Supervoid (2183)

By B.B. Irvine

In 2183 a starship capable of traveling 10 million light years a day is sent to explore the Supervoid, an empty space over a billion light years in area which is 3 billion light years away toward the constellation Eridanus. First conjectured in 2007 (to explain a “cold spot” within data from the Cosmic Microwave Background), confirmed in 2015, the Supervoid has prompted speculations among physicists running a gamut: Is it an observational error? Is it merely empty, but huge - one of the two or three largest voids within this universe? Is it from a collision with another Universe? Or is it from a rip in space, a rip which will destroy this universe? This odyssey is set within the framework of B. B. Irvine’s Spacer Series but goes far beyond it...

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.B. Irvine
• Release date: Jan 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005741020

B.B. Irvine

B.B. Irvine was born in New York City in 1959. He graduated from the High School of Music and Art N.Y. (1976 music), New York State University at Stony Brook (1980 B.A. liberal arts), and in 1982 received a certificate as a Physician Assistant from the Bowman Gray School of Medicine in North Carolina. He has worked in settings including emergency medicine, AIDS research, and addiction treatment in New York City where he lives. In 1994 he earned a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do from Grandmaster Richard Chun. His novels and screenplays evidence his knowledge of people and frequently weave medicine, science, history, romance, and martial arts into the action.

Book preview

Chapter 01 - Second Team

PORTAL Platform

Scuzzy’s

Deepstrike System

29 December 2182 Mon

HOPEROSE

Having tried the direct approach but failing to catch him, they now sent two beautiful females directly at Hoperose to distract all serious thoughts and try to attract his physical interests instead. If usual teetotaler Hoperose had not been three drinks drunk at the time they made their move, it might have worked as planned. So thought Hoperose, at any rate.

It had been impossible not to notice the Qeta (a female Qet) and the Niv woman when they entered the PORTAL Plat bar named Scuzzy’s, the one bar on PORTAL Plat where never asking questions to pass the time was the rule. It was also the one place no respectable miliPlex politician ever went to in person, and no active Fleet officer would set foot in (unless at work, raiding the place – the Fleet had responsibility for security on a Platform). They had simply looked around the bar, which had not been crowded, and then chosen a table to sit at. The way they had looked in every area of the bar with the same careful amount of time suggested science training and some inexperience with bars, thought Hoperose, who was doing his best not to stare.

The Qeta wore a Qet Authority Space Services uniform under a crisp new SAS Space Fleet windshell jacket that would have looked baggy and wrinkled on any other frame. She was as tall, curved, and stately as any Qet seen in the Human Sphere so far, with light brown skin and matching tawny colorations to her hair, a slightly feline face with high cheeks and a narrow chin, and a pair of brilliant golden eyes with vertical slit pupils.

The Niv was neither as tall or strapping as the Qeta, or even Niv in general. While most Niv women looked naturally like heavily trained athletes (the way Sol humans had traditionally portrayed a goddess or superhero), she was barely Hoperose’s average height (making her short for an average Niv female), and she wasn’t skinny, she just looked a bit slim and wiry. Maybe she was still a teen…? Her black hair was cut short and one brow was folded quizzically as her eyes once again searched the bar. She almost did not look like a Niv, but her beauty, poise, balance, and the Niv Space Service uniform worn under her light Niv silkn jacket all confirmed it.

Having until recently served in Space Fleet alongside some brave and nervy Niv and Qet, the two stunning females were not as exotic a sight for Hoperose as they might be to anyone else in the bar… Although any sentient intelligents who chose to enter this paticular bar on PORTAL Plat were much less likely to be newbie tourists. No, this was Scuzzy’s, the place where any hustler or similar modern low-life who managed to get through PORTAL Plat’s extensive and always current security screening at entry came for a drink to decompress, regroup, and celebrate about beating The System a little bit for a little while.

Hoperose was the farthest thing from a tourist. His casual sweeping glance across the pair and cool look away afterward was being respectful to their sentience, while doing his best to feign complete ignorance of their physicality. That respect was what all fellow Space Fleet members deserved, what all Fleet officers had demanded, what his family values had instilled, and had been his habit for over two decades – nearly three now. His dilemma: most anyone who thought female Qet and Niv were beautiful and nice to look at would be inclined to stare at these two. Additonally, Hoperose knew his personal brain had evolved to notice human females and that human females had generally evolved to be aware of whether they were being noticed or not (regardless of their own intentions or any interest in who or what might be doing the noticing: it’s in their survival genetics).

Even Qet females had instincts for being observed, although just about every implication and rule that followed next after that moment was open to definition and demanded clarity… But it all started with getting them to preen, a brief moment of proud pose in response to a compliment, or by seeing the visual evidence of their impact on someone else.

Humans from Niv were harder to figure out, even when their social rules were in so many ways similar. Or something like that. Dating Niv was a multi-level challenge, and they were most usually the person who got bored first and moved on. They might be back, but maybe not – this was called being Niv about a relationship. Niv was a dangerous planet to live on, and the humans living on it had developed a culture and social network for a colonized planet where sudden loss of loved ones from a Deadly Fauna attack was still as common today as it had been after First Landing, over eight decades ago. So maybe that was why: Qet were truly different, and one stopped guessing and asked for information, while with Niv, things almost meant the same – until an error was made and a tart correction issued. Or until they got bored and moved on. Or they just moved on, no time wasters needing corrections need apply.

The love part of his life had on balance really sucked so far. Love was his main reason for staying on Deepstrike, and his marriage had ended so soon it was ended under the Less Than 90 Day rule. And she had been a Sol human, neither Niv nor Qet… Hoperose was halfway through his first drink at this point in his analysis, but was already feeling maudlin from the effects of booze. Coming here had been a surprise he supposed he could blame on his feet, which would be hard to feel once he finished this drink. Lucky feet…

Hoperose heard a low snore and looked around at the very large, broad shouldered construction worker passed out next to him, sleeping on the bar counter. He tilted his glass at the man’s vast shoulders, grinned, and downed the contents, then ordered another, deciding his feet had been right to bring him here. He was working on his second drink when he felt eyes on him, and caught both the pretty Qeta and the young Niv woman now looking right at him.

Hoperose looked around to be sure: no, besides the sleeping giant, he was the only sentient intelligent being in this immediate area of the bar counter. Hoperose toasted what a disreputable image he and the sleeping giant gave the place, since the alcohol he was drinking was clearly affecting him globally at this point. Because of this very effect, he hardly ever drank. It seemed like a good idea when his feet proposed it earlier, he guessed. His brain had not been working very well after the job interview earlier ended as it did, which Hoperose knew at the time. Smashing it with a couple or even three cold alcoholic comets had seemed like an interesting experiment with alcohol. His mind still remained at apogee, farthest away from his centrally swirling brain.

As he finished his second drink, Hoperose reconfirmed his mind was still not exactly processing what his brain and body were doing, because it appeared that the pretty Qeta and the young Niv woman had both kept on looking at him. He was too far away to see their expressions clearly, but concluded again there was no question they kept looking over at him, seated at the bar counter by the enormous construction worker still soundly passed out next to him. Hoperose knew he wasn’t a bad looking Sol human being himself, but he was not in any way unusually handsome. He had stayed Service training fit, still wore his hair moderately short (vacsuit helmet length), but he was an average height, average looking guy, pretty much. Not really the sort of guy who anyone would stare at in a bar.

He had to be careful about that: nobody was staring at him with one unbroken long stare, like he was a holovid star. He was being looked at a lot, which was more of an accumulative stare over time. Hoperose shook his head and ordered a third drink. Nobody’s staring, pal, he thought. And they are not giving you the eye. Probably never seen anyone getting so hammered with such deliberation, that’s it. Hoperose toasted that conclusion with a sip of his third drink, wondering why his lips seemed to be slightly numb… Oh. Right. Have another sip, Hoperose. That had made sense, although he also decided this was his last drink, because he was feeling drunk now, but still not exactly feeling better than how he had felt before his first drink.

Hoperose had cross-trained as a combat medic during InterWorld Group infantry service and liked to study medicine and track the effects of any medications or drugs in his body. He knew that he didn’t have to drink any more to get anywhere he wasn’t at already, and it wasn’t feeling better. Another full drink would make feeling bad feel even worse.

Hoperose looked down at his glass, which had half of his third drink left in it. Finish this last bit, then start back for bed… None of which I needed to be drunk to do.

Not even this one, actually…

Fekk it. Absent friends, he muttered, and downed the rest of his third drink. The last sip made him shiver, and his stomach started to burn. Great. I said no to their crazy job, and then walked out and came here to celebrate my sanity in saying no by punishing my body a bit. Hoperose looked down at his left hand. And right now, wishing I was nothing but ‘botlimbs and made completely out of ‘botparts makes a lot of sense.

Hoperose closed his eyes, cycled a deep breath, and chose to be active rather than go maudlin all night. He readied himself to stand up without falling over, and then get out of here without staggering. When he opened his eyes, the beautiful young Niv woman was heading right for him, the lovely Qeta close behind her.

His initially genuine stunned expression all too soon morphed to a pop-eyed appreciation of their beauty that made the Qeta straighten and preen for only an instant before giving him a dismissive cluck of disinterest as the Niv woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. Hoperose wasn’t too drunk yet to miss their reactions. He just shrugged.

I don’t think this is the best moment to ask him formally, the Niv woman said softly to the Qeta. Although slender and of average Sol human height, the Niv woman had a knowing tone and was definitely not a teen.

The Qeta chirped in interest, straightened, and looked at the Niv woman. Why not? she asked. Because he appears to be inebriated on intoxicants? The Qeta bent over slightly and she peered at Hoperose. He has not been sitting here offering manly boasts about sports, hunting, or fekking since we started our observation and he continued drinking. He has been quiet and thoughtful.

He was entranced by her golden eyes, then Hoperose finally remembered Qet manners and ducked his head. Thank you, m’am, he said softly, carefully hiding a booze burp behind m’am. With any luck, he wasn’t going to puke, but that last half drink had been a stupid waste of some darn good stuff…

See? He remains capable of being polite. The Qeta was pleased.

The Niv rolled her eyes again. He did that to look down your top, Qet-Tira.

Qet-Tira looked down at her service uniform, now worn just semi-zipped, then up at Hoperose. You took advantage of today’s calculated gap?

Yes, m’am, admitted Hoperose. I chose not to resist your temptations.

Qet-Tira chirped again, then chuffled delight, stood tall, and preened. Thank you. This was the full preen, including a most provocative half-smile.

The Niv woman frowned, shook her head, and looked at Hoperose. Starting rules: do not even try that with me. Clear check?

Clear check. A somehow now rapidly sobering Hoperose managed a good Niv head bow.

The Niv woman just rolled her eyes again, groaned, shook her head once more, then finally gave him a Niv head bow in return, being polite from discipline. Now that both females were sitting at the bar counter, the Qeta was attracting more stares than the Niv woman did. Few people were brave enough to risk being caught staring at a Niv. Niv didn’t pick fights, because the glare from an annoyed Niv was a potent weapon to start with, and a hint of what could follow if any escalation was chosen next. It was proper Human Sphere etiquette to generally ignore unknown Niv to the same degree as if they were unknown Sol Humans. A surreptitous glance was fine but staring was not, and any person who started any physical contact with a Niv without permission would, if they survived, be held responsible for injuries sustained in the response.

Hoperose had enough of his drenched wits squeezed damp to deduce his asking any kind of questions about whether they were sex workers sent to sweeten the job offer he had declined a few hours ago would really make everything much worse, moving forward… Despite the Qeta’s preening moments, neither female had projected any interest in him at all, actually. He sighed and accepted defeat. Are you both part of the science team?

The Niv woman and the Qeta exchanged glances, then looked at him, both now aware Hoperose was not as bleary minded as his eyes might look.

Yes, said the Qeta. Smartly leapt.

"Does the – the charter operator think I can be persuaded by another appeal for all of the new knowledge that will be gained?" Hoperose thought he had managed to not sound bitter.

The Niv woman frowned. No. We are here on our own, to meet the ship’s engineer here, following ship testing and flight certification filings. But we saw you earlier, en route to your interview, and so recognized you here.

The Qeta nodded. The Qet Sphere lies that tiny bit closer to whatever the Supervoid represents in realspace, she explained. And Sarissa felt it worthy of a try to ask you personally, as one human to another,

The Niv woman’s dark hazel eyes widened in surprise. She frowned in annoyance, glared at the Qeta, and then looked down at the floor, seething in silence at everything from a breach of her confidential personal information to an echo from the recent anti-Niv racism in the Human Sphere.

Hoperose faltered. Humans so inclined will always find some way or another to discriminate against others as they define them. People with ‘botlimbs were now discriminated against for some of the same reasons Niv received discriminatory verbiage from humans. In the Human Sphere, the Niv woman and Hoperose shared being an other in the view of humans inclined toward discrimination.

First things first. Hoperose could see by the Niv woman’s response to the Qeta’s comment that she had a common Niv anxiety about the "am I truly human? question. He needed to say something human to human" to the Niv woman – Sarissa? Thanks, Hoperose said at last, very careful not to slur anything. I do appreciate that, these days.

The Niv woman looked up at him, half angry, uncertain if he was making fun of her or not. She saw something in his eyes that made her impending anger vanish, then she grumbled and looked away, now slightly embarrassed, and now annoyed about that instead.

Hoperose wondered what impressions these two young academics had made of this nearly empty bar (Scuzzy’s was the most dissolute and run-down place permitted by adherence to all Platform safety regulations as written in all the ads) and its inebriated mid-day occupants – starting with the passed out construction worker next to him, and then Hoperose himself.

Oh, hell… Hoperose had a sinking feeling he was familiar with from the past. Oh, hell, am I really the only one left alive here who can help?

I am?

Well, hell, suck it up, pal, one foot in front of the other now –

Chapter 02 - Another Sentient intelligent Heard From

PORTAL Platform

Scuzzy’s

Deepstrike System

29 December 2182

Hoperose was gently aware that the Niv woman was staring at him at times and trying to hide it. He couldn’t figure out why, as she had already declared herself disinterested in him. She was a bit younger than she sounded when she spoke; and for a Niv scientist, her disappointment about his decision to turn down the job (and in him) was poorly hidden.

Qet were still exotic, still fair game for being stared at, and the Qeta was looking all around the bar herself, just as curiously as anyone else did when in a new place. She was giving polite nods to anyone she caught staring, which usually scared them into stopping…

Except the Qeta was now staring at Hoperose. What?

You are the officer who fired upon a vast fleet of dangerous Qet ships to protect the Qet-Qeta herself? she asked.

Hoperose nodded. I repeated an order, m’am, I didn’t do any targeting or ordnance prep myself.

She tilted her head. Nevertheless. Thank you.

He smiled. You’re welcome.

The Niv woman shook her head, muttering.

Starting at the door, there was a low ripple of laughter through the bar. The Trader who approached to where Hoperose, the Niv woman, and the Qeta were all seated at the bar was wearing one of the neatest and most carefully arranged dark green colored Trader pocket vests Hoperose had ever seen, matching a heavy formality which was oddly discordant. To his great relief, that whole effect was instantly ruined by the squeak of delight the Trader gave upon spotting the Qeta. Qet-Tira! It was approved despite your worries then!

Qet-Tira smiled. Yes, precisely as you predicted all along, Brightheart. Then she shook her head. But there will be delay anew, I fear. The search for a pilot continues.

The Trader blinked in surprise, then looked right at Hoperose. Oh.

Hoperose was surprised to see it was a female Trader, she was disappointed, and she was also more deeply worried than seemed to make sense. He wondered why a delay in a science mission would cause such worry. He also wondered why they were having such trouble finding a pilot…

It was at this point in his day that he realized he had left the job slot interview without asking real specifics, and none had been volunteered in the short time he had given them. Fast ship or not, the overall mission had spooked him, and so had that room. Even his old colleague Trader Bargains had been strained in the moment.

The female Trader adroitly scrambled up the bar chair and looked at the menu pad.

Are there any other guys on this mission, or what? asked Hoperose. It came out grumpy, not the way he had intended it at all, and then Hoperose felt stupid.

All three females looked at him.

The Niv woman scowled and shook her head in disgust.

The Trader cooed, I hope so, lest the female crew’s stiff competition for your manly side be overly bloody and fierce. Then she snickered.

The Qeta chirped in delight.

That’s not what I meant, protested Hoperose, although in this moment, maybe he had. But he had definitely not meant to sound grumpy

He’s hopeless, muttered the Niv woman. We should get going.

The Trader held up her paw hand. "I have only just arrived, and have not had even one individual libation, while you two sisters of space have been here for some time on your callings of the spirit, having several."

The Niv woman rolled her eyes and growled, grabbing her glass and dragging it to her lips as if it was poison.

The Qeta chuffled, amused.

The Trader looked at Hoperose. I am Trader Brightheart.

Hello. I am Hoperose.

Yes, Hoperose, there are other males on the mission roster, said Trader Brightheart. Sleeping right next to you is our ship’s engineer, Arkitekton Munitor, as one example. As for some of the females, now you have met Trader Brightheart, along with Qet-Tira Starseeker and Sarissa Apolline. Have they made their entreaties about your decision?

Engineer Munitor snored for a moment, then immediately shifted slightly. The Qeta shifted as if uncomfortable, and Sarissa Apolline growled softly.

Apolline? Hoperose asked her. Any relation of Doctor Apolline?

My cousin, she bit out. "She told me of your bravery in those dangerous moments after VICTORY was attacked by the Seamers. And she also told me in confidence that your neural interface plate does permit ‘Big Foot’ interface access."

Hoperose frowned. "Violating patient confidentiality isn’t like the Doctor Apolline I knew on VICTORY."

Correct. Sarissa straightened. Only the gravest possible situation would cause it.

The Supervoid?

The A.O.S. has no idea what it is, friend Hoperose, Trader Brightheart observed brightly.

"Is this like back in 2181, when the Qet and Trader aboard VICTORY had ‘no idea’ about the existence of Seamers out there?" Hoperose managed to keep the bitterness down.

No, replied Trader Brightheart. The A.O.S. truly have no fekking clue, and it has been scaring them fekkless. She gave a chitter and took a sip of her newly arrived drink.

It’s been out there a whole lot longer than humans have even existed, said Hoperose. What’s taken the A.O.S. so long to set up an expedition?

Ahh! Most refreshing – Yum! Brightheart wiped her lips and looked up at him. No one has wanted to go until now.

Are you kidding me? I know all about our nervous systems differences. What about a ‘bot?

There are surprising constraints and fleeting opportunities in the unknown which even the most advanced A.I. still may not recognize, or then decide to respond to. Her calm and smart delivery were punctuated by a loud slurp as Brightheart then tipped her glass.

Sounds fishy to me.

The Qeta chirped. "Sounds like a fish?"

Hoperose turned and smiled at her. Anything that seems ‘fishy’ is related to spoiled fish not smelling right.

"How can the smell of spoiled fish sound like anything?"

"If something ‘sounds fishy,’ think of it as ‘rotten.’"

"How can anything sound like something rotting?" Qet-Tira asked brightly.

Forget about anything rotting or sounding like a smell – it means something doesn’t sound right.

Qet-Tira straightened and sniffed. If you are going to be this vague in speech, and contentious when queried, we are fortunate this afternoon will be the only time we spend with you. She looked at Trader Brightheart. Please quaff your libations hastily so we may depart, as Sarissa so wisely advised earlier.

Sarissa growled in disgust.

Hoperose shook his head. I don’t see why they haven’t already gone and checked it out, that’s all.

And who, exactly, is ‘they,’ Mister Hoperose? Sarissa now asked, annoyed – but not exactly at Hoperose this time, he noted with relief. She continued: At the moment, the only known sentient intelligents of the A.O.S. in our known Universe are all represented here in this bar. Niv have carefully studied and analyzed known A.O.S. interactions and have concluded at least two more cultures exist, entirely distinct from either the Trader or Qet cultures. Whoever is asking questions during Room interviews is from one culture. Another culture runs A.O.S. administrative functions. Her tone reflected her own negative feelings about this mystery, even if her words were pure Niv Rational Mind In Action.

Oh.

I can attest to a number of basic A.O.S. interface positions held by Traders and some Qet who I have met, seen, or heard of, offered Trader Brightheart. At least one human has even been offered a position, in a very high post as Negotiator. Others will surely fill some lower interface posts.

Sarissa shifted in her seat, but she wasn’t going to argue with Brightheart, or ask her straight out whether Trader Brightheart had ever seen any other kind of sentient intelligent either.

The Qeta chuffed. I agree, yet still I share the suspicions of Hoperose. But those with greater access who I trust confirm a void of information concerning this Supervoid. Qet-Tira looked over at Trader Brightheart. Qet are not by general nature a curious species. Traders tend toward only the practical curiosity needed to assess goods and make deals. It has been suggested that the A.O.S. has long been too large and powerful to still be curious. Qet-Tira looked at Sarissa, then at Hoperose. Enter the newest sentient intelligent Sphere of the A.O.S., with a people whose burning curiosities are unending and can never be quenched.

Here, here, called Trader Brightheart, toasting with her second drink.

Sarissa and Hoperose looked at each other, smiled nervously, then looked away, mutually flustered by the momentary positive shared contact. Hoperose shook his head. Why me, though?

All three were puzzled by his question, then Sarissa Apolline asked, You left before you heard about how ship drive operation is accessed to initiate flight?

He looked in her eyes (which were a nice dark hazel, very pretty when she wasn’t using them to glare) and then he looked down at his left hand, which all eyes now followed as he lifted it off the bar counter and said, Oh. That’s why, hmm?

Chapter 03 - ‘Botlimbs

Nearly eighteen months had passed since Hoperose lost his left hand below the wrist in the internal damage inflicted when the hull of starship SAS VICTORY was holed by a Seamer weapon during the Seamer Encounter in late June 2181.

Although it wasn’t exactly obvious, anyone who knew what a neural plate looked like could tell right away, and there was no way to camouflage some of them. Hoperose chose to wear a wrist chron-comm over the visible metalloy edge of the neural plate covering the end of his left forearm stump, where his left wrist bones used to be. It looked like a skintight band of metalloy worn just above his wrist, but that was where his human arm ended – at a neural plate, and now his wrist and fingers were all part of a ‘botlimb hand attached to it. With the exception of the skinflush ring of metalloy (actually the edge of the neural plate covering the end of his left forearm at the wrist), his ‘botlimb left hand (both the first model and the most recent new one) really looked exactly like his original hand. It performed nearly as well at eighty to ninety percent across the range of human hand functions, exactly as technically promised. With ongoing work, his brain would map new pathways, and up to ninety percent of original functions might resume. Possibly more. It would never have the feeling like skin did, though… And a hard pinch could generate many hundreds of pounds of pressure, enough to snap and crush human bones.

Hoperose was right handed, so when he wore his chron-comm on his left wrist, it was very hard to see the neural plate. It reduced the odds of any random discovery, thus avoiding external comments by nosy fekkheads whose personal phobias caused their verbal abuse of others, but Hoperose was also still trying hard to make it work right. Hiding the neural plate was pointless if his fingers accidentally squeezed dents into something metal (or worse).

Compared to having no limb at all, which for centuries had been the most common result of severe combat trauma, Hoperose was very grateful to be alive in the time he was. Nevertheless, the replacement was still imperfect compared to real, and there were always new improvements possible (plus vocal advocates for veterans, with some bitter critics clamoring for more).

In addition to those advocates seeking to improve ‘botlimbs and free access and services for them, there were also people advocating views that were discriminatory, based upon their philosophical position that any mechanical additions to the human body which had the potential for superhuman actions made the recipient a freak, perhaps even open to redefinition regarding basic Humanity.

The spectrum ranged from the merely squeamish to full and outright discriminatory comments and large demonstrations of disapproval. It was reactivation of the same kind of Is any super human still really human? arguments used two decades ago by Sol Humans carrying anti-Niv sentiments during the Niv Re-Contact in 2163. The known assistance and innovation which Niv engineers and scientists had provided in modern ‘botlimb developments was mentioned every time, in every speech, athough not another reference to the Niv was ever included.

In private discussions, this was a factoid often used as a prop to hold up any nonsense that followed, all of which was wrong, and some of it was vile.

Hoperose was happy to give anyone sounding off on the topic his left middle finger, even though his own skintight metalloy wrist band was usually concealed by wearing a wrist chron-comm (just as common a fashion for keeping time now as ever). Hoperose had never had any problems with ‘botlimbs or people with them, even if some other humans did – not many, but the ones who did usually chose to express their sentiments with crude, ignorant, hurtful things said to deliberately insult others.

Now Hoperose was a man with a ‘botlimb hand.

He felt lucky.

Still…

On VICTORY, where Fleet crewpers would proudly serve alongside a ‘botlimb crewper and die while trying to save them, it had always been very politely put, but no one seemed to want to cuddle with them. It didn’t matter how good his hand looked, and both of the ‘bot hands – the first one, in late summer 2181, and the updated refinement last year – had looked completely natural. They were color matched, it felt like real skin, and had body temperature warmth. Even for the time tested and tolerant types who served in space, touching a ‘botlimb during an intimate embrace was some sort of mood altering symmetry-breaker for a very large number of ladies, and many ladies who had ‘botlimbs reported many men were equally squeamish in general.

Since the Fleet was not a dating service, that alone was not the sort of discrimination anyone could go complain about. His wife hadn’t seemed to mind, although she had divorced him by the time Hoperose was finally finished with retiring and had his latest improved hand back to fully normal again. The last upgrade process allowed Fleet Services to classify him as no longer physically disabled enough to earn a rehabilitation stipend from Fleet Services, so it would end at midnight 31 December 2182. It was a great success for Hoperose, Space Fleet, Fleet Services, and the Human Sphere at large. Hoperose was fine with the decision, now had only his own way to pay for, and was more concerned with getting another job to cover those expenses the rehabilitation stipend had covered, so he had checked Job Slots this morning and found a listing that seemed to fit him: Wanted: less than fully intact single orphan science pilot with tactical experience for extended (>18 month) tour service mission.

Although most people in the Human Sphere would probably interpret the phrase less than fully intact to mean slightly crazy, Hoperose now knew it to be a recent cultural code phrase (growing in usage and generally perjorative) for someone with a ‘botlimb. This listing was seeking the very person Hoperose now was, although he had been Tac/Sci in Space Fleet, listed first in the Tactical Division. He was a pilot, he had trained for and survived many tactical experiences, and he had also been a senior officer in the Science Division on SAS VICTORY. He was also less than fully intact in several ways, he thought.

This looked like a match to Hoperose.

Chapter 04 - Interview

PORTAL Platform

Deepstrike System

29 December 2182

HOPEROSE

The Trader who responded when Hoperose keyed in the contacting code was in gray middle age, had senior clan chain decorations on the pockets of his well tailored day vest, and was quite a bit less outgoing and cheerful than any other Trader who Hoperose had ever met. The Trader said, Trader Bigsavings, then waited, giving Hoperose a baleful stare.

Hoperose.

Trader Bigsavings seemed suspicious, overtly secretive, and almost furtive. What do you want? he whispered.

I’m responding to the job slot posting.

Oh? The Trader squinted. Why?

I need a job, and I fit all of the requirements given.

The senior Trader snorted as if he didn’t believe Hoperose and pointedly turned his head to read what his information system was telling him about that name, its Fleet service record, and anything else he had just asked it to find. Oh. He didn’t seem to like what he read, rubbing his gray whiskers with absent worry. After a few moments Bigsavings said, very reluctantly, "When can you arrive on PORTAL Plat?"

I can arrive on the High Noon today.

"After arrival on PORTAL Plat, can you please report to this location point for formal interview process?" Trader Bigsavings was polite enough, but he seemed rather glum and resigned about it all.

The interview was done on PORTAL Plat in an empty white room within the Assembly Of Sentients section. Hoperose stepped through the usual visitor access hatchdoor, and instead of the expected visitor access corridor leading to the museum, he entered directly into a large feeling, empty white room… Without any walls he could see.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he was now. Captain Ecurba had mentioned that the Assembly Of Sentients could apparently create these white room areas within Human Sphere realspace structures like PORTAL Plat, so the Room and this interview might be happening within a temporarily expanded area of quantum foam, for all Hoperose knew… Or it might just be a large white office within the A.O.S. section of PORTAL Plat, and he was wrong about it being a corridor access hatchdoor. That went against his recall of the floor plan, studied often during his Fleet service on VICTORY, but he hadn’t been here in the A.O.S. section in person for several months.

Shortly after he entered the empty white room, there was a chair in it. Hoperose decided then that a good tactic for him to try and stay sane while he bargained however he had to do to get out of here alive was to not be either outwardly impressed or terrified by anything he saw from this point onward, and thus remain no more insane than he was at this moment.

It went a lot easier once Hoperose decided to be interested in this uncertainty, rather than frightened by it, and the implications. Although the room was empty and white, and even if the room’s size and walls were never clear, the doorway he had entered it through always remained visible behind him. He could probably leave at any time.

And the chair was proving to be quite comfortable.

The Trader bustling in through the door was one he knew very well: Trader Bargains had been on SAS VICTORY during the 2181 Seamer Encounter, and had directed Trader investment funds into Human Sphere businesses and veteran services ever since. Sorry I was not here when you arrived, my old friend Hoperose, said Trader Bargains, then he glared at the room. I was not given advance notice this was for now.

Hoperose tried not to laugh at the annoyed sea otter-derived, sentient intelligent one meter tall being wearing a wine red vest of pockets, each crammed full of items, chiding the empty room.

Now that we’re all finally here at last, said The Room, clearly enjoying itself, Let us get started without further delay.

Old friends Hoperose and Bargains exchanged resigned glances, and Hoperose chuckled. How have you been, Trader Bargains?

Doing well enough for myself, never enough for my others. You have fully developed your latest model ‘botlimb hand, Friend Hoperose?

Yes. I can even scratch my nose without breaking it.

Good. Bargains looked at the empty room. Any questions for this candidate?

Why exactly did you leave SAS Space Fleet, Commander Hoperose? asked The Room. Using his title made everything formal: the interview had officially begun.

I got married and then was ordered to a new posting out of system, so I retired to stay at Deepstrike.

You are not married now, however?

No.

Trader Bargains shook his head sorrowfully, making Hoperose shrug. Bargains had seen things developing that way, as not one decision which Hoperose had made en route to his marriage had been a good one, until his decision to agree with ending it after just two months came up for action.

Any other family? asked The Room.

No. They were all killed in an attack during the Conflict.

Trader Bargains bowed his head briefly.

No comment from The Room. Next question: Commander Hoperose, why do you seek this employment?

I fit all the job slot categories and I need money. Seeing if we match made sense to me. Although staying active in the Fleet Reserve (Emergent), Hoperose had no interest in trying to re-enlist just for a job. He had decided to live on Deepstrike, and looked for work as a pilot, or as a construction worker – both were in demand. He had freelanced while hoping for a steady job at one of the newer firms offering services to assist in building more future needs projects on Deepstrike, or providing something needed for those already living here. He was still waiting for his performance record to earn him something steady when he left the freelancing pool during his latest hand revision rehabilitation – putting him out of sight, out of mind, as far as most firms went, and at the bottom of the freelance pool when he went back into it in three days.

You are not exactly a science pilot, as requested in the posting.

I know. I was a ground trooper, a combat pilot, and a Tac-Science officer in Space Fleet. Does your definition of ‘science pilot with tactical experience’ match up with that or not?

You were curious about that possibility?

Yes.

Does curiosity drive you, Commander Hoperose?

Being curious about how to pay all of my bills once disability pay ends is a big one at the moment.

What about being curious in general?

An increasingly annoyed Hoperose managed to stop a moment and "Think Like Katsavr," which was what crew on VICTORY had called taking a quick moment to breathe deep and exhale, regroup internally, and wish they were a Ceti Cat (which their captain, Katsavr Ecurba, said was his personal coping strategy in any moment of crisis, just before taking action). Why am I annoyed at this moment, anyway? thought Hoperose. The Room had seemed genuinely curious, not badgering, mocking, or snide. If he felt intimidated, it might be excitement as much as feeling threatened by the vague and ominous vast technological powers the Assembly Of Sentients had available. This oddly boundless room itself was an example. Ecurba had mentioned it in two interactions with the A.O.S., noting its appearance within structures without any disruption to them, and no loss of external spacetime, regardless of personal time spent within the room.

Meanwhile, his interview had gone from a Human Sphere job slot here on PORTAL Plat or at Deepstrike, to a job interview to work for the vastly more interstellar Assembly Of Sentients… Sometimes, Hoperose said at last.

You are only curious sometimes?

Yes. My Fleet cross training and ship service was as a scientist. Things do make me curious about the universe and realspace. I find the answers to the questions of science fascinating. I also trained and served as a ground combat soldier. Many tactical ops have taught me the painful costs paid, often without useful gain, to answer poorly thought out questions. It may be best sometimes to remain wary but incurious, to avoid an inept and dangerous reconaissance until better investigational resources are available to seek more definitive answers from the start.

After Hoperose finished speaking, The Room was silent for a moment, then: Which branch of science?

Observational astronomy, specializing in technical detection of energy and matter interactions. I set up gear and systems for the observational specialists to use.

Are you still working on your doctorate in tactical science, Commander Hoperose? asked Trader Bargains.

Yes. I’m about halfway along.

Any ideas what your dissertation topic will be?

Hoperose wondered whether Bargains was asking from personal interest or trying to demonstrate something for The Room. Yes. I will trace the history of the discoveries, theories, and metallurgic elements used in the development of the rail gun, the first e-mag kinetic weapon.

Trader Bargains looked up at Hoperose, waggled his whiskers and winked, then turned and faced The Room. Any more questions or review of records?

No, the service records indicate the professional qualities of Commander Hoperose match the demands of this mission profile, especially in the unique technical and scientific categories present. The Room sounded pleased. An offer of contract as starship captain and primary pilot is indicated.

Agreed. Bargains nodded, also rather pleased, then looked at Hoperose At this time, is it acceptable to all parties if I provide the offer details?

Agreed, replied The Room. Trader Bargains has been instrumental in the mission design, and any clarifications will be interjected only if needed.

Agreed, replied Hoperose. He was extremely curious indeed by now.

Trader Bargains bowed his furry head. A thousand thanks for the honors you have all given me with your assents to my moderation and explications of this mission to place a science platform within the nearby Supervoid.

Hoperose shook his head. Supervoid? That was – Near by? That’s three billion light years away, isn’t it?

Perhaps. And the mission site is another third of a billion light years within it, at least.

That’s a long time to travel there and back, isn’t it? Most of the Sol Human hyperflight drives in current service managed .57 light years per day in transit, or a standard drive of four light years per week; the fastest Niv hyperflight drives could transit .71 light years per day in transit, or five light years per week. The advanced Niv hyperflight drive now on SAS VICTORY managed five light years per week, so fifty two weeks in hyperflight would put that human built starship only 260 light years away from any starting point in realspace. Three and a third billion light years? That’s crazy.

Trader Bargains rubbed his whiskers. The mission sponsors have a special drive technology in a special ship.

The mission sponsors – the A.O.S.?

Yes.

Really? Hoperose was instantly suspicious. For how long has that been?

This year. I am told it was only a question of physical construction schedules, not discovering anything new.

Oh yeah? When was it started?

2173 your calendar. Following Qet reports of events on the planet now named Deepstrike.

The Qet Encounter. Hoperose nodded. Way back then, hunh? He felt his anger and suspicion growing.

Bargains nodded. Yes. There was immediate hope that humans would soon prove to be valuable members in the Assembly Of Sentients.

Because of our nervous systems?

Because of the evolution derived brain that much of the time runs your nervous system so well for humans. Bargains chittered in mild annoyance at the tone Hoperose had been using. At least for most of you, most of the time.

This is just a messenger, and my friend. Hoperose put his hands together in apology and bowed his head. Dear old friend Bargains, you spoke of a special ship?

Apology and the careful use of formal titles in proper phrases always pleased Traders, and Bargains squeaked in delight that their moment of tension was past. I did, he said. It transits ten million light years per Sol standard 24 hour day spent in foldflight transit.

Oh. Wow. Wholly fekk.

No, really.

Ten million light years per day? His heart was pounding as Hoperose felt physically stunned by the number, unable to move another muscle.

Yes. I am no engineer, but I could hazard an explanation whose errors will always be mine, but which has seemed to be comprehended by most. Shall I proceed?

Please do.

I trust you are familiar with both hypercomm and the basic tenets of hyperflight, as well as the ongoing mysteries that still surround them.

Yes. Hoperose knew that hyperflight came at the cost of Time and large amounts of Energy, using technology that made it possible to trade Energy and Time for some Space. It was something along the lines of, Convince the Higgs field that you’re a massless particle, and away you go. There were some analogies of Higgs field flying ‘brane carpets through different coexisting topologies and more of the same, with exact details understood by only the top scientists and drive engineers. Others had suggested the ship turned into a tachyon while in transit.

Hyperflight had required a whole new set of vibrations and waves and unexpected energy frequencies, now measured in garcias (gca). The strangest thing about hyperflight technology was that it had worked when humans tried it, even if they didn’t know exactly why. More than one pundit had likened it to knowing how to use fire for thousands of years of wonderful human constructions before finally learning the exact molecular process that caused a flame to burn.

Despite an operational functionality which had been safe and repeatable for several decades of human hyperflight travel, how and why it worked the way it did was still less than clear, and very far from certain. Science believed it was a matter of discovering a naturally derived existing loophole and figuring out how to take advantage of it. Some humans had revived religious explanations for physical realspace phenomena, especially when either hard limits or apparent loopholes were concerned: it all had to be set up, was this non-Science contention. Regardless of their beliefs, not knowing every detail of how hyperflight worked had not prevented millions of humans from using it to achieve practical gains in their lives. It was a modern case of using a process (like fire) as a tool, even without knowing exactly how it worked yet.

Hoperose knew the Qet had discovered hyperflight because of an alien vehicle they had recovered.

The Traders had a long cultural history of observational science driven by living in space and the need to detect stellar systems with planets likely to produce sentient intelligent life, so their hyperflight might have been invented or discovered; there was also a rumor they had traded for hyperflight very early on.

In all three known sentient intelligent cultures, hyperflight was still a wonderful mystery for over ninety nine percent of the population at large, and the one percent who understood the drive and the other technologies needed to use it still didn’t know exactly and precisely why it worked.

Trader Bargains chuckled. There are other topologies in the Universe at large besides the one used most commonly by all for hypercomm and hyperflight, he explained. Niv have been arguing for almost a decade whether such access is even possible without violating any number of known local realspace parameters. Access for use is much more complicated to finagle than achieving hyperflight. So in some senses, the existence of a Foldflight Drive is proprietary information at this exact point in Human Sphere time. Agreed?

Agreed.

Trader Bargains explained that the Drive charge was still powered by a contained antimatter annihilation process, but the equations built into the blast chips and types of Rare Earth Alloy in the mix were vastly different. The drive preserved the initial spatial conditions within a spherical field area around it while slipping into a different topology of the Universe, where the expansion of space between points was much shorter than the topology of realspace in the sixty light year bubble of Human Sphere and the 900,000 light year diameter spindular halo of nontron dark matter which the Milky Way galaxy existed within. It was still the same universe, but seen from a membrane, even though brane theory in general had been sidetracked long ago by the Kutton-Payster Concordance Model.

A model which Traders agree makes sense, said Trader Bargains. We both know hyperflight drive exists, and so does some sort of brane or something, which Traders believe emerges once Space starts to be made within voids, which is not a period that Kutton or Payster applied their most specific attentions to. We, on a different shore, have been drawn to study Space more than matter, since Space is where we live. Hyperflight would have been impossible during the first six billion years of this Universe’s evolution, but after six and a half to seven billion years the local density within voids drops so low that quantum probabilities permit Space to start forming there, accelerating the expansion of the Universe, and a brane emerges. This brane results from this much later phase change in ever growing Space, which remains the canvas all particles have crawled through from the start.

Hoperose’s mouth dropped open. Uh… Really?

Yes. Humans running around with your clocks and rulers, measuring things all the time, have this species belief they should be able to understand everything, and that there should be a ‘theory of everything,’ even if your own Uncertainty Principle suggests a non-linear solution exists at best. Bargains paused. What’s so funny?

I do have on my chrono for the time, but I forgot my ruler at home, so if I feel like measuring this chair, can I use that tape measure I see there in your vest pocket?

Trader Bargains looked down at his vest, waggled whiskers, then snarfled. Ha-ha. I need that for measuring crew for uniforms if this venture proceeds.

Sorry.

Bargains looked at his own chrono to emphasize time wasting, then looked at the tape measure in his vest pocket, then up at Hoperose and chittered at himself. "Point taken, but I blame a lately learned response. Traders expect nothing but turbulent waters as we seek answers, and a simple change in water level can open or close a whole path. We ask our questions, we seek our answers, but we are always humbled to learn anything about how the Universe works. Humans seem to demand answers from the Universe as a habit, and have tended to complain that they don’t know or can’t explain why some of the values for constants are set, as if the entire process isn’t seeking its delicate balance through the constant exchange of energies, large and small. Humans have spent decades arguing about the low strength of gravity as compared with the strengths of other forces, seeking explanations as if there is something wrong with this, or even declaring that it should be mathematically accessible. Bargains rubbed his whiskers and snarfled. If the strength of gravity was any greater, all of the known particle interactions and evolutions of matter and this whole Universe would be different, and if chemistry was still permitted here, any inquiries would be up to completely different sentient intelligents to ask as they evolved. If the initial rapid expansion event generates multiple distinct bubble Universes, each will have constants, and ours are what we observe in this specific Universe and assign a measurement to. So why is this question being asked over and over?"

Hoperose shrugged. He was fascinated, having rarely seen an angry Trader.

Bargains rubbed his hands on his lower vest. I apologize for lecturing you, my old friend, and demanding answers I know you cannot have. I have been with this project for so long that I have accumulated more than one meeting with Niv physicists, some of whom like to believe in asking the same old questions, arguing strongly about their validity, and demanding answers to them. He shook his head, clearly wearied by his efforts.

Yeah, that’s a Niv thing. No problem.

Where was I, before I started whining on about clocks and rulers?

You mentioned a phase change in Space. Is that in an energy level, or do you mean in Space itself?

Ah! Well… The tiny level of observed Space-making energy available has been a constant in this Universe since the end of the initial expansion phase, and we agree with Humans that it seems unlikely to change in the future. The calculations made regarding global percentages for each component of this current Universe are above seventy percent for Space-making energy, even though at local scales the measured amount is so tiny. No, this is a phase change in Space itself.

Hoperose nodded uneasily, recalling some of the Big Rip and other scenarios where the resulting change in Space wiped out everything in the Universe. There was even an echo of the awe he had felt last year when the A.O.S. punishment device used against a Seamer CityPlat had created an event powerful enough to disrupt an area of realspace twenty light hours in diameter. Changes like those in Space took a lot of energy-mass, and caused collateral effects that were dangerous.

Bargains nodded, and proceeded slowly and calmly again. The Universe provides observable interactions which can be analyzed as changes in energy, and the probabilities for the exchanges of energy between particles can be assessed. So can the evolution of matter under the effects of forces within the Universe. Yes?

Yes.

Humans were so pleased to discover a relationship between Space and their clocks that they have fused them together into ‘spacetime’ and most still have trouble separating them, despite Kutton, Payster, and everything else learned over two and a half centuries since Einstein.

Hoperose looked at his left hand. It’s a sore subject, I guess.

Mm. Well, the growth of Space is independently powered, and has never stopped. Traders all agree with Kutton’s private observations that the Universe didn’t use a clock or a ruler to measure anything, and the only unit a Universe can use is the constant increase in its size, measured in doublings. We have found strong currents of observations and theory sweeping us toward the conclusion that the Universe also acts in phases, with sweeping effects at critical energy level points and density points in the evolution of Space itself.

Hoperose nodded.

First Space forms and expands, until the Space-making energy level drops, and then it forms the particles and forces. It then evolves six billion years as Space is made constantly along the edge of expansion, but less is made within the particle dense Universe, where the probabilities of Space formation compete with the probabilities for other particle and field interactions. The fact that dark matter nontron strings turn Space-making energy into emitted gravitons that give them their observational mass plays a role in the balances as well as preventing Space from forming within concentrations of dark matter. Then at around six to six and a half billion years, the average particle density within existing voids drops low enough that the tiny amount of constant Space-making energy present in the Current Era reaches a higher probability of making Space there as well. Space is made in the internal voids, and the rate of expansion accelerates. Bargains smiled, rubbing his hands together. Sound familiar?

Hoperose nodded. That’s what Payster wrote in their 2029 Concordance paper, using Kutton’s nontron string solution.

Yes. What Payster didn’t realize was that after six billion years of an expansion evolving under the waning influences of radiation and matter, this phase change in the creation of Space and its location of formation creates a structural brane which can then be exploited for transits from area point to area point within the realspace Universe, faster than gravitons or photons can travel within the realspace Universe. Hyperflight becomes possible.

Do the Niv know all of this?

They have been working on translating our equations for some time now, which we are enjoying very much. The way the mathematical formulas sound is as intriguing as all of your other music. Trader Bargains rubbed his whiskers. How is that pursuit going for you?

Very well. Hoperose knew he was being deflected, but had heard enough for now to be half convinced and only half confused. No one who thought I was too old to learn to play piano would complain. His ex-wife had been vicious about that.

Bargains chittered. Please do not try to seek her out to demonstrate.

Hoperose laughed. No, no. She just shows up in songs I’m writing. He took a deep breath. So hyperflight is on a travel transit brane?

Yes.

And Kutton-Payster is wrong?

No, no. Your brilliant physicists never said they were doing anything besides a study of the Primordial phase of the Universe, and they got from the initial starting energy of inflation all the way through to your Standard Model and beyond the spacetime of Doctor Einstein without using any extra dimensions or branes from the M-Theory mainstream so popular at the time. They took it quite far, but adding a brane later due to an evolutionary change in the creation of Space didn’t occur to them or anyone else yet. This is because most academics swim from side to side or take an ‘all or none approach’ to theories that fail over time. The human concept of spacetime has been biased in favor of visible matter, particles, energy, and gravity. Bargains laughed. Although Kutton noted that, didn’t he?

Hoperose knew anyone else meant Humans in general, and wondered what the Niv were making of the Trader equations. He appreciated the reference to R. S. Kutton, well known for being a spiky sort of Scotsman when it came to attacking problems, solutions, and weak ideas, the sort of man who had no trouble stabbing a bad idea right in the heart rather than letting anyone down gently, almost all of the time. The only sort of a person who had a shot at ignoring everyone else’s ideas and developing a physical vision he could explore with pure mathematics to work out the invisible dark matter particle.

Kutton was equally and better well known for his generosity with credit (to a fault) for the work, and for making sure physics study remained accessible and was encouraged in those who liked it. If Kutton had not met the brilliant mathematician Dr. Cassandra Payster, he never would have been able to finish what he started, as String Theory mathematics is very complex. Her work provided the rigorous framework of equations required in physics. Her cousin, the famed cosmologist Dr. L.M.X Payster, then took their proposed nontron particle and fit it in neatly, so neatly it was hard to argue against his complete theory: the fabric of Space creation from initial inflation to setting of the force of gravity and creation of all particles from graviton formation to the moment the Cosmic Microwave Background was imprinted was now seamless… Starting with the work of spiky Scotsman Kutton, who very famously disliked M-Theory and branes. I bet he really would have hated adding a brane, said Hoperose.

Bargains laughed. I disagree. This brane is purely related to a change in Space and Space-making energy, not related to tiny, compactified dimensions, or the strength of gravity, or any of the other things those theories had. Kutton’s primordial phase point of nontron-graviton formation and Payster’s evolution forward ring true. This brane is simply a new later phase in the Universe, one still evolving from their primordial point.

Okay. Hoperose nodded. Go on.

"Thank you. Now, this brane permits both hypercomm and hyperflight. The tiny time delay in hypercomm exchange and longer times spent during hyperflight transit are both due to