Starship Summer (Starship Seasons, #1)(38)

I thought of the alien space-farers who had lain here before us, of the stars they had beheld on their voyages through the galaxy.

Where are we going, I asked the thing in my head, for perhaps the hundredth time. The alien deigned not to reply, but I knew it was there. “We’re powering up,” Hawk reported from his cradle. “Take-off in three minutes and counting…”

I was aware of a slight vibration that conducted itself through the Mantis, an almost subliminal hum at first, but mounting. Seconds later the ship shook, rattling us in our couches. I looked through the viewscreen and saw the scene of sea and foreshore yaw alarmingly. It see-sawed as the ship lifted with a groan of engines; the beach vanished beneath us, to be replaced with a view of the open sea.

Then the Mantis turned, pointing inland.

Hawk said, “Hold on—!”

And we accelerated.

An invisible force punched us back into the couches, almost robbing us of breath. I gripped the side of the couch as the ship underwent a high-pitched vibration; panels squealed as they took the strain, anything which I hadn’t removed in preparation fell to the floor and rolled across the deck.

Through the viewscreen I saw the magnificent interior, the plains of green and in the distance the rearing central mountains. We accelerated towards them so fast that they seemed to magnify alarmingly, like an image in a suddenly refocused telescope.

Maddie, beside me, her teeth chattering, managed, “Why on earth did I agree to this torture?”

I said, “Relax. Don’t fight it. Ride with it.”

“Mach one and climbing,” Hawk reported. “Mach two… three…”

Matt said, “Where are you taking us, Hawk?”

A muted laugh from the suspension cradle. “I’m taking you nowhere, Matt. This thing’s pre-programmed. I’m just easing it along, stroking it when it needs stroking, equalising the energy levels…”

I glanced across at him. The fear was gone from his eyes, to be replaced with something close to joy.

We gained altitude. Through a sidescreen I could see the land passing beneath us, made impossibly miniature by our elevation. Islands of cloud drifted by far below, and between them I made out beetling cars, tractors in fields, citizens going about their daily business oblivious of our history-making flight.

“Mach five and rising…”

I stared ahead through the main viewscreen. The central mountains were looming, and seconds later we were flying over their peaks. I stared down at the high fissures and folds, where snow still lay in long sweeps and curves like Arabic script. I made out the winding pass which we had taken the other day.

We sped over the mountain range and lost height, hugging the sweep of the foothills. Ahead was the central plain, stretching out to the hazy, curling horizon.

And in the centre of the plain, standing like some vast essential pinion or spindle, was the Golden Column.

We exchanged silent glances as we raced towards the Column.

I asked the presence in my head, which I knew was there despite its silence, if our destination was indeed the Golden Column. But of course there was no reply.

We lost altitude, skimming along the surface of the plain at a height of metres. Down below, I saw vehicles veer off the road and their passengers climb out to observe our passage.

It would be, I thought, the first time that many of them had set eyes on a real live, honest-to-goodness starship.

Maddie said, “Good God…” Matt smiled to himself as he stared ahead.

Hawk said, “This is it.”

We raced towards the Golden Column; it expanded to fill the screen, radiating illumination like a gold ingot in a spotlight. Below, thousands of pilgrims looked up as one, the phasing sweep of their suddenly upturning faces like the wind ruffling a field of wheat. Then another wave passed through their ranks as they fell to the ground—whether in some base obeisance or stark fear, I was unable to tell.

Just as I thought we were about to crash straight into the Golden

Column, we slowed.

Matt said, “Did you do that, Hawk?”

Our pilot shook his head. “Not me, pal.”

All we could see now through the screen was the effulgent light of the Column, and we had come to a stop before it and were hovering.

Maddie whispered, “What now?”

Everyone looked at me, and I said, “I don’t know.”

“We wait,” Hawk said. “Maybe the Column will communicate with us.”

“Offer up some universal truth,” Matt continued. Maddie said, “Change, reveal to us its purpose.”

A deep thrum sounded, and I felt myself connected to the ship, energy flowing through me in an exultant wave.

It was evidently happening to the others, too. Maddie cried out in surprise and Matt said, “Hawk?”

Hawk laughed, a little hysterically. “It’s called latent energising,” he shouted back at us through the mounting whine of the engine. “The piles are accumulating.”

“What does it mean?” Maddie yelled. I looked across at Hawk. Tears were leaking from his eyes. “I never told you about what happened on the Nevada run, did I, David?”

Maddie shouted, “But what’s happening now, for chrissake!”

“I miscalculated a jump,” Hawk told me, ignoring her. “I was solo, with a hundred passengers. The accumulator was out of kilter, but like a fool I thought I could compensate. I made the jump, and we came out of void space on the other side with half the ship breached, the other half compacted. Only five of us survived.”