist and sent into de facto exile, her celebrity serving as an excuse not to punish her further.  Even if she was spared punishment for a crime she hadn’t committed, there was no guarantee she’d be allowed to return to Dyson.  Endeavour was a survey ship.  She might be sent deeper into unexplored space.

“Thank you, Admiral,” she managed, finally.  It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.  She understood space combat, even when the odds were stacked against her.  The Dyson Spheres were dangerously unpredictable.  She still had nightmares about the alien energy weapons slicing though her hull like a hot knife through butter.  “Are we going alone?”

“No,” Admiral Onarina said.

Staci felt her heart sink.  Bad news was coming.  She could tell.

“We’re putting together a small flotilla of research and survey ships, escorted by a squadron of smaller vessels.  I’d prefer something heavier, but the general consensus is that we shouldn’t risk provoking the Builders by flying battleships and supercarriers into their system.  Admiral Dismukes will be in command, flying his flag on Endeavour.  I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?”  Staci had never heard of Admiral Dismukes.  “Admiral Dismukes?”

“He’s American, not British,” Admiral Onarina explained.  “For diplomatic reasons, he and his staff will be based on Endeavour rather than an American ship.  There may be issues involved, as I’m sure you can guess, but … I expect you to cope.”

Staci frowned.  “Admiral, with all due respect, Endeavour is not set up to serve as a command vessel.”

“I believe the general theory is that you won’t need to serve in such a role,” Admiral Onarina said.  She didn’t sound as though she believed what she was saying.  “The admiral certainly won’t have a proper battle squadron under his command.  If you do run into trouble, anything you can’t handle, you have orders to retreat and let the diplomats sort it out.”

“I see,” Staci said, slowly.  “Are we expecting trouble?”

“There are two major problems,” Admiral Onarina said.  “First, our alien allies have yet to commit themselves to joining the MNF.  Our assumption is that they will, but we don’t know for sure.  They may deploy their own missions or try to keep us from investigating.  A secondary problem is that a number of earthly powers have already dispatched ships to Dyson.  They may cause trouble for you.”

She paused.  “And we know very little about what might be lurking on the other side of the Dyson Spheres.  For all we know, the Builders might take a hand.”

Staci shivered.  The sphere’s automated defences had come far too close to destroying her ship.  “If they do …?”

“If they do, we have to hope and pray the diplomats can talk to them,” Admiral Onarina told her.  “We cannot even begin to draw up contingency plans if they turn hostile.  There’s no way to know what they can do, save in the most general terms, and those are utterly terrifying.  They could crush our worlds and turn them into asteroid fields – or black holes.  If worse comes to worst, you are to withdraw and hope for the best.  No heroics.”

“Shit,” Staci said, softly.  She’d known there was a prospect of having to withdraw under fire – it was quite possible an alien race would note Endeavour sneaking around their system and ambush her – but the Dyson Spheres were just too big to escape easily.  “Is it wise to return?”

“Wise or not, it is going to happen,” Admiral Onarina said, bluntly.  “Ideally, the whole story would have been buried long enough to let us decide what to do.  But we don’t live in an ideal world.  We have to get there and quickly, with enough force to keep outsiders from poking the hive until we know for sure what’s inside.”

“They’ll insist we have no jurisdiction,” Staci said.  “We don’t own the system.”

“No,” Admiral Onarina agreed.  “But we – all the major powers – have agreed to assert authority over it, at least in the absence of the Builders.  It’ll hold, we hope.”

We hope, Staci thought.

Admiral Onarina leaned forward.  “And with that in mind, there are some contingency plans we need to discuss.”
	
Chapter Three: London, United Kingdom

“I must say, you have done well for yourself,” Felicity Grabber said, as she sipped from an elegant glass of expensive wine.  “It is so good to see you again.”

Ambassador Lady Charlotte Hammond gritted her teeth and pasted a polite smile onto her face.  There was absolutely nothing real about Felicity, from her perfect smile to her perfect body, the result of extensive genetic engineering and cosmetic surgery.  Her long blonde hair fell over naked shoulders and an elegant dress that revealed her curves without showing anything below the shoulder.  She looked nineteen.  It was difficult to believe she was older than Charlotte herself, with two adult children and a third on the verge of graduation.  And it said something about Felicity, Charlotte had always thought, that she’d hired surrogates to bear them rather than carry them to term herself or use an exowomb.  They’d never been friends.

“It’s been an interesting few weeks,” she said.  She almost wished she were back on the sphere, trapped on the surface.  “So many people have been so keen to make my acquaintance.”

“You know what it’s like, Darling,” Felicity said.  “No one quite knows what to make of you.”

Charlotte sighed inwardly.  She’d once been a respected aristocratic lady – and yet she’d yearned for something more.  It hadn’t been fair.  She’d spent her early adulthood raising the children and running her husband’s estate and she’d wanted something for herself and … and so she’d stumbled into bed with a war hero.  She knew herself well enough to admit she’d been looking for political advantage, as well as a lover, but … she’d come to like him for himself before her husband had discovered the affair.  The bastard wouldn’t have given a damn, she thought, if it hadn’t been so public.  High Society liked to pretend everything was just perfect, no matter the truth.  It turned blind eyes to tears and bruises and …

She sighed, again.  She’d had hopes and dreams of building a political career for her lover, Mitch.  But he’d died, leaving her alone.  The Powers That Be had thought she was done.  They’d sent her into de facto exile on Endeavour in hopes she’d take the hint and never come home – or, at least, that she’d be forgotten by the time she finally returned to Earth.  And then … her lips twitched, despite herself.  She’d done well for herself.  She’d discovered the Dyson Spheres!

More accurately, I was on the ship that discovered them, Charlotte thought.  And they can’t get rid of me now.

She felt her smile widen as her eyes swept the room.  There were dozens of men and women, the great and the good, the very flower of nobility … and none of them, absolutely none, knew how to treat her.  Should they shun her, as the woman who’d lacked the sense to keep her affair out of the public eye?  Or should they bow and scrape to her, as the woman who’d been tossed into a dung heap and come out clutching diamonds and rubies?  The thought amused her.  They’d given her the post as a way of getting rid of her and, now, they couldn’t take it away.  Not easily.  

“It’s been a long time,” Felicity said.  “Do you know who’s in and who’s out?”

She babbled on, detailing the lives and times of the aristocracy.  Charlotte tried not to look too bored.  Two years ago, she would have lapped up every last detail, from the hints Lord Lomond’s daughter was dating a commoner with rare potential to the rumours about Lady Wellstone’s last will and testament, but now it was just boring.  She’d been on a shuttle that had been shot out of the sky and crash-landed on a Dyson Sphere, then forced to march for days before reaching safety … she looked at the young men and wondered how many of them had done anything so dangerous.  They were meant to win their spurs – her former husband had put his naval career ahead of everything, including his wife and children – but she doubted they’d spent much time in uniform.  They just didn’t have the air.

“And Lord Drummond’s brat was caught looking up Lady Caria’s dress,” Felicity finished.  “It was quite a scandal.”

“I’m sure it was,” Charlotte said.  The gossips would be gossiping for years, long after everyone involved had put it behind them.  “Silly little bitch.”

Felicity eyed her, disapprovingly.  “Some girls need the firm hand of a mother to keep them in line.”

Charlotte felt her temper flare.  She hadn’t asked to have minimal contact with her daughters … she gritted her teeth, keeping her emotions under tight control.  Her daughters had sided with their father and … she’d sent messages and they’d exchanged brief and achingly polite conversations, but it hadn’t been the same.  It hurt, to think of all the time she’d spent with them while their father had been on deployment … she felt tears prickling in her eyes and hastily blinked them away.  She hadn’t done them any favours when she’d sent them to school.  They’d been mocked and bullied for being her kids from the moment the news broke.

She raised her eyes, looking around the room again.  They were … peacocks.  Nothing more than peacocks.  Men and women strutting around, showing off their expensive garb and even more expensive cosmetic adjustments, pretending they were important.  They wouldn’t have needed to pretend if they actually were, no matter if they could trace their bloodline all the way back to William the Conqueror or Henry II or even Edward the Confessor.  The real work was done by aristocrats like her former husband or the PM or …

“Charlotte?”  Felicity sounded amused, rather than concerned.  “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Charlotte said.  She was vaguely aware Felicity had been talking, but she couldn’t remember a single word.  “Tell me, do you really think that constantly rejuvenating your looks will keep your husband from straying?”

Felicity gaped.  She couldn’t have looked more shocked if Charlotte had drawn back her hand and slapped her.  “Well, I never …”

“Think?”  Charlotte was no longer in any mood for games.  “No.  Probably not.”

She turned and strode away, heading for the balcony.  It had been closed and shuttered, the last time she’d visited the hall, but now it was open, letting the guests stand in the warm summer air and stare at the lights of London.  The estate was small, compared to the one she’d thrown away, yet it was close enough to the city for the land to be worth billions … or it had, before the war.  Now … she wasn’t so sure.  The city could easily have turned into a death trap if the virus had gotten loose.  Perhaps it was worth seeing how far property prices had fallen … no.  It wasn’t worth the effort.  She didn’t have the money to purchase a house anywhere within fifty miles of the city.

Her heart sank.  Felicity would be telling everyone who mattered how rude Charlotte had been and then … somehow, Charlotte found it hard to care.  It wasn’t her world any longer.  It was just … she shook her head, half-wishing she’d had the insight before her lover had met his end.  It might have changed things, for better or worse …

A servant materialised behind her, a young man wearing a perfectly tailored suit.  “My Lady,” he said.  “His Lordship would like to see you in the Green Room.”

Probably to kick me out personally, Charlotte thought.  Nothing spread faster than dreadful rumours.  Felicity had probably started spreading the story the moment Charlotte had left her behind.  And then …

She shrugged, dismissing the concerns.  “I’m coming,” she told the boy.  He really was a boy, to her.  She wondered if he was old enough to vote.  “Lead the way.”

The servant turned and led her through a half-concealed door, then down a long corridor that was surprisingly empty – and bare.  A servant passageway, she guessed, and wondered if leading her down the passage was a subtle insult.  She was no servant … she frowned inwardly as she realised it would also keep her out of sight, ensuring the general public didn’t know she was walking though the walls.  It felt odd, suddenly, to realise just how many meetings she’d arranged, back when she’d been the Lady of Hammond Hall.  She almost missed it …

No, she told herself, firmly.  That part of your life is over.

She calmed herself with an effort.  She was no longer the purebred lady who’d married into great wealth and power.  She was someone who had built a life for herself.  It might not be the best life, and she had to count her pennies very carefully, but it was hers.  It could be worse.  She’d heard horror stories about far too many lords and ladies who lived lives of quiet desperation – if they were lucky.  It really could be a great deal worse.

The servant opened the door, then stepped aside.  Charlotte walked in and blinked in surprise as she saw the man on the far side of the room.  The Prime Minister … funny, she’d never thought he’d attend one of these parties.  He was genuinely important, which was more than could be said for most of the guests.  But then, she knew from her old life just how much business was conducted in private rooms while the rest of the guests ate, drank and danced the night away.  The PM’s presence shouldn’t really have been a surprise.

“Lady Charlotte,” the PM said, standing.  He took the hand she extended and kissed the air just above her skin.  “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said.  She was almost sure the PM was lying.  The grand plan to send her into exile had failed spectacularly, leaving her with enough celebrity to make removing her a very difficult task.  “What can I do for you?”

The PM looked oddly relieved to get straight down to business.  Charlotte wondered just how many others he intended to meet, before the party finally came to an end.  There were quite a few possible candidates, including several who were technically on the other side of the House and therefore couldn’t be invited to Ten Downing Street without the media asking pointed questions.  She suspected the PM’s position was actually weaker than it looked.  It was fairly common for a war-winning PM to be voted out of office at the next election – or earlier, if the backbenchers felt he needed to be removed before they fought and lost the election itself.  

“We’re putting together a multinational force to return to Dyson,” the PM said shortly, as if Charlotte hadn’t already heard the news.  Perhaps he thought she hadn’t.  She’d lost touch with most of her sources and hadn’t had the time to replace them.  The few that had remained, however, had been enough to keep her informed.  “You’ll be returning as Ambassador, although you will have a staff – as before – and we don’t know who you’ll be talking to.”

Charlotte nodded, curtly.  She’d expected as much.  She could have turned down the mission, if she’d wished, but it would have cost her everything.  Not that she would have tried, even if she’d thought it was a valid option.  The only hope of building up a new career for herself lay in going back to the spheres and … and what?  Making contact with human settlements that had been isolated for years?  Meeting the Builders themselves?  She wondered, suddenly, just how many of the scenarios she’d seen came close to reality.

A super-advanced entity should be capable of empathizing with ants, she thought numbly.  We can empathise with them.  But that doesn’t stop us putting down poison when the ants get too annoying.

“You will also have a certain responsibility for smoothing over clashes between different nationalities,” the PM continued.  “So far, nine different nations have agreed to contribute warships to the MNF.  There may be others – or others sending their own ships.  It will be an extremely complex diplomatic environment, so learn to rely on your staff.”

Charlotte smiled.  “You mean, let them do most of the work.”

“It serves a useful purpose,” the PM said.  “If a junior official makes a mistake, his seniors can override him.  If the seniors make a mistake, it could plunge the country into war.”

“Charming,” Charlotte said.  She knew what he wasn’t saying.  If she screwed up, she’d be disowned and thrown to the wolves.  Or the media … on the whole, she’d prefer the wolves.  “Will I be in overall command?”

“No,” the PM said.  “Admiral Dismukes – an American – will serve as mission commander.  You’ll be the senior diplomat.  Ideally, the military officers will be able to resolve everything without your assistance, but …”

“They know what is at stake,” Charlotte said.  In her experience, military officers tended to be realists.  They knew better than to let themselves get distracted with flights of fancy.  “And they can work out the details as they go along.”

“Quite,” the PM said.  “You’ll get your formal briefing tomorrow – and the chance to request specific personnel, if you wish them – before departure.  Ideally, you’ll be leaving for Endeavour three days from now, although that may slip.  You’ll have your chance to meet with the monarch prior to departure, to receive his blessing.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows.  It was customary for senior ambassadors to meet with the king before they left, although that courtesy had been denied to her when she’d left for Endeavour the first time.  She wondered if it was a sign her star was rising again or, more likely, a grim awareness the human race would be wise to avoid alienating the Builders … if they showed themselves.  Charlotte had heard all the debates – the Builders were dead and gone, the Builders were watching from a safe distance – and she was firmly agnostic on the question.  There was just no way to be sure.

They didn’t intervene when their automated defences blew us out of the sky, she thought, coldly.  But given the sheer size of the Dyson Sphere, they might not have noticed.  It would be like us trying to spot a shuttle crash on Mars.

“I look forward to it,” she said, finally.  “Do you think anyone would mind if I left the party early?”

“Probably not,” the PM said.  They shared a smile.  “Personally, I’d advise you to get an early night.  Tomorrow is going to be very busy.”

Charlotte nodded.  Military and diplomatic briefers tended to either hand out infodump after infodump, which was difficult to follow, or dumb complicated matters down to the point they became worryingly simplistic.  It was easy to suspect they were slanted to push the decision-makers into making a particular decision, the one their briefers wanted them to make.  She sighed inwardly as she stood, silently congratulating herself for reading around the topics as much as possible.  If she was any judge, knowing more about the context would ensure it was harder for her to be manipulated by someone who thought she was painfully ignorant.  

And we’ll be months in transit unless the navy invented a whole new FTL drive, she thought, wryly.  There’ll be plenty of time to read everything in the datacores.

The thought bothered her.  She wasn’t an expert in naval technology, but she knew enough to be aware of just how wide the gulf between the Royal Navy and the Builders truly was.  The simple fact they’d built a working Dyson Sphere with a curved gravity field stood in mute testament to their technological skill.  She shuddered to think what would happen if the gravity field failed.  The sphere’s surface had felt just like a regular planet, but if the gravity vanished … she didn’t want to think about it.  The entire population might die and … she didn’t even know how many people lived on the sphere.  She’d seen the estimates.  Some of them were almost impossibly high.

“Good luck,” the PM said.  “I’ll see you before you depart.”

Charlotte nodded, then left the room and made her way back down to the dance floor.  It felt … darker somehow, although the lighting hadn’t dimmed.  She stared for a long moment, drinking in the scene as young men and women moved across the floor, then turned away and headed down to the door.  The staff would bring the car around as soon as they saw her.  

“You don’t have to leave so soon,” a voice said.  “You can stay.”

Charlotte turned to see someone she vaguely remembered.  She normally had a good memory for names and faces, but this one … she couldn’t place him.  Nor did she have time to poke at her memories and recall where she’d seen him.  He was too young – she would put him at eighteen and that was being generous – to have made an impression.  Even if he’d inherited while young, he’d have a guardian looking after his interests until he reached his majority.

“Lucy misses you,” the young man said.  “Will you call her?”

“Lucille,” Charlotte corrected, coldly.  Now she remembered him … a young man who’d invited her daughter to a ball.  She couldn’t recall what had happened, but clearly the two had stayed in touch.  “It’s none of your business.”

“She’s your daughter,” he said.  There was an odd insistence in his voice that irked her.  “Call Lucy.  Before it’s too late.”

Charlotte swallowed the angry response that came to mind.  It was none of his business.

“I will,” she said, unsure if she was promising him or herself.  She owed it to her daughters to call them before she left, or go see them if they were willing.  “But right now I have other things to do.”

And, with that, she headed down the steps to the car.
	
Chapter Four: HMS Endeavour, Sol System

“We are now making our final approach to HMS Endeavour,” the pilot said, over the intercom.  “Please place all your tray tables in locked position, stop flirting with the stewardess and prepare to disembark through the airlock.  If you’re very lucky, it might even be connected to the ship.”

Staci snorted.  Pilot humour was basic, at best.  She didn’t blame them.  Military shuttle pilots might find themselves on routine supply runs one day and flying straight into enemy fire the next.  Thanks to the virus, the gap between military and civilian life had thinned to the point a situation could go from peaceful to screaming terror in the blink of an eye.  The world was supposed to be returning to normal now, but it would be a long time before the last caches of the alien virus were eradicated or rendered harmless.  They dared not drop their guard.

And it’s only a matter of time before someone starts experimenting with the virus, trying to turn it into a bioweapon, she thought.  It might have started life as a bioweapon.

The shuttle shook once, the gravity field flickering slightly as it matched and merged with Endeavour’s.  Staci took a long breath as the engine hum faded away, then stood and made her way to the airlock.  There weren’t many crewmen heading back to Endeavour – her crew had been recalled two days ago, once the new mission orders had been cut – and the handful who were stood aside to allow her to pass.  Staci braced herself as she stepped through the airlock, sensing the familiarity in the air.  Endeavour was her ship.  An armed marine stepped forward, pressed a bioscanner against her arm, then saluted and waved her through the checkpoint.  Staci returned the salute, then saluted the colours.  It felt as if she’d come home.

“Captain,” Commander Mike Jenner said.  Her XO was standing just past the airlock, waiting.  “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” Staci said.  She felt a twinge of guilt.  Jenner had had his shore leave, while she’d been enduring endless debriefing sessions, but he’d still had to return to the ship early to supervise the refit.  “I trust everything went well?”

“Well enough,” Jenner assured her.  He fell into step beside her as she headed to her ready room.  “Certainly, nothing happened to delay our departure.”

Staci nodded, allowing herself a moment of relief.  She liked being captain of her ship, mistress under God, and being so close to the Admiralty meant she could be overruled at any moment.  Her orders could be changed, her crew could be reassigned … it wasn’t as chaotic as it had been during the war, with the navy struggling to patch up leaks while fighting engagements on multiple fronts, but it was still a nightmare.  She wouldn’t feel totally secure in the men and machines under her command until they were on their way, leaving the Admiralty far behind.  For all she knew, half her crew would be recalled and assigned to a new ship before she left.

But this mission is important, she told herself.  They’re not going to make changes now.

She put the thought aside as she led the way into her ready room and looked around.  It hadn’t changed much, save for the sofa being converted into a bed and a small dresser placed beside it.  Her lips twitched in wry amusement.  She’d spent most of her career on small ships and had few qualms about converting her ready room into a makeshift cabin, even though it was smaller than a lieutenant’s quarters.  Her old cabin had been assigned to the admiral … she wondered, idly, if he’d bitch and moan about having to sleep in such confined chambers.  She could name a dozen commanding officers – and admirals – who’d spent their careers on battleships and carriers and would be horrified if their quarters were anything less than palatial …

Too bad, she thought.  If they wanted bigger quarters, they should have assigned a passenger liner to the fleet.

“I’ve been using the ready room as an office,” Jenner said, indicating the desk.  It was covered in datapads, terminals, and a pair of coffee mugs.  “I’ll have everything moved out shortly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Staci said.  Her XO hadn’t had much choice.  “We probably won’t have a good opportunity to sort things out until we’re underway.”

Jenner nodded.  “Coffee?”

“Please,” Staci said.  She’d spent most of the morning being briefed on everything from joint operational planning to the weird and wonderful theories about the spheres put forward by commenters who appeared to be a strange mix of reasonable scientists and cranks.  It was hard to escape the impression no one really knew what they were talking about – and, perhaps more importantly, that none of them had read the briefing papers.  “Milk, no sugar.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jenner said.  “How was your leave?”

Staci shrugged.  “It was fine,” she said.  “But I had to stay in London.  It was … unfortunate.”

“The city isn’t what it used to be,” Jenner agreed.  He passed her a mug of coffee, then sat in the visitor’s chair.  “Did you at least get a chance to check out the sights?”

“Not really.”  Staci took her seat and looked at the small mountain of datapads.  “I laid a wreath at the Cenotaph, but little else.”

She took a moment to gather herself.  “Hit me,” she said.  “What’s the bad news?”

Jenner smiled, rather humourlessly.  “We are going to be embarking a lot of passengers,” he said.  “Admiral Dismukes and his staff, Ambassador Hammond and her staff … a few dozen scientists and researchers and even a handful of reporters, the latter of whom we need to keep sweet to ensure the navy continues to be funded … in short, we’re going to be crammed to the gunwales.  We’ve pulled out a considerable amount of survey gear we’re unlikely to need” – he grimaced – “and replaced it with more living quarters, but we’re going to be living in each others’ pockets until we set up habitats in the Dyson System itself.”

Staci scowled.  “There’s no way to be sure we won’t need the survey gear.”

“No, Captain,” Jenner said.  “On the plus side, the squadron will include a pair of repurposed planetary survey ships.  They can take up the slack, as long as nothing goes spectacularly wrong.  I’ve drawn up contingency plans for shifting duties to the other ships, if we need them.  On paper, they should work.”

“On paper,” Staci said.  The various space navies had learnt how to work together over the past decades – the interstellar wars had left them with no choice – but there were always disagreements that could easily turn into friction, or a shooting war, if the diplomats didn’t manage to paper over the cracks in time.  “In practice?”

“We’ll have to put them into action to find out,” Jenner said.  He didn’t sound remotely pleased.  “My staff has prepared a series of drills for us, when we’re underway.  I imagine the admiral will have no objection to working out the kinks in our arrangements, before we actually fly into danger.  God alone knows what may be lurking within the spheres.”

Staci nodded, slowly.  Dyson Two was unimaginably huge.  It was difficult to comprehend just how many people could live on the sphere, let alone just how much land surface there was.  The first mission to the sphere had barely scratched the surface.  There could be billions upon billions of people on the sphere, entire settlements of hyper-advanced aliens that had gone completely unnoticed.  She doubted it – she agreed with the researchers who thought the sphere had been deliberately designed to limit technological growth – but she had to admit it was possible.  The Builders were powerful, yet they weren’t gods.  The ruins of Dyson One bore mute testament to their limits.

And we have no idea how many people died when the sphere came apart, she thought, numbly.  The boffins had tried to calculate the answer, only to draw a blank.  The numbers were as unimaginably huge as the sphere itself.  There are too many questions and not enough answers.

Jenner leaned forward.  “The crew has been briefed on both diplomatic and first contact protocols,” he said.  “The admiral and his staff are military personnel and I don’t anticipate any problems with them; the ambassador and the remainder of the contact and research teams are quite another story.  With your permission, I’d like to assign a handful of junior officers to serve as escorts, when they step outside their quarters.  The last thing we need is an ambassador accidentally walking through an airlock and being ejected into interplanetary space.”

“True,” Staci agreed.  Space was an incredibly harsh and unforgiving environment.  Spacers understood the risks, and did what they could to minimise them, but groundhogs needed to learn fast before they got themselves hurt or killed.  She made a mental note to insist on reviewing safety and security procedures, before something really went wrong.  A dead ambassador would look bloody awkward on the official record.  “Make sure the youngsters are properly briefed too.  I don’t want anyone taking advantage of them.”

“Got it.”  Jenner made a face.  “I’ll see to it personally.”

Staci nodded.  She hadn’t met many diplomats, but she’d heard horror stories.  “Make sure you keep a stern eye on the midshipmen,” she said.  “And that they know they can come to you with any problems.”

“It’s hard for juniors to make that call,” Jenner said.  “But I’ll do my best to make it clear.”

“Reassure them I’ll have their back,” Staci said.  Endeavour had a brig.  If a diplomat molested one of her crew, the bastard would spend the rest of the voyage in irons.  It was a pity she couldn’t put him on a strict bread and water diet … she put that thought aside before it had time to take root.  “Otherwise, we’ll just have to hope for the best.”

She leaned back in her chair.  “Are there any other points of concern?”

Jenner met her eyes.  “We’ve installed a modified fleet control system,” he said.  “It should – on paper, again – suffice to allow the admiral to effectively command the squadron.  In practice, we don’t know.  Endeavour was never designed as a command vessel and very few of our communications and datanet links come up to current standards.  It’s impossible to be sure, Captain, but my general feeling is that the network will come apart at the seams very quickly if we find ourselves under attack.  There simply isn’t enough redundancy in the command datanet.  We can compensate for some weaknesses, but it will be all too easy for anyone to pick us out as the command ship.”

“And then mark us as the priority target,” Staci finished.  It was a simple – and effective – tactic.  Regular fleet command vessels were designed to blend in with their peers.  Endeavour was far too large to be overlooked.  “We need secondary and tertiary command networks.”

“I suspect the remainder of the squadron will have similar problems,” Jenner said.  “Captain, with all due respect, this is a mission calling for a carrier and her escorts, not a survey ship and a handful of smaller or civilian vessels.”

“The Admiralty is deeply concerned about looking threatening, if the Builders are watching,” Staci said.  She’d made much the same argument herself – and she knew she wasn’t alone.  “They might respond badly if a fleet of overt warships enters their system and given their power, the last thing we want to do is piss them off.  No one wants to get into a fight with a civilisation that might be able to make the Sun go nova.”

Jenner raised his eyebrows.  “Is that even possible?”

“Theoretically,” Staci said.  She’d read the briefing notes very carefully.  “We know their gravity-manipulation technology is light years ahead of ours.  They might be able to start a chain reaction within a star that would lead to an explosion.  Or open a planet-sized wormhole and transport Earth to the other side of the universe.  Or simply twist space-time into a knot and knock our homeworld out of orbit.  They are so advanced we may not be able to comprehend what they could do to us, if they wished.”

She frowned, recalling the wilder briefing notes.  It had been like trying to account for magic and in a sense, that was exactly what they were doing.  The Builders had technology so advanced it might as well be magic.  Her briefers had pointed out that Alexander the Great or Napoleon would have had trouble accepting aircraft and nuclear weapons, while Churchill or Petraeus could have barely imagined the promise of space-based weapons and interstellar warships.  They would have had problems accepting even the most basic of such weapons, let alone understanding how they might be deployed.  They’d certainly have had problems adjusting their tactics to counter them.

If that is even possible, she thought.  How long would Napoleon’s Grand Army be able to stand against the original Royal Tank Regiment?

“The point remains, there may be other threats,” Jenner pointed out.  “How long until our alien allies start sending ships of their own?”

“Not long, I suspect.”  Staci shook her head.  “The politicians have made their decision.  We will do our best to look as harmless as possible, at least until we are sure the Builders are dead and gone.  They might prefer to leave the spheres completely alone, just to be certain we don’t provoke a super-race, but that isn’t going to be possible.”

“We’ve already jumped inside the sphere once,” Jenner said.  “The Builders might have noticed us.”

“Yeah,” Staci said.  “We simply don’t know.”

She stared down at her hands.  The spheres were clear proof of technology light years ahead of anything humanity had ever turned into reality.  She’d read briefing papers from researchers who were still in denial, insisting that the spheres were either impossible or impractical and that they simply couldn’t exist.  Their arguments made a certain kind of sense, she had to admit, but the spheres were clear proof the Builders disagreed.  She wondered, not for the first time, why they’d bothered.  Had they merely wanted to see if they could build a working sphere?

“There’s one thing in our favour,” Jenner said.  “Dyson One is in ruins.  If the Builders had been there, supervising, why didn’t they try to save it?  It might be proof they’re no longer with us.”

“It might,” Staci agreed.  “Of course, we have no idea what it takes to save a Dyson Sphere from coming apart.  We don’t even know what happened to the sphere.  Was it attacked?  Or was it a terrible accident?  Or … or what?”

She shook her head.  “The Admiralty might be putting together a covering force, perhaps stationed in a nearby system, but even that is uncertain.  For the moment, the squadron will be alone – and far from help.  Even if we do extend the flicker network all the way to the sphere, it’ll be a long time before anyone can get a relief mission out to us.  We have to plan on the assumption we’ll be alone.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Staci smiled.  It was terrifying, true, but also exciting.  Whatever happened, when they reached the spheres, they were going to be the first to see it.  “Do you have any other points of concern?”

“Not as yet,” Jenner assured her.  “We should make our departure deadline with time to spare.  I’d like to run a few more emergency drills when the remainder of our passengers are embarked, but I’m not sure we’ll have time.”

He paused.  “One minor issue.  We’re going to have a lot of foreign military personnel on this ship.  It’ll be a security nightmare.”

Staci couldn’t disagree.  Endeavour herself was hardly new – none of the other spacefaring nations would have any trouble duplicating her – but there were quite a few pieces of classified technology and information onboard.  Keeping the secure datacores secure was going to be a headache, no matter what they did.  She wasn’t naive enough to think their passengers wouldn’t try to ferret out British secrets, even though the stakes were terrifyingly high.  The Great Powers might be locked in an uneasy alliance, but they were still rivals and anyone who fell too far behind might not be able to recover before it was too late.

“We’ll just have to cope,” she said.  “Disconnect the primary secure datacore from the datanet and keep it isolated, then purge the secondary datacore so we can use it for sensor records.  We should have a replacement command datacore in storage, just in case the primary unit gets compromised at some point.  Beyond that, there’s limits to what we can do without starting a diplomatic incident.”

Jenner chuckled.  “What a strange world we live in, where taking reasonable precautions would start an international crisis.”

“It is,” Staci agreed.  She keyed her terminal, bringing up the scans of the Dyson Spheres.  It was difficult, almost impossible, to wrap her head around the sheer scale of the megastructures.  She’d thought the navy’s construction yards were big, but the spheres made them look tiny.  It was easy, suddenly, to understand why some researchers still insisted the spheres couldn’t possibly exist.  “But we just have to cope.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jenner said.  They studied the image in silence for a long moment.  “Do you think the Builders are still around?”

“I don’t know,” Staci said.  “They were so advanced – realistically, they should have spread through the entire galaxy before the human race evolved.  It’s hard to imagine anything capable of wiping them out.  We should have found far more traces of their existence and yet … we found almost nothing, until now.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jenner smiled, then sobered.  “And if they do turn out to be hostile?”

Staci frowned.  “There’s no reason to think they might be overtly hostile,” she said.  “But they’re giants.  They could step on us by accident and never realise it.”

She paused.  “But Dyson One is in ruins,” she added.  “If nothing else, it is proof they are far from infallible – or all-powerful.”

Her lips quirked.  “Good news for us, don’t you think?”
	
Chapter Five: HMS Endeavour, Sol System

It was a long-standing naval tradition, Captain Colin Lancaster had been taught from the start of his career, that the Royal Marine contingent was effectively separated from the rest of the starship’s crew.  The marines were hardly discouraged from forming friendships – even romantic relationships – with outsiders, but there was always a gulf between the naval crew and the marines that was rarely, if ever, crossed.  Marine Country was an island in the sea of naval activity, a de jure autonomous region within a country … an irony, he thought, given that the Troubles had been caused by de facto autonomous regions and ended by the regions being ruthlessly broken up and scattered.  It served a purpose, he’d been assured, but it also had its limits.  It was often hard for the contingents to understand each other.

He kept his face under tight control as the Royal Marines assembled in the briefing compartment.  Endeavour had never been a front-line warship and her Marine Country was little more than a handful of compartments, compartments that had seemed too cramped even before the return from Dyson Two.  Now … with five new platoons assigned to the ship, the compartments were almost absurdly cramped.  Colin had put in a request to have Marine Country expanded – it was only a matter of switching out some compartments and replacing them – but it had been denied.  Endeavour was going to be playing host to hundreds of officers, diplomats, staffers and researchers and the marines were just going to have to cope.  Colin wondered, as his eyes passed over the assembled men, if it was even possible.  The marines were used to tight spaces, and hot-bunking, but there were limits.

And if we’re having problems, he reflected, the rest of the ship will be even worse.

He clasped his hands behind his back as the last of the marines trickled into the compartment.  His promotion had been something of a surprise and he suspected there’d been a great deal of high-level arguing before his superiors had quietly agreed to overlook his decision to introduce new technology to a primitive culture, but it had come with a price.  He’d expected to be reassigned to a whole new unit, to take up command of a company that hadn’t known him as a bootneck or a junior officer.  Instead, he’d been left on Endeavour and put in command of a makeshift company.  It was … odd.

But then, there aren’t many officers who’ve crash-landed on a Dyson Sphere and lived to tell the tale, he thought.  That’s the sort of experience money just can’t buy.

“Attention,” Sergeant Ben Burris said.

Colin stepped forward, feeling eyes fixed on him.  He felt out of his depth.  He’d been in the Royal Marines for nearly five years and he knew he wouldn’t have been promoted so fast if his superiors hadn’t been so desperate.  His first CO had a breadth of service that made Colin’s look non-existent, save for his unwanted sojourn on the Dyson Sphere.  Privately, he wondered if Burris and the other NCOs had orders to keep a close eye on him, advise when possible and remove him from command if he spectacularly fucked up.  It was quite possible.  Burris had been in the Royal Marines for over a decade.  He’d forgotten more than Colin had ever known.

“I’ll make this quick,” he said.  He’d always disliked superior officers who wanked to the sound of their own voices and he had no intention of acting like them.  “Those of you I know, welcome back.  I hope you had a good leave.  Those of you who are new, welcome to the company.  We’ve been thrown together at short notice, and most of us don’t know each other, but it’s a long voyage to the Dyson System and we’ll spend most of it drilling and drilling until we know what we’re doing.  If you haven’t read the briefing notes on the sphere, be sure and do it as soon as possible.  We will be escorting researchers to the surface when we jump into the sphere.”

Colin paused, choosing his next words carefully.  It was hard to describe the sphere’s interior to men who’d never seen it, even if they had read the briefing notes and studied the recordings from the first mission.  It was like trying to explain colour to a man born blind.  He’d spent hours trying to determine a way to prepare them, only to draw a complete blank.  Some things could only be learnt through experience.

“If you have seen alien environments, forget them,” he said.  “The sphere isn’t anything like as alien as Tadpole Prime, or an infected world.  It is … disconcerting.  The landscape appears as flat as any regular planet, if you are standing on the ground and unable to see the curves, but there is something about it that is subtly wrong.  You will either adapt very quickly, your mind convincing you that you’re on a planet, or find it impossible to adjust to the environment.  It will not be easy to cope.”

His words hung in the air for a long moment, then he went on.  “We will attempt to avoid contact with the natives, at least at first.  If that proves impossible, we will attempt to be diplomatic while withdrawing.  Our previous mission had an impact on the locals – literally – and we don’t know how far word of our presence, and innovations, might have spread.  We have to be careful.  The bigger the impact we make on the surface, the greater the chance we’ll draw attention from the Builders.  If they’re still around …”

He let the words trail off.  They didn’t understand.  How could they, when they hadn’t seen the sphere with their own eyes?  The recordings might as well have been faked in a studio and broadcast to the world, for all the emotional impact they’d had.  There was no way to get across the sheer immensity of the spheres, or the sheer power of the species that had disassembled dozens of planets for the raw material to build them.  Colin had grown up in a rough area, and he was all too aware that some people were just too tough to be fought, but … the gulf between Earth and the Builders was impossibly wide.  It was the difference between thinking about being punched in the face and actually being hit.  You didn’t understand it until it happened.

“We’ll be going through the files time and time again, to get you as prepared as possible,” he finished.  “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” someone said.  “I heard the women on the sphere are gagging for it.”

“That will do,” Burris snapped.  

Colin – somehow – kept from laughing.  “They seem very interested in genetic diversity,” he said, curtly.  It made a certain degree of sense.  Inbreeding was a very real threat, even with modern genetic modification technology, and if you lived in a relatively closed community with few members it made sense to try to bring in outside genes.  “They are also a matriarchal society, at least in the region we visited.  The sphere is so big there could be a hundred different kinds of society, all convinced they’re the only game in town.  And yes, when I was in the village, the women did try to seduce me.”

He scowled.  “That said, we will be keeping our distance until we know more about what’s really going on.  We have no idea why the Builders took humans from primal Earth and seeded them on the sphere, we have no idea if humans are the only species on the surface, we have no idea” – he grinned – “as you can tell, we don’t know a lot and half of what we do know is little better than educated guesswork.  We have to be careful.  We don’t know, either, if the Builders are still watching.  They may react badly to the innovations we introduced during our last visit.”

The words seemed to catch their attention.  “Once we’re underway, we will be exercising constantly to ready for the coming mission.  We will be going through all the files and practicing the local language, just in case we have to deal with the locals.  We will also be providing security for the command and diplomatic personnel, preparing for the day we make contact with the Builders.  It may happen.  It may not.”

He paused, again.  Did he sound too formal?  Did it matter?  “Sergeant Burris has your assignments,” he said.  “I want 1st Platoon to report back here at 1700.  The rest of you, take your lead from the sergeant.  Dismissed!”

The men turned and hurried out of the compartment.  Colin watched them go, wondering how he’d done.  Had he come across as a father to his men, or an officer who loved to hear himself talk?  It would be better, he was sure, to assign a more experienced officer to take command, even though he wouldn’t understand the sphere.  Colin would have been satisfied to remain a small-unit leader, although it might put an end to his career.  He wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to stay on active duty indefinitely.  The war was over.  Hundreds of thousands of officers and men were already being demobilised.  It was just a matter of time before the beancounters started wondering if they could afford to get rid of Colin too.

He sighed, inwardly.  There were nearly a hundred men under his command now.  He was responsible for each and every one of them.  If he fucked up, they’d be injured or killed or infected.  He didn’t want to think about the latter, but he knew it was a possibility.  No one knew where the virus had come from, or what else might be waiting in the darkness.  And if he got his men killed …

Don’t think about it, he told himself.  Concentrate on keeping them alive.

***

“I’m surprised they let us keep our cabin,” Tobias said.  Technically, the cabin was for one person and one person only, but they’d managed to share the space on the return voyage and – so far –hadn’t been told to leave.  “Do you think they’re just waiting for us to get comfortable before they kick us out?”

Marigold Harkness shrugged as she unpacked her carryall and stuffed her clothes and supplies into the locker.  “They might think the space is too small for a high and mighty diplomat,” she said.  “Or that we’re attached to the staff now.”

“Or they just forgot about us,” Tobias countered.  He was used to people forgetting about him.  He was surprised the navy hadn’t fired his ass – discharged him – years ago, after the battle that had ended the war.  He’d been a good gunboat pilot, and then a shuttle pilot, but he was hardly the only one.  And he’d never made any pretence of being a naval lifer.  If it hadn’t been for conscription, he’d never have served.  “They’ll probably walk into the cabin tomorrow and act all surprised when they see us.”

Marigold made a rude gesture.  “Then don’t unpack your kit,” she said.  “You won’t want to waste time if they do kick us out.”

Tobias sighed, then sat on the bed.  It was only just large enough for both of them – and technically, they were bending regulations into a pretzel.  Technically.  Survey crews had a certain amount of latitude – their missions normally lasted years – but there were limits and sharing a single-bed compartment was pushing things as far as they would go.  And yet … he wondered, again, why he hadn’t been discharged by now.  There weren’t many shuttle pilots who could say they’d crashed on a Dyson Sphere …

Perhaps that’s the reason, he reflected.  They want to make use of my experience.

He sighed, again.  He hadn’t meant to crash-land.  If the alien defence platform hadn’t opened fire as soon as they’d entered the atmosphere, the shuttle would have landed and then taken off again without any problems at all.  Instead … he shuddered, remembering the time he’d thought they would be stuck on the ground permanently.  If they hadn’t been able to get back to orbit …

“We’ll see,” he said.  He wasn’t looking forward to flying around the sphere again.  It was impossible to know just what would draw attention from the Builders, or their automated servants.  They’d ignored human movements that should have drawn a response and overreacted to others.  It felt like playing an old computer game, one where the AI was barely capable of doing more than reacting to the human player.  “What’s on the mission sheet for tomorrow?”

Marigold passed him a datapad.  Tobias skimmed it.  Endeavour was going to be carrying dozens, perhaps hundreds, of researchers and the shuttle pilots had to bring them from the planet to the starship.  He wondered, idly, who’d put together the flight roster.  They were going to be flying nearly constantly for the next three or four days, travelling back and forth … hell, they weren’t going to be alone.  There’d be quite a few shuttles making the trip to Endeavour, from all over the globe.  The ship was going to be very cramped by the time they left orbit and headed for the tramline.  

“Tomorrow will be a very busy day,” he said.  “What happened to our shore leave?”

“We just had it,” Marigold reminded him, a deadpan look on her face.  “Didn’t you see your mother and sister?”

Tobias scowled.  It felt weird to be famous, as one of the very few humans who’d set foot on Dyson Two and lived to tell the tale.  The reporters had apparently accosted his mother and then his sister, demanding background information they hadn’t been inclined to share.  His old headmaster, by contrast, had provided all sorts of titbits that had effectively been made up of whole cloth, from exaggerated claims about Tobias’s educational achievements to misleading statements that pushed the limits as far as they would go without becoming either blatant lies or slander.  Tobias had to admit the bastard had done a good job of claiming the credit without ever quite claiming it … hell, he’d twisted the facts to make the school look good, something Tobias had thought impossible.  The happiest day of his life had been when he’d walked out the door and left school behind.  

“And then we went to see my family,” Marigold added.  “Don’t you remember?”

“Your family is nicer than mine,” Tobias said, although it wasn’t entirely true.  His mother wasn’t a bad sort – there were worse mothers– and his sister was lovely.  It was just … he shook his head.  It felt wrong to be lionised by people who’d pretended he didn’t exist, if they’d known he existed at all.  It felt as if the other penny was going to drop at any second.  “They’re trying to get Mum to write my biography.”

“Ouch,” Marigold teased.  “They’ll find someone else to talk about soon enough.”

“Probably,” Tobias agreed.  He had no intention of permanently returning home.  Their plan to live in the Belt, or on a distant colony, had merely been delayed, not cancelled.  There was no way in hell he’d return home permanently.  Or honour the headmaster’s request that he grace the school with his presence long enough to impress anyone.  He doubted the headmaster would let him speak freely.  “I certainly hope so.”

Marigold stood.  Tobias tried not to stare.  She might not be the prettiest girl in the world – she was certainly nothing like the girls he’d admired and hated in equal measure, when he’d been a teenager who’d known he was doomed to live and die alone – but it didn’t matter.  Those girls had never shared his interests – or would never have admitted it, even if they had.  Marigold did.  They played the same games – as allies, as competitors – and flew the same craft.  The idea of losing her was terrifying.  He couldn’t stand the thought of life without her.

“It seems to me that you weren’t going to be famous, back home,” Marigold said.  “Correct?”

Tobias nodded, stiffly.  He hadn’t been a sporty kid, praised beyond all reason for scoring a handful of goals.  He hadn’t been a gorgeous girl, assured of attention as long as she kept her looks.  He hadn’t even been a sneak, sucking up to the headmaster in return for favours … all he’d had, really, was being clever and he hadn’t been clever enough.  He’d hoped to escape the draft, but he’d failed.  It had been sheer luck the military had found something more useful for him than hefting a rifle around the battlefield.  

“No,” he said, finally.  If he’d joined the army, willing or not, he’d just have been another squaddie.  “Not a chance.”

“And you weren’t very popular either,” Marigold added.  “Correct?”

Tobias flushed.  “No.”

“And now they all regret it,” Marigold said.  “You’re famous.  You have clout.  You can go back to school and tell everyone if they work hard, and play computer games, you can accomplish something with your life.  Isn’t that true of Colin too?”

“I suppose.”  Tobias’s feelings for Colin were complicated.  The old bully had grown into a reasonably decent adult, but … there were times when Tobias wondered if he should have taken the shot and blown Colin out of space.  It would have been easy to cover it up afterwards.  There’d been so many missiles and beams flying around it would have looked like a tragic accident, not murder.  “Do you think I should go speak at school?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Marigold said.  “But you could give hope to some poor kid trapped in a nightmare and thinking about killing herself.  I’ve been there.”

“So have I,” Tobias admitted.  He’d been too much of a coward to kill himself.  It was funny how he could be brave while playing a game, or flying a gunboat, but not in real life.  But then, the gunboat was real life.  “I take your point.”

Marigold took the datapad.  “We’d better get some sleep,” she said.  “Tomorrow will be a very busy day indeed.” 
	
Chapter Six: HMS Endeavour, Sol System

Charlotte wished, as she stood in the shuttlebay and watched the American shuttle land neatly on the deck, that there had been time to meet Admiral Dismukes before she’d flown to Endeavour herself.  It would have been ideal to meet him on neutral ground, or in an environment where she held the edge, if only to see what he was like outside his comfort zone.  Endeavour was hardly an American ship, but she was practically identical compared to the private clubs and meeting chambers of London, the natural environment of aristocrats, power brokers and their cronies.  Instead … she put the thought out of her head and leaned forward as the hatch opened.  The Royal Marine guards snapped to attention.

She leaned forward, studying Admiral Dismukes thoughtfully.  The American was strikingly tall, with a neatly trimmed beard and elaborate dress uniform.  Charlotte was no military officer, but she’d spent enough time around military personnel to be fairly sure Admiral Dismukes was a uniformed bureaucrat rather than a fighting officer … although, unless the American system was very different, flag officers spent most of their time in their offices rather than on deployment.  The thought cost her a pang.  Things might have been different if her husband – her ex-husband – had chosen to take the promotion and stay on Earth, rather than insist on remaining on his command deck.  Who knew?  Charlotte would have been happy shepherding his career until he reached the very top.

Bad rolls of the dice are inevitable, she reminded herself sharply.  She’d gambled and lost through bad luck and there was no point in regretting it now.  You just have to roll with them and press on to the bitter end.

She watched as Staci – Captain Templeton – greeted the Admiral, then introduced him to her senior officers and marines.  Charlotte’s ex had always bitched and moaned about having his ship serving as a flagship, with an admiral and his staff occupying the flag deck and peering over the captain’s shoulder, and Charlotte couldn’t imagine it would be any different even if the admiral was a foreigner.  It was not going to be easy to sort out the chain of command, not when there were so many nations involved.  The official chain of command looked simple.  The unofficial chain might be a little more complex.

God help us if we actually do run into trouble, she thought.  She’d spent the week studying the scenarios the analysts had put forward.  They ranged from considered assessments of what might be found within the alien ruins to flights of fancy that were too fanciful to be taken seriously.  She hoped.  What happens if we discover something we don’t want to share?

She put the thought aside as Staci led Admiral Dismukes to her.  “Admiral, Ambassador Hammond.”

Admiral Dismukes held out a hand.  Charlotte shook it politely.  “A pleasure,” the American said.  He had an  accent that suggested he’d spent most of his career in the South, although there were enough hints of other accents to suggest he hadn’t been born and raised there.  If he’d been British, Charlotte would have thought him a commoner who’d been granted a peerage and was trying to pretend he’d been an aristocrat all along.  “We’ll speak more after the reception.”

Charlotte nodded, politely.  “Of course, Admiral.  It would be my pleasure.”

She kept her face carefully blank as the reception wore on, making sure to exchange a few words with every single member of the admiral’s staff.  They were a curious mix, ranging from British and American officers to French, Russian and Chinese personnel.  Charlotte suspected the Great Powers were all terrified of the prospect of one of their rivals snatching a piece of alien technology for themselves and were doing their best to ensure nothing could be done in secret, although she feared it wouldn’t be enough.  The latest reports insisted a sizable number of ships – private, corporate, national – were already heading to the Dyson System.  She hoped – prayed – they’d have the sense to leave Dyson Two strictly alone.

The risk is incalculable, she thought, tiredly.  But so are the rewards.

It was almost a relief when the gathering finally came to an end and she made her way back to the diplomatic suite.  The cabins seemed to have grown smaller and more confining in the last two weeks, a reflection – she suspected – of how much time she’d spent on Earth since their return from the spheres.  It didn’t help her that much of her original diplomatic staff had been recalled and replaced with strangers, young men and women who might not have her best interests in mind.  Admiral Dismukes wasn’t the only person who had to worry about his staff having mixed loyalties.  In her case, her ability to reward or punish was very limited.

The buzzer chimed.  The hatch hissed open, revealing the admiral.  Charlotte was mildly surprised he hadn’t called her to his suite – technically, he was the superior officer – but she suspected he’d wanted a chance to tour Endeavour before the remainder of the squadron assembled and he had to go to work.  His eyes flickered from side to side, showing a hint of surprise at the cramped suite.  Charlotte understood, all too well.  If it had been a regular diplomatic mission, she would have sailed on a purpose-built diplomatic vessel with all the pomp and circumstance an ambassador could possibly want.

“Ambassador,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “I’m sorry about the delay.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlotte said.  She opened the hatch to the briefing compartment.  It was as cramped as the rest of the suite, but at least it would give them some privacy.  “Tea?  Coffee?”

Admiral Dismukes took a seat.  “Coffee would be fine, thanks,” he said.  “I take it you read the briefing papers?”

Charlotte wondered, as she poured two mugs of naval coffee, just what the CIA or DIA knew about her.  They’d have been sent a simple personnel file, when the mission planners had started putting the squadron together, but the file would have had all the interesting parts removed before it was sent into general circulation.  There was no way the Americans didn’t know at least some of the details – her separation from her husband had been a monumental scandal– yet she had no way to know precisely how much they knew.  What did they think of her?  Would they let it get in their way?  She felt a moment of anticipation as she passed him a mug, then sat facing him.  It was going to be an interesting challenge.  She could feel it in her bones.

“I did,” she said.  The naval coffee was strong and harsh, far stronger than anything she’d had back home.  It had taken her several weeks to get used to it.  The admiral didn’t seem to notice the taste.  “We have several sets of orders, depending on just what we find when we return to the sphere.”

“Unfortunately,” Admiral Dismukes agreed.  He sipped his coffee thoughtfully.  “It would be easier if the Builders showed themselves, so we could talk.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Charlotte said.  She understood his thinking – almost nothing was known about the Builders – but she was also aware of the dangers of coming face to face with a super-race.  The Builders might be so far ahead of every other species that the gulf would never be surmounted.  What would happen if humanity’s collective nose was rubbed in its inferiority?  “We know nothing about them.”

“Save for the fact they dismantled entire star systems to construct their spheres, then kidnapped humans to populate them,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “And probably members of other races too.  Why should we be the special ones?”

“There’s no reason for them to think we’re special,” Charlotte said.  She’d read a few novels in which humans were the most innovative – or the most violent – species in the galaxy, but experience had taught the human race that they weren’t that special.  The aliens humanity had encountered had been just as innovative – sometimes more so – and equally capable of being violent.  “We are just one of many.”

Admiral Dismukes smiled.  “That’s an unusually” – he made a show of looking for the right word – “humble attitude.”

Charlotte met his eyes.  “The largest structure built by the human race is the Jovian power collector, which looks more like a framework than a solid structure,” she said.  “You can fly a starfighter through the gaps in the frame and pilots do, when they’re allowed.  And it is tiny, nothing more than an ant, compared to the sheer immensity of a solid shell wrapped around a star.  Two stars.  The boffins tried to work out just how much material we’d need to build a Dyson Sphere of our own and …”

She shook her head.  “There’s no way to grasp the sheer size of the sphere until you gaze upon it with your own eyes.  It is so big it makes everything we built look like nothing.  It is … humbling.  It’s like doing a painting, as a child, then looking at the words of the great painters and knowing you’ll never match their work.  Even if you get much better, they got there first.  Whatever we do in the future, the Builders will have already matched it.”

Admiral Dismukes nodded.  “My analysts are deeply concerned over just what the Builders were doing here, millions of years ago,” he said.  “Some think our star system was slated for dismantling and the Builders acted to preserve the early humans, others that the Builders were setting up a zoo or biological testing grounds.  The fact there’s no hope of the inhabitants ever getting off the ground, let alone out of the sphere, suggests they never thought we’d rise to their level.”

Charlotte nodded.  “Our analysts raised the same concerns,” she agreed.  “They’re not even sure precisely when our ancestors were taken.  It might not have been that long ago, on a cosmic timescale.”

“True,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “If we do encounter them, will they talk to us?”

“I wish I knew,” Charlotte said.  “There’s no evidence to suggest the Builders still occupy the sphere.  There’s no evidence to suggest they’re gone either.”

“But there is some evidence they monitor space around their spheres,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “The artefacts discovered during the war, for example.  They appeared to have some effect on the virus, yet … they made no attempt to stop it.”

“As far as we know,” Charlotte said.  “The virus might have broken out of its prison.”

“Or they were just studying the virus and us, as a scientist might study microbes in water,” Admiral Dismukes countered.  “They operate on so great a scale that our wars must look like children battling over scraps.”

“Perhaps,” Charlotte agreed.  She was starting to like the admiral.  “We may never know.”

“No,” Admiral Dismukes agreed.  He took a breath.  “It has been agreed, as you know, that a special exclusion zone will be established around the Dyson System.  Explorations will be carried out under a multinational mandate, with everyone invited to take part on equal terms or be summarily excluded from the system.  We cannot afford amateurs poking their way through the system, perhaps stealing something important or – more likely – destroying it.  I got an earful from the archaeologists about the dangers of allowing untrained personnel to poke through the system without supervision.”

“It’ll be a diplomatic nightmare,” Charlotte said.  She wasn’t looking forward to that problem, when it reared its ugly head.  The rewards were so great she had no doubt everyone who was able would be sending ships to the spheres, if they hadn’t already.  “What happens if one of the interstellar powers starts sniffing around?  Or a completely new race?”

“That’s why they pay us the big bucks.”  Admiral Dismukes smiled, but there was little real humour in it.  Charlotte didn’t blame him.  Any mistake – when they reached the sphere – could be career-ending, or worse.  They might be scapegoated and thrown under the shuttlecraft if the incident threatened to lead to interstellar war.  “We have some latitude, when it comes to alien contacts, but none when our fellow humans are involved.”

Charlotte rubbed her forehead.  It really was going to be a nightmare.  “Do we have enough firepower to back it up?”

“In theory,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “In practice, we’ll have to wait and see.”

He leaned back in his chair.  “I won’t sugar-coat it.  If a single power gets sole control of Builder technology, or even enough insight into how it works to duplicate it, the results will be disastrous.  The nation that masters such power will be in a position to dominate the rest, which means the rest will go to war – now – to either demand a share of the tech or crush them before it is too late.  It is vitally important that we not only make sure everyone gets a look at any new discoveries, but that we make a show of doing it too.  We dare not let anyone get the slightest idea we’re withholding something from them.  It might start a war.”

Charlotte nodded, sourly.  As military technology advanced, and it became more and more plausible that a first strike could cripple or destroy an enemy before they could retaliate, the incentive to strike first – in self-defence – grew stronger and stronger.  It had been a nightmare when nuclear missiles had entered service and had only grown worse as humanity set up off-world colonies and started mining the asteroids for raw materials.  They’d been very lucky that technology hadn’t reached the point a first strike was utterly certain to succeed.  Charlotte liked to think she wouldn’t push the button, if that happened, but she couldn’t swear to it.  If it was a choice between hitting first or being hit, better to do the hitting.  There were billions of lives at stake.

And if someone really does gain such an edge, she mused, going to war before they can take advantage – and while we can still win – might be the sole option.

“I understand the stakes,” she said, finally.  “You do realise there’s no guarantee we’ll find anything?”

“I know,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “But do you realise how many politicians expect us to stumble across a library?  Or a technological how-to guide?”

Charlotte frowned.  On one hand, the odds of finding a piece of the most advanced technology on Earth at a random location were very low.  The planet’s surface wasn’t covered in technology, just waiting for someone to come along and pick it up.  But on the other, a modern public library might not have instructions for building the most advanced tech in the world, but what it did have would be very helpful for a primitive society.  The Roman Empire would have advanced by leaps and bounds if it had access to the British Library, even though most of the technology described in the books and datacores would be far beyond them.  It was a chilling thought.  What might they find that would be utterly harmless to the Builders, but alter the balance of power on Earth beyond repair?

To us, a steam engine is nothing more than a toy, she thought.  To the Romans, it would be a miracle beyond compare, the key to stabilising and securing their empire before it starts its decline.  And what might be the Builders have dismissed as nothing more than a steam engine …?

“It’s unpredictable,” she said.  “There’s no way to plan ahead.”

“No,” Admiral Dismukes agreed.  “And that is why we have to be completely open with everyone.”

Charlotte nodded.  “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we keep talking,” she said, dryly.  “And try to maintain a united front.”

“If you can,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “There are times when I think the best idea would be to quarantine the spheres and pretend we never found them.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Charlotte said.  “We need to know who built them and why.”

“And what they were doing here, millions of years ago,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “Why did they kidnap early humans to populate their sphere?”

Charlotte shrugged.  The analysts had come up with a lot of possible answers, none of which could be proven.  The Builders wanted to preserve the human race, on the assumption humanity would wipe itself out; the Builders wanted slaves, or captive animals, or even a biological reserve for reason or reasons unknown.  Some were more plausible than others – she doubted the Builders would have any need for human slaves, not when they were so fantastically advanced – but there was no way to be sure.  She had a private theory that the reasoning was truly alien.  It was never easy to guess which way an alien mindset would jump.  They were … alien.

And the Builders have been a technological species for a very long time, she thought.  Their mindsets would have been shaped by their technology, in ways we can barely even begin to imagine.

Admiral Dismukes cleared his throat.  “We’ll be holding more meetings and planning sessions” – he couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of his voice – “over the next week.  That’ll be our last chance to refer anything back to our superiors, so we’ll at least try to hammer out all the details before departure.  You’ll chair some of the meetings?”

“Of course,” Charlotte said.  She’d never liked chairing meetings, but it was astonishing how much you could do if you took the lead or did all the petty administrative tasks no one wanted to be bothered with.  Or how many would-be Stalins you could head off at the pass by doing the work yourself.  “We’ll do our best to prepare for everything.”

“If we can,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “There are too many unknown unknowns, aren’t there?”

Charlotte remembered the sphere and shivered.  “Everything starts out as unknown,” she said, simply.  “Given enough time, we’ll unlock the sphere’s secrets and learn from them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Admiral Dismukes said.  “What normally happens when a more advanced culture meets a primitive one?”

“Nothing good,” Charlotte said.  “Nothing good at all.”
	
Chapter Seven: HMS Endeavour, Sol System

“All decks and stations report ready, Captain,” Jenner said.  “System Command has cleared us to depart.”

Staci nodded, despite her tiredness.  It had been a long week.  Plans had been drawn up, then revised, then revised again … she had the feeling, as time ticked away, that certain parties were doing their best to leverage the expedition for their own political purposes or – worse – that they were buying time for private missions to make their way to the spheres and vanish within the ruins of Dyson One.  Staci had no illusions about how easy it would be for someone to remain unnoticed – there was so much wreckage orbiting the star that it posed a navigational hazard right out of a space opera written by someone who’d never been to space – or just how likely it was that someone was trying to gain an advantage for themselves.  For all she knew, there was a highly secret British team on their way to the sphere.  God knew it wasn’t impossible.

She keyed her console, bringing up the near-space display.  Task Force Clarke was holding position around the flagship, nineteen warships and research vessels ready to make their way to the spheres and start unlocking their secrets.  Ten freighters waited behind, nine crammed with everything they needed to set up an autonomous research station capable of supporting operations in and out of the sphere.  The tenth was loaded with trade goods.  Staci wasn’t sold on the idea of trying to make contact with the sphere’s inhabitants – she doubted they knew anything about the Builders, or indeed anything about their environment – but she’d been overruled.  There was little enthusiasm for leaving humans wallowing in their own ignorance, trapped in what might as well be an alien zoo.  It could not be borne.

“Good,” she said.  It had been a minor nightmare trying to keep all the foreigners from either getting into sensitive parts of the ship or injuring themselves.  She wished, not for the first time, that whoever had planned the mission had seen fit to include a passenger liner or even a colonist-carrier ship.  The latter would have been uncomfortable, but at least it was designed to make it harder for ignorant civilians to kill themselves.  “Are there any final messages?”

“No, Captain,” Jenner said.  “The board is clear.”

Lucky us, Staci thought.  The global media was watching.  The talking heads were speculating loudly, and uselessly, on just what they’d find; everyone else was arguing about everything from the divinity of the Builders to the wisdom of exploring a megastructure built by a super-race.  If someone doesn’t try to send us new orders before we cross the tramline, I will be astonished.

She sighed, inwardly.  It had been simpler – a lot simpler – during the war.  Or even during their first deployment, when no one had known what they’d find and their departure had been barely noted by the military.  Now … she didn’t need to check her inbox to know her spam folder was crammed with everything from requests for interviews to offers of staggering amounts of money for nude images … that message, at least, she’d taken some delight in forwarding to the reporter’s superiors.  It made her wonder just what the bastard thought he was paid to do.

And they keep asking for background information that’s a matter of public record, she thought, irritated.  They could track down my old school and family with a little effort, if they cared enough to try.

She put the thought aside and leaned forward.  “Helm, are we ready to depart?”

“Yes, Captain,” Lieutenant-Commander David Atkinson said.  “Course laid in, ready to depart on your command.”

Staci nodded.  She would have had some sharp words for him if the course hadn’t been laid in.  Any helmsman worthy of the role knew he had to be ready.  She’d certainly drilled the crew intensively over the past week.  She wasn’t expecting anything to go wrong – they were orbiting Earth, the very heart of humanity’s defences – but she knew from grim experience that when things went wrong, they did so very quickly.  She’d sooner go down in history as a martinet than someone who’d been caught by surprise by an enemy fleet and blown away before she could react.

We aren’t just a naval crew this time, either, she thought.  Endeavour was crammed to the gunwales with the admiral’s staff, the ambassador’s staff and hundreds of analysts, reporters and security experts.  If we get into trouble, hundreds of people will be in trouble along with us.

“Very good,” she said.  “Helm, take us out.  Communications, signal the squadron to follow us.”

“Aye, Captain.”

A low shudder ran through the ship as the drive came online.  Staci braced herself – if a drive node failed now, they’d be in deep shit – then breathed a sigh of relief as Endeavour slipped out of orbit and headed into space, the remainder of the squadron following like ducks shadowing their mother.  Her lips twitched at the thought – and at the ignorant think-pieces the reporters were going to write, complaining about her inelegant formation.  It didn’t matter – it really didn’t – if the ships flew in a proper formation, as long as they were heading in the same direction.  A loose formation was safer.  The risk of a collision was low – on an interplanetary scale, starships were little bigger than dust motes – but there was no point in taking chances.  They were heading so far from settled planets and stars that even the slightest accident could prove disastrous. 

“Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Philip McDougall said.  “The tactical datalink network is online.  All datalinks have been checked and rechecked, all verification encryption codes have been exchanged.  The command datanet is coming online now.”

Jenner looked up.  “Is everyone sharing data?”

“As near as I can tell, sir,” McDougall said.  “There’s certainly nothing obvious missing from the warship datanets.  The civilian ships aren’t sharing anything beyond the bare minimum.  They don’t have mil-grade sensors or weapons.”

Staci nodded.  “If we run into trouble, the admiral will tell them to run while the warships cover their retreat,” she said.  “They’re not paid to stand in the line of fire.”

She leaned back in her chair.  “Mr XO, inform the crew that this is their last chance to write messages to their friends and family,” she ordered.  “We’ll empty the communications buffer before we cross the tramline.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Staci nodded, although she was fairly sure her crew had already written their final messages and sent them on.  Survey crews tended to be out of touch for years as they travelled outside the rim of explored space, their ships becoming their world until they finally turned and made their way back home.  The passengers were likely to be the ones rushing to write or record final messages, as well as updating their wills.  It was difficult for groundhogs to realise what it was like to travel beyond the flicker network, let alone how isolated they’d be from the rest of the human race.  Staci wondered, grimly, what would happen when the realisation finally struck home.

Lady Charlotte did alright, last time, she thought.  But Lady Charlotte had no reason to return home either.

She kept the thought to herself.  It was unlikely the civilians would cause any real problems when it finally hit them.  Probably.  There’d be problems when they returned, she suspected, but that wouldn’t be her responsibility.  She hoped the briefers had made it clear that there would be issues, from feeling trapped within the hull to fears about what lovers and spouses were doing back on Earth.  But they were going to explore Dyson Two.  She was sure that would eventually make up for everything.

Time ticked by, slowly.  Staci kept a wary eye on the constant stream of updates from the various departments, from the tactical staff running tracking exercises on the media ships shadowing them to the engineering staff checking and rechecking the drives as the squadron picked up speed.  Endeavour had been in service long enough for the various kinks to be worked out – there were horror stories about starships powering up their drives for the first time and suffering a catastrophic failure moments later – but it was well to be sure.  They really were going a long way beyond the borders of known and explored space.  

“Captain,” Atkinson said.  “We are nearing the tramline.  We’ll be crossing in twenty minutes.”

Unless we get recalled at the last moment, Staci thought.  It was unlikely, from what she’d seen, but it wasn’t impossible.  Quite a few voices seemed to think the Dyson Spheres should be left firmly alone.  A shame that isn’t going to be possible.

She dismissed the thought.  “Communications, signal the squadron,” she ordered.  “We’ll jump as soon as we cross the tramline.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“And empty the communications buffer,” Staci added.  “It’s time to go.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Staci waited, feeling oddly nervous.  It wasn’t her first jump, even as a commanding officer, but there was something about it that bothered her.  She wasn’t sure how to put it into words.  Last time, she hadn’t known what they’d find at the end of their voyage into the unknown; this time, they knew they were on their way to a pair of colossal alien megastructures built by an alien species of immense power and unknown motivations.  She felt like a child sneaking around her parents’ bedroom, or a student poking into a teacher’s office, the thrill of being somewhere she really shouldn’t matched by the fear of punishment if she was caught.  And yet …

Silly, she told herself.  She’d once mocked the Jovian settlers who’d never been able to come to terms with the Great Red Spot, glaring down on Ganymede like the eye of an angry god.  She knew, now, how they’d felt.  The Great Red Spot was natural.  The spheres were anything but.  There’s no reason to think the Builders are watching us.

Sure, her thoughts answered.  And there’s no reason to think they’re not either.

Jenner glanced at her.  “Here we go …”

Staci nodded.  “Helm, jump as soon as we cross the tramline,” she ordered.  “And then continue with our planned course.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The last seconds ticked away.  Staci braced herself, even though it would be as gentle a transition as possible.  The civilians weren’t going to enjoy it … she watched the display, the tramline a thread of blue light clearly visible dead ahead of the ship.  It was hard to believe there was nothing there, as far as the naked eye was concerned.  It seemed wrong, somehow, that it couldn’t be sensed …

Her stomach heaved as the display blanked, then rebooted.  The communications datalinks vanished.  Staci sucked in her breath, instincts sharpened in the fires of war screaming that something was terribly wrong.  They had lost the command datanet … she calmed herself with an effort, reminding herself that they had jumped into friendly territory.  Or at least human territory.  Terra Nova had been calming down before the virus had made its presence known, triggering off yet another round of civil war.  It was no surprise to her that everyone who could leave the planet was already on their way out.  Better a first-stage colony on the edge of explored space than a nightmarish world where you could be enslaved or raped or murdered for being the wrong religion or race or merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The display blinked, then started to fill up as the datalinks came back online.  Staci scowled in disapproval.  It had taken too long to re-establish the datanet.  She hadn’t expected that much from the civilian ships, but military personnel knew they could be attacked at any moment.  If someone had been watching the squadron leave Earth, they could predict – roughly – where they’d cross the tramline and set up an ambush.  And if that happened, the first missiles would be flying right into the squadron’s blind spot …

The admiral will have to work on that, Staci thought.  If that had happened on Unicorn, her old captain Mitch would have been lucky if he’d only had the admiral calling to chew him a new arsehole.  It could have easily been defined as a court-martial offense.  Two years since the war, more or less, and standards have already slipped.

She sighed inwardly.  Hundreds of officers and thousands of enlisted men had died.  God alone knew how many had been infected and turned into mindless host bodies or transformed into zombies and turned against their former comrades.  Their replacements had lacked their training and experience, although they’d learnt fast.  It had been the only way to stay alive.  She was painfully aware that only a handful of her graduating class had survived the war.  And now the navy was paying the price.

“Captain,” Jenner said.  “The squadron has completed transit and is falling in behind us.”

“We’ll be crossing the next tramline in seventeen hours,” Atkinson put in.

“Hold course and speed,” Staci ordered.  Endeavour could reach the tramline a great deal quicker if she left the freighters behind, but there was no need to hurry.  The admiral was already directing a destroyer to fly ahead of them, watching for possible ambushes.  It was unlikely, but … Staci had been a child when the Second Interstellar War had started with a bloody ambush that had nearly destroyed an entire fleet.  “This isn’t a race.”

She keyed her console, checking the reports again.  There’d been no problems, save for a handful of groundhogs throwing up the moment the ship crossed the tramline.  Staci felt a stab of sympathy, mingled with the grim awareness it probably wasn’t going to get any better if they didn’t get used to it.  There were some poor souls who were natural-born groundhogs, unable to so much as fly into orbit without getting sick, but she’d thought they’d be careful not to take up a post that required interstellar travel.  She shook her head – if worse came to worst, they could arrange a transfer to a colony world – then checked the datanet.  It just didn’t come up to wartime standards.  The admiral really would have to do something about it.

Staci stood.  “Mr XO, you have the bridge.  I’ll be in my ready room.”

“Aye, Captain,” Jenner said.  “I have the bridge.”

Staci took one last look at the display – Terra Nova might be fighting yet another civil war, but there was a surprising amount of unregulated activity in the rest of the system – and headed into her ready room.  The sofa looked very inviting, but she forced herself to walk past the makeshift bed and sit at her desk.  There were already more reports on her terminal, though none marked as urgent.  She made a mental note to review the reports later, then dismissed them.  Anything genuinely urgent would have been brought to her attention by now.

The buzzer chimed. Staci looked up.  “Come.”

“Captain,” Lady Charlotte said as she stepped inside the room.  She sounded as calm and composed as if she were ordering afternoon tea in a club, rather than standing on the deck of a starship heading back to a pair of very alien megastructures.  “Thank you for seeing me.”

Staci nodded, slowly.  Lady Charlotte wasn’t the villain Staci had thought, when they’d first met, but it was unlikely they’d ever be friends.  “You’re welcome.”

“It’ll be quite some time before we reach the spheres,” Lady Charlotte said.  “I take it there’s no way we can get there quicker?”

Staci bit down the urge to suggest the older woman stepped outside and pushed.  “I’m afraid not,” she said.  She wasn’t sure if Lady Charlotte was joking.  “The voyage would still take several weeks even if we abandoned the civilian ships and pushed our drives as far as they would go without burning out the drive nodes.”

Lady Charlotte nodded.  “Understood,” she said.  “I may have to have a couple of my staff sedated for the next jump.  They didn’t take it very well.”

“We can arrange a transfer to the nearest planet or settlement, if they don’t get used to the jump sensation,” Staci said, echoing her earlier thoughts.  “But otherwise, there isn’t much we can do beyond sedation.”

“I’ll discuss it with them, if they don’t get better,” Lady Charlotte said.  “On a different note, I’d like to organise a dinner for the senior officers and researchers.  Would you like to attend?”

Staci frowned, inwardly.  She’d never liked formal dinners.  One advantage of serving on Unicorn had been that she was rarely asked to attend them and never ordered to arrange one.  The ship had been too small to host a proper gathering.  Endeavour, on the other hand, was large enough to host a dinner and was crammed with passengers who’d expect to be invited ...

“If I’m invited,” she said, finally.  It was her ship.  It was unthinkable she wouldn’t be.  It was also unthinkable she’d say no, unless something came up … her mischievous side wondered if she could arrange an emergency, or a drill, in the middle of dinner.  She put that thought firmly out of her head a moment later.  It would be grossly irresponsible.  “I have no objection to you holding a dinner, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of the crew’s duties.”

“It won’t,” Lady Charlotte promised.  “My staff can handle most of the preparatory work.”

Staci nodded, although she had her doubts.  “Tell them to liaise with the ship’s cooks,” she said.  “The crew has to be fed, or I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

Lady Charlotte smiled.  “That would be embarrassing,” she said, with commendable understatement.  “When was the last mutiny in naval history?”

Staci had to think about it.  “There was a commanding officer removed from command for incompetence in the face of the enemy,” she said, slowly.  “The affair was whitewashed, suggesting there were excellent grounds for mutiny.  Even so …”

She shrugged.  “Just make sure you work with the cooks.  We really don’t want a starving crew.”   
	
Chapter Eight: HMS Endeavour, In Transit

Charlotte had always prided herself on being a good hostess.  She had been – her parties had once been the talk of the ton, her private gatherings a mark of status guaranteed to please those who were invited and have the uninvited gnashing their teeth in envy – but it had been harder to host anything after her fall from grace.  Impossible, really.  She’d had very few friends willing to attend her gatherings and she’d known, without making the attempt, that even trying would have led to embarrassment and humiliation.  There were people who might have spoken to her discreetly, while alone, but wouldn’t have been seen dead with her in public.  None of them were willing to put friendship, or even common decency, ahead of their place in society.  She supposed she couldn’t blame them.  The odds of her rising from the ashes and becoming something great – on her own merits – had been very low.

Particularly after Mitch died, she thought, sourly.  She’d liked him right away, fell in love with him, and cared deeply for him.  She believed it had been in Mitch’s best interests to go  to the very top, but his death had left her bereft.  She knew she’d been lucky to get the assignment to Endeavour and return in triumph and yet, far too many people were keeping their distance, unsure what to make of her.  I’ll have to do it on my own merits or not at all.

She leaned against the bulkhead and watched the guests as they circled the room.  It looked like a simple meet-and-greet, with a buffet laden with food and drink, rather than a formal dinner, but she’d put days of work into arranging every last detail.  The admiral and his staff, the diplomats and their staff, the researchers and the starship captains and everyone else hadn’t had a proper chance to meet, not until now.  She’d hoped to encourage a certain degree of cross-departmental chatter by cutting the formalities down to the bare minimum and, from what she could see, it seemed to be working.  It wasn’t perfect – the researchers and diplomats were chatting openly, while the naval staff were keeping their distance – but it was a start.

A bigger dinner would require more planning and formalities, she thought, wryly.  And it would make it harder for people to talk freely.

Her lips twisted into a brief smile.  She’d attended enough state dinners in her time, as a young girl, to know they were extremely boring to just about everyone, save for the relative handful of diplomats and staffers who thrived on the perks of their job.  Personally, she’d always thought the politicians would be better off having small private gatherings, where they could let their hair down and chat freely, secure in the knowledge there’d be no reports of embarrassing behaviour in the media the following day.  It was always easier to deny something if there were no witnesses who couldn’t be easily cajoled, bribed or threatened into silence.  If it wasn’t so risky to have politicians take the lead on negotiations, she thought that private meetings would be standard, and half the diplomatic staff unceremoniously reassigned up north.

She kept her face politely neutral as she circled the room, making sure to share a few words with everyone.  She’d always enjoyed making introductions and smoothing over disputes, then watching to see what came of it.  She knew for a fact that at least four marriages had had their genesis at one of her parties … the thought made her heart twist, suddenly, as she remembered she’d never have the chance to shape either of her daughters’ coming out parties.  The plans she’d had would probably go by the wayside … she wondered, sourly, if her ex would come up with something himself or hire a planner to do it for him.  It wasn’t as if he could ask her, not now.  She gritted her teeth, then firmly banished the thought.  She’d have a chance to rebuild her relationship with her children later, after she returned from the spheres.  She couldn’t be ignored now.

“The Builder tech is advanced, true,” Professor Mike Mansion was saying, addressing a handful of diplomats and researchers.  Charlotte stopped to listen.  “It is not, however, magic.  We can understand what they do even though we cannot – yet – duplicate it.”

Charlotte leaned forward, just to make sure the conversation kept going.  “How so?”

“Gravity is the force that binds the universe together,” Mansion said.  “It does everything from keeping planets orbiting stars to creating tramlines that link star systems together, tramlines we use to hop from system to system.  The effect is very pronounced, even when it isn’t noticeable.  Jupiter has an effect on Earth’s tides, for example, but that effect is so tiny it might as well not exist.  The tramlines, too, require advanced technology to detect, let alone ride.  The early researchers even speculated they were composed of pseudogravity, rather than real gravity, and came up with elaborate models that suggested they were akin to holographic projections and had about as much impact on the universe.  They might have been right.  You can’t use a tramline without a jump drive.”

He paused.  “The Builders generated and shaped their own beams of pseudogravity and aimed them across the system, like spotlights.  When the beams met, the combination of pseudogravity fields created a gravimetric eddy they could use to manipulate objects at a distance.  Rather like” – he made a show of searching for an example – “blowing up a balloon and then letting it go, so the air outflow pushed the balloon into the air.”

“With a little more control, one hopes,” a diplomat said.  “Balloons fly in random directions.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mansion agreed.  “We did look at the concept of laser sails, back in the early days of spaceflight.  The pseudogravity beamers are essentially the same thing, only much – much – more effective.  They could use them to steer the sphere’s plates into position and then hold them there long enough to lock them in place.  They also don’t need to worry about starships entering or leaving the sphere.  They can just use the eddies to leverage them in and out, without risking any damage to the ships.”

“They’d also make one hell of a weapon,” a military officer said.  “Can we counter the gravity beams?”

Mansion looked uncomfortable.  “It’s hard to say,” he said.  “They’d have to focus the beams to create a gravity eddy inside one of our ships … it depends, really.  The computer models suggest they could create a gravity well, perhaps even a pseudo black hole, but we think they’d be reluctant to risk it inside the sphere.  It would be like using a nuke to kill an ant in your capital city.”

Charlotte shivered.  She’d lived a sheltered life, compared to some, but – perversely – it had made her all the more aware that there were some people insane, or isolated, enough to want almost anything.  It was easy to damage your position – or personal finances – beyond repair if you had no real grasp of how the world worked, let alone what would happen if you started doing things at random.  Her father had once likened it to cutting off a tree branch, without realising you were sitting on the branch and would fall with it …

“Unless that is what happened to the shattered sphere,” a reporter said.  “Did they have a civil war?”

“It’s hard to imagine a race so advanced fighting a war,” the diplomat put in.  “What did they have to fight over?”

“Many of our old problems are gone,” the military officer countered.  “We can feed ourselves.  We have access to the boundless resources of interstellar space.  There’s no need to engage in wars of conquest, or religion, or anything else.  And yet, we keep fighting, each other as well as alien races.  For all we know, they ran into a race that couldn’t be reasoned with and found themselves in a war of extermination.”

“We had to exterminate the virus,” the diplomat said.  “We simply didn’t have the tech to contain it.  But the Builders did have the tech to preserve themselves, to ensure the virus couldn’t spread further.”

“And they might have run into a race as advanced as themselves, without the ability or willingness to talk to other life forms,” the military officer said.  “We simply don’t know.”

Charlotte frowned.  Humanity had assumed it was alone in the universe, only to discover they were wrong.  And then … she knew a great many diplomats had assumed that any race that climbed into space was basically rational, that they could talk to their human counterparts and smooth out any points of friction between them, that there would never be any need for war … an assumption that had been deeply problematic even before the virus had arrived, the faceless alien foe humanity had dreaded from the moment it had realised there might be life on other worlds.  Who knew?  The Builders might not recognise humanity as an intelligent race …

Which might not be so implausible, she though, reflecting on just how many dumb things humanity had done over the years.  She’d known someone at university who’d scorched his bottom while trying to light his own farts, the kind of thing that was hilarious if you were a teenager and hellishly depressing if you were a few years older.  We used to joke about aliens picking up our early TV broadcasts and deciding the human race needed to be destroyed before we spread our influence across the galaxy.

The reporter leaned forward.  “So … what did happen to the shattered sphere?”

“There’s no way to know,” Mansion said.  “We’ve been unable to determine when the sphere shattered, let alone what caused it.  We know so little about the underlying structure of the spheres that anything we say might as well be guesswork.  We assume, for example, that there are gravity generators within the sphere’s superstructure that provide surface gravity, but – again – we simply don’t know.  Our computer models suggested there’d be kinks within the gravity field, perhaps allowing us to track down the generators, yet … nothing was spotted during the first voyage.  We simply don’t know.”

“Hah,” the reporter said.  “Is there anything you do know?”

“The limits of our ignorance?”  Mansion smiled as titters ran around the small group.  “We will be studying the spheres carefully, in the hopes of salvaging alien technology for analysis and reverse-engineering.  We will also be studying the data recovered from probe missions in hopes of working out how the alien tech works, then putting together our own hardware to duplicate the effect.  There is no way I can give you a timetable.  We might stumble across an intact alien library the day after we arrive, or spend the next few centuries exploring the twin spheres without finding anything more than we already know.  If you’re hoping for easy answers, or someone to wave a magic wand and put advanced tech into mass production, you will be disappointed.”

“But …”  The reporter leaned forward.  “We put Tadpole tech into mass production in only a few short months.”

“The gap between their tech and ours wasn’t that wide,” the military officer explained.  “Their plasma guns were more advanced than ours, and so was their jump tech, but we had both technologies under development already and all we really had to do was use samples of their technology to fill in the gaps in our own knowledge.  The real problems came when we tried to duplicate their computers, but lucky we didn’t need them to push the Tadpoles back and eventually come to terms.  The Builders were so much more advanced that it will be a long time before we match their tech.”

“And that assumes they’re not still around, watching us,” the diplomat said.  “There’s a whole theory that suggests the Dyson Spheres are little more than a test for younger races.”

“Which is absurd,” the military officer said.  “Even for the Builders, building the spheres must have been an unimaginably expensive and challenging project.  One of the spheres even shattered …”

Charlotte turned as she sensed someone approaching.  “Madam Ambassador,” a young Chinese girl said.  “Admiral He would like the pleasure of your company.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Charlotte said.  

She studied the girl thoughtfully as they crossed the compartment.  The young woman spoke English like a native and wore a dress designed to make her look like an ingénue, sweet and innocent enough to make Charlotte feel positively dowdy.  A spy …?  It wasn’t impossible.  Intelligence services the world over knew how easy it was for a young, pretty and apparently harmless girl to get a man talking, spilling his innermost thoughts to a sympathetic ear.  And if there weren’t spies attached to the mission, she would be astonished.

“Ambassador,” Admiral He said.  His English was perfect too, although that wasn’t surprising.  English had been the common language of spaceflight since the very first men had been launched into space.  “I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to meet earlier.”

“I quite understand,” Charlotte said.  She knew from experience the military officers would be very busy during the first week, sorting out the chain of command and holding simulated drills to smooth out any problems before they actually ran into hostile aliens.  It was a minor matter in the grand scheme of things.  “I hope you are enjoying yourself?”

“The gathering is interesting, and informative,” Admiral He said.  He kept his voice calm and polite.  Charlotte was fairly sure it was an act.  It was rare for military personnel to enjoy diplomatic gatherings.  Mitch and Thomas certainly hadn’t.  “There may have been some political issues, over the last few months, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work together.”

Charlotte kept her face carefully blank, hiding her surprise.  The French and Russians had lodged loud protests after Endeavour’s return, insisting Britain had technically violated the Solar Treaty and should face severe sanctions.  The protests had been pro forma and no one had expected them to come to anything, but … they’d had to be made.  The Americans, too, had lodged protests … the Chinese, oddly, hadn’t matched the volume of their French and Russian counterparts.  Charlotte had wondered if they’d seen no point in bothering, but … it was odd.  They could certainly use the incident as a way to pressure Britain into making later concessions …

Unless they’re breaking the treaty too and want a precedent they can use to avoid sanctions of their own, she thought.  There were odd rumours of a distant Chinese settlement finding something unusual, perhaps even something alien, but none of those tales had ever been confirmed.  She’d heard suggestions the stories were little more than lies told to attract settlers, which might be true.  Or they have something else up their sleeve.

“I certainly hope so,” she said, blandly.  She had to be diplomatic.  “It is important we maintain a united front if other aliens, or the Builders themselves, show up.”

Admiral He nodded, politely.  “Do you think they will?”

“I think it is just a matter of time until the Tadpoles or Foxes send ships to the spheres,” Charlotte said.  Aliens had problems inserting agents on Earth – and vice versa – but she was fairly sure they monitored unsecured human broadcasts.  The BBC had probably told any alien listeners everything they needed to know.  “And then we may wind up squabbling over anything we find.”

“Or the Builders themselves?”  Admiral He leaned forward.  “Do you think they’re still around?”

Charlotte shrugged.  “It’s hard to say,” she said.  “Their gravitational technology is far in advance of ours.  It seems unlikely they missed our arrival when we jumped into the sphere, or when we sent shuttles to the surface.  They must have noticed when their automated platforms fired on the shuttles, surely.  Do we allow our weapons to fire on possible targets without a human in the loop?”

“Sometimes, but only during wartime,” Admiral He said.  “They didn’t try to confirm the shuttle’s destruction.”

“True,” Charlotte agreed.  She knew how close she’d come to death.  An inch closer and the entire shuttle she’d been on would have been vaporised.  “But we were very lucky to make it down in one piece.”

“You still made it,” Admiral He said.  “That suggests a genuinely automatic system.  It took a shot, assumed you were dead and didn’t bother to shoot again.  As long as you didn’t do anything to trigger a response, you were relatively safe.”

“Perhaps,” Charlotte said.  “It fired on radio transmitters as well as incoming shuttles.”

“Which also suggests an automatic system,” Admiral He said.  “If you knew someone had a radio, somewhere no radio should be, wouldn’t you be just a little curious?  Wouldn’t you want to know how that radio had reached the sphere?”

“I would, yes,” Charlotte said.  The sphere was designed to ensure nothing more advanced than the wheel went into mass production.  There were theories suggesting the locals could get around the restrictions, but most of them struck her as implausible.  They required a degree of advanced chemistry and suchlike the locals couldn’t hope to master, not without centuries of research and a great deal of luck.  “But the Builders weren’t human.”

“Unless you believe the people who insist the Builders really were ancient astronauts and Earth is a colony world of a vast star-spanning empire,” Admiral He said.  “Absurd, of course.”

“Of course,” Charlotte agreed.  She’d seen the theories.  She’d also read the debunkings … and the increasingly spurious arguments the  believers used to justify their arguments.  She would sooner believe the virus had constructed the sphere rather than ancient humans.  Surely, if such a community existed, it would have left traces of its presence scattered across the solar system.  “They cannot have been human.”

“And everything suggests they are no longer around,” Admiral He said.  “Which raises interesting possibilities, doesn’t it?”
	
Chapter Nine: HMS Endeavour, Dyson System (Exterior)

“Captain,” Commander Mike Jenner said.  “We are ready to jump.”

Staci sucked in her breath, bracing herself.  It wasn’t exactly a combat jump – there was certainly no reason to think they were going right into a war zone – but the alien tramline was … odd.  The Builders had extended it – somehow – to the point a single jump would take them thirty light years in the blink of an eye, something everyone had previously considered impossible.  The Royal Navy wanted the technology desperately.  So did everyone else.  If they could establish tramlines running between Earth and her most distant colonies …

She forced herself to sit back and relax.  “The squadron?”

“Holding position, Captain,” Lieutenant Andy MacPhee said.  The communications officer didn’t look up from his console.  “Dasher is in position to jump with us; the remainder of the squadron will wait for the all-clear.”

Charming, Staci thought.  She had been torn between urging the admiral to send a pair of destroyers ahead of the main fleet, just to make sure it was safe to jump, and the long-standing naval tradition that the admiral accompanied the first ship to jump.  If we don’t return, who knows what they’ll do?

She sighed inwardly.  She’d read a hundred novels of naval service, as a child, and none of them had managed to convey just how boring interstellar transit could be.  The drills and exercises had rapidly lost their excitement as the kinks were smoothed out, leaving the squadron ready for anything … at least, she reminded herself, anything conventional.  No one really knew what the Builders could do to the human fleet, if they decided not to be welcoming.  She’d spent too many days catching up with paperwork, writing reports and touring her ship from top to bottom, making sure she knew every last inch of the hull.  And she had still been bored.  But now …

“Signal the squadron,” she ordered.  “We’ll jump in one minute.”

She glanced at Jenner.  “Alert our guests.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Staci smiled, despite the growing tension.  The guests had grown used to jumps, save for a poor astrophysicist who’d had to be sedated before each jump, but this one was different.  There could be anything on the far side, anything at all, and all the guests were going to be locked out of the loop, waiting helplessly until the terminals were turned on and they gained access to the live feed from the ship’s sensors.  Staci had never enjoyed the sensation of being unaware of what was going on, when she was a junior officer, but at least she’d had her duties to distract her.  The guests had no such consolation.  Even the admiral was little better than a spectator.  It was her show.

“Thirty seconds,” Atkinson said.  “Jump engines primed, ready to jump; standard drives powered, ready to come online.”

“Weapons and defences primed, ready to come online,” McDougall added.

Staci nodded, stiffly.  The tactical staff had strict orders not to power up their weapons without orders, unless there was a very real incoming threat.  She’d heard the grumbling and understood, even if she couldn’t admit it out loud.  If there was a threat, the seconds it would take to bring the weapons and defences online might be too long to save the ship from a volley of incoming missiles.  But … she kept her face blank.  There was no reason, she reminded herself, to think they were going to jump straight into danger.  They’d picked a jumping point nearly seven light hours from Dyson One.

And further from Dyson Two, she thought.  Unless they have FTL sensors, or something else that might as well be magic, they won’t notice our arrival for hours.

Her thoughts hardened.  It isn’t completely impossible here, is it?

The thought nagged at her mind.  She understood human technology.  She could calculate the possibilities, as human tech advanced, and use it as a baseline for advanced alien tech.  But the Builders were so far ahead of the human race that any estimates of their capabilities were little more than guesswork …

“Jumping in five,” Atkinson said, breaking into her thoughts.  “Four, three, two, one … jump!”

The universe seemed to sneeze.  Staci grunted, feeling as if someone had poked her in the belly … maybe not hard enough to double her over, but hard enough to feel.  Someone coughed and gagged behind her … she made a point of not looking around, trusting her command staff to either recover quickly or call a replacement if they couldn’t handle their duties.  The display blanked, then rebooted.  A yellow star appeared in front of her, surrounded by a haze … Staci sucked in her breath.  She’d seen it before, the first time they’d entered the system, but it was still striking.  And impossible, at least until now.

The idea of starfighters zipping through an asteroid field to avoid pursuit has always been absurd, she thought.  She’d seen the movies, but reality had crushed those dreams very quickly.  But here, it’s actually possible to fly through the field, coming within bare millimetres of striking chunks of rock …

“Jump completed, Captain,” Atkinson reported.

“No incoming threats,” McDougall added.  “We appeared to be alone.”

“No signals from Dyson One or Two,” MacPhee reported.  “I request permission to transmit the wake-up codes to the drones we left behind, last time.”

“Do it,” Staci ordered.  “Helm?  Were there any problems with the jump?”

“No, Captain,” Atkinson said.  “The power curves were nominal.  If it wasn’t for the sheer distance we jumped, I’d say it was completely routine.”

Staci nodded, resting her eyes on the display.  The shell surrounding Dyson One was stunning.  She couldn’t help thinking of a shattered egg, coming apart to reveal the yolk inside.  It was difficult to grasp, still, the sheer scale of the superstructure, or how many lives might have been lost when it came apart.  And yet … she wondered, suddenly, if she had almost grown used to the sensation.  It was purely defensive.  The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she became.

“Helm, take us off the tramline,” she ordered.  “Communications, transmit the planned greeting.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Staci heard the doubt in the officer’s voice and nodded to herself.  They’d spent days, the first time they’d stumbled into the binary system, trying to contact the Builders.  They’d used radio and lasers and everything else, from the sensible to the absurd, only to receive nothing but complete silence in return.  Some analysts thought it was clear proof the Builders were no longer watching the spheres, others that the Builders were simply too advanced to notice something as primitive as radio signals.  Staci supposed it was at least possible.  Modern militaries still used Morse Code, but they didn’t use smoke signals.

But we would have tried, if we could figure out how to do smoke signals in space, she thought.  We really were desperate to hear something from them.

She kept the thought to herself as the hours passed slowly.  The internal communications net filled with chatter as the guests saw the sphere for the first time and, finally, came to understand just how immense it truly was.  Dyson Two was a brooding presence over two light days away, invisible to the naked eye but easily visible to her sensors.  She wondered, idly, how long the admiral was prepared to wait until he took the squadron – or at least a handful of ships – into the sphere.  This time, at least, they knew what to expect.  The sphere wasn’t a complete unknown.

And yet, some people insist we made a mistake when we jumped inside, she reminded herself, grimly.  We could have started a war.

“Captain,” MacPhee said.  “I am detecting no signals from either of the spheres.  However, I picked up a handful of encrypted transmissions that were rapidly silenced.”

Jenner looked up.  “Alien?”

“I don’t believe so,” MacPhee said.  “The computers are still trying to decrypt the signals, but they look like human commercial-grade encrypt codes to me.  Probably from the Belt.  They’re very keen on not sharing decryption algorithms with anyone.”

“Humans,” Staci said.  “Scavengers?”

“We knew it was possible,” Jenner said.  “For all we know, hundreds of ships set out shortly after we returned home.”

“Forward the data to the admiral,” Staci said.  “Is there any other change in the system, anything noticeable?”

“Not as far as I can determine,” Lieutenant Helen Yang said.  The sensor officer didn’t lift her eyes from her console.  Staci understood.  There was so much data flowing into the sensors that sorting it out required a human mind.  “Our position isn’t the best for observation, but there’s nothing to suggest any major changes.  We’d need to go closer to be sure.”

“And the scavengers have already gone closer,” Staci said.  She doubted they’d have found anything important, not when they had to search the remains of a genuine superstructure, but it was impossible to be sure.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had beaten impossible odds to win the day.  “Can you locate any active scavengers?”

“No, Captain,” Helen said.  “They’ve probably tamped down their drives and sensors already.”

And we were kind enough to let them know we were here by signalling the entire system, Staci thought coldly.  It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it was still irritating.  They’ll have plenty of time to hide before we can come after them.

She put her irritation aside.  “Signal Dasher,” she ordered.  “She is to return through the tramline and summon the remainder of the squadron.”

“Aye, Captain,” MacPhee said.

Staci glanced at her terminal – the guests were still wowed by the sphere – then looked back at the display.  More and more detail was starting to appear, from chunks of debris bigger than Earth to ‘tiny’ pieces that were easily large enough to host the entire squadron.  It was difficult to believe what she saw, no matter how much she studied the display.  Some pieces of debris were practically holding their positions in orbit, while others were spinning around the star at speeds that would put a starfighter to shame.  She was surprised they were orbiting the star and not flying out into interstellar space.  They were certainly moving fast enough.  If she hadn’t detected them during the first voyage to the sphere, she would have wondered if the scavengers had somehow set them into motion.

Curious, she thought, recalling the Fists they’d seen inside Dyson Two.  Are they still being propelled on beams of pseudogravity?

“Captain,” Helen said.  “There are limits to how much we can learn at this distance.  I request permission to deploy a flight of sensor drones.”

Staci frowned.  Normally, the decision rested with her and her alone.  Now, there was an admiral on her ship … and no way to know if the drones would anger a brooding alien presence, if indeed there was a presence.  She would have preferred to know, even if the Builders were disinclined to do anything more than order the intruders out of their system.  It felt as if she was in a foreign country, without any idea of what would anger the locals.  The slightest misstep could get her and the entire squadron killed.

“Launch the drones, but they are not to cross the debris shell,” she ordered, finally.  They’d made flights into the shell before, and the scavengers had presumably done the same, but they needed to be careful.  One ship – or even a handful of tiny ships – weren’t a squadron that included several light warships.  She doubted the Builders would feel threatened, any more than she’d be worried by a cannon pointed at her ship, but they might see it as a hostile move.  “And make sure they stay well away from any large pieces of debris.”

“Aye, Captain,” Helen said.

The display sparkled, then updated as the remainder of the squadron arrived.  Staci could just imagine the consternation on the command decks as they took in the sheer immensity of the sphere.  The squadron captains commanded vessels that included some of the most advanced in humanity’s fleets, but the spheres made them look like wooden sailing ships.  They’d seen the sensor records, of course, yet … there was nothing like gazing upon the sensor displays with your own eyes to bring home just how huge – and alien – the spheres truly were.  Sure, one of them might have shattered.  It was still proof of technology beyond anything the human race could boast.

“The remainder of the squadron has arrived,” MacPhee noted.  “The tactical command network is coming online now.”

Staci nodded.  The drills had concentrated on establishing the command datanet as quickly as possible and they’d done well, once they’d ironed out the problems, but now … her lips twitched as the network staggered into existence, dangerously slowly.  They’d have been in deep shit if they had jumped right into an ambush, part of her mind noted coldly; it was hard to believe the space navies had slipped so far since the war.  But then, the spheres did have a way of worming into your mind.  Some of her crew, during the first mission, had even insisted they were being watched.

And for all we know, we were, she reflected, as the last of the ships linked into the command network.  We just don’t have any way to be sure.

Her terminal bleeped.  “Captain,” Admiral Dismukes said.  His holographic head materialised next to her.  “You didn’t warn me nearly enough.”

Staci smiled.  “I think I ran out of superlatives to describe the spheres, sir,” she said.  “If it wasn’t for the recordings, my superiors would be trying to have me committed.”

The admiral laughed, rather humourlessly.  Staci understood.  The naval files hadn’t been that clear on Admiral Dismukes’ precise role – he certainly hadn’t been a front-line commanding officer or the navy would have known about him – but the briefing files had suggested he’d been in command of studying and duplicating alien technology.  The task before him was immense.  Staci doubted he’d be able to come to grips with it unless the researchers got very lucky.

“I can see their point,” he said.  “The squadron will hold position near the tramline for a couple of days, long enough for everyone to familiarise themselves with the sphere and see if there’s any response to our hails, then we’ll approach Dyson One and start chasing out the scavengers.”

“Understood,” Staci said.  She was fairly sure there’d be no response, but she understood the admiral’s point.  They had to do everything in their power to contact the Builders before assuming they were gone, dead or both.  “It would probably be wise to push probes closer to the debris shell.  We might be able to track the scavengers back to their hideouts.”

“Some of the shattered plates might even have an atmosphere,” the admiral agreed.  “Or so we were told.”

Staci suspected that was wishful thinking.  It might be theoretically possible – if you could give a Dyson Sphere a gravity field you could easily do the same to a planet-sized piece of debris – but they hadn’t detected any active gravity fields within the debris shell during their first mission.  The field within Dyson Two had at least been detectable, even if they hadn’t been able to locate the generators or work out how they functioned.  There’d been nothing comparable within the debris field.

Although we should inspect the shattered plates for gravity generators, she mused.  They have to be emplaced somewhere, assuming they survived the disaster …

“We’ll check,” she said, neutrally.  Her earlier thoughts about the sheer size of the debris field came back to haunt her.  It might take years to be sure there wasn’t a habitable plate orbiting the star.  “Do you want to broadcast warnings to the scavengers?”

“Yes,” Admiral Dismukes said, bluntly.  “We should at least try to warn them off.”

Staci kept her thoughts to herself.  The Dyson Sphere was hardly human territory.  The Royal Navy couldn’t declare an exclusion zone and make it stick, at least not legally.  God knew the exclusion zone around Vesy was violated all the time, with far less at stake.  The Great Powers had done their best to legally exclude anyone who refused to join the united exploration team and share their findings, in exchange for access to everyone else’s findings, but the lure of a monopoly on advanced alien tech was irresistible.  It made her wonder if there were British ships in the debris field, deniable assets that could be thrown to the wolves if the shit hit the fan.  She’d been told no, but who knew?  Certainly not her.  

“Yes, Admiral,” she said.  There might be American ships out there too.  And French, Russian, Chinese, and God alone knew who else.  The Belters would definitely have sent ships, if she was any judge.  Of all the human societies, they were the ones most likely to want to build a sphere of their own.  “I’ll see to it now.”

The admiral nodded, then cut the link.  His head vanished.  Staci suspected it would be a while before anyone was ready to proceed.  She’d had problems, on the first mission, and they would have been worse if the ship hadn’t materialised within the debris field.  They’d come very close to striking a chunk of debris, something she’d honestly thought impossible outside a bad movie written by incompetent hacks.  The writers might have had the last laugh after all …

“Captain,” Helen said.  “There was an odd little fluctuation within the tramline.”

Staci tensed.  “How do you mean?”

“The gravity pulses were longer than I’d expected, when the squadron made transit,” Helen said.  “I’m not sure what it means, but … it was just odd.”

Jenner looked up.  “A flicker signal?  Or something like it?”

“Possibly,” Helen said.  “We don’t even know how the tramline was stretched.  Or created.  It could be a natural side effect, or something much worse.”

Staci frowned.  “Forward the data to the researchers, then keep an eye on it,” she ordered.  “There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Aye, Captain.”

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