Last and First Contacts (Imaginings) Read online

  Last and First

  Contacts

  STEPHEN BAXTER

  Imaginings

  An imprint of

  NewCon Press

  England

  First edition, published in the UK April 2012

  by NewCon Press

  IMG 002 hardback

  This collection copyright© 2012 by Stephen Baxter

  Published by NewCon Press by arrangement with the author

  All stories copyright © by Stephen Baxter

  “Erstkontakt” copyright © 2012, original to this collection

  “In The Abyss of Time” copyright © 2006 originally appeared in Asimov’s

  “Halo Ghosts” copyright © 2000, originally appeared in Roadworks

  “Tempest 43” copyright © 2009, originally appeared in We Think Therefore We Are, Daw Books

  “The Children of Time” copyright © 2005, originally appeared in Asimov’s

  “The Pacific Mystery” copyright © 2006, originally appeared in The Mammoth Book of Extreme Science Fiction, Robinson Publishing (UK),

  Carroll & Graf (US).

  “No More Stories” copyright © 2007, originally appeared in Fast Forward vol. 1, Pyr Books

  “Dreamers’ Lake” copyright © 2006, originally appeared in Forbidden Planets, Daw Books.

  “The Long Road” copyright © 2006, originally appeared in Postcripts No. 6

  “Last Contact” copyright © 2007, originally appeared in The Solaris Book of New Science Fiction, BL Publishing.

  All rights reserved, including the right to produce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  ISBN: 978-1-907069-40-6 (hardback)

  Cover art by David A Hardy

  Cover design by Andy Bigwood

  Minimal editorial interference by Ian Whates

  Text layout by Storm Constantine

  eBook design by Tim C. Taylor

  Contents

  In Praise of Associations: An Introduction

  Erstkontakt

  In The Abyss of Time

  Halo Ghosts

  Tempest 43

  The Children of Time

  The Pacific Mystery

  No More Stories

  Dreamers’ Lake

  The Long Road

  Last Contact

  Afterword

  In Praise of Associations

  An Introduction

  Ian Whates

  Stephen Baxter is one of the most respected science fiction writers of the current age. With degrees in mathematics and engineering, it is perhaps unsurprising that his work tends to be technically convincing as well as imaginative, intelligent and, on occasion, challenging. He has been entertaining and impressing readers and critics alike for more than two decades now, and his work has won him a hatful of awards, including a John W Campbell, a brace each of Philip K Dick and Sidewise Awards and four BSFA Awards.

  It seems unfeasible that anyone could produce a worthy follow-up to HG Wells’ classic “The Time Machine” but Stephen managed to do so with aplomb, and his novel The Time Ships remains the only authorised sequel to this seminal tale.

  My first direct contact with Stephen came in 2006, when he very graciously agreed to donate a newly written story to the fund-raising anthology Time Pieces, NewCon Press’ very first publication. Our association, however, goes back a great deal further than that.

  In the late 1980s, my first published stories appeared in a semi-pro publication called Dream Magazine, edited by the late Trevor Jones. I used to read the other stories in Dream avidly, in no small part to see how my own efforts matched up. On the whole, I thought they more than did so, but there was one contributor who genuinely annoyed me, because his pieces were so good, displaying an understanding of technical issues that I simply didn’t possess.

  I’ve just taken down my battered copy of Dream Magazine #14 (November 1987) from the shelf. The closing story in the issue is “A Flash of Lightning” by I.G. Whates (my third ever sale); the opening piece is “The Bark Spaceship” by S.M. Baxter, the author in question.

  I had no idea who S.M. Baxter was, but I suspected even then that this individual might be destined for greater things. As a science fiction writer, it’s always gratifying when one of your predictions comes true…

  Stephen Baxter has continued to dazzle; whether with his far-reaching Xeelee sequence, the mind-bogglingly magnificent Manifold series, his YA masterpiece The H-Bomb Girl (one of several titles that have been shortlisted for the Arthur C Clarke Award), or his near future global disaster sequence, Flood and Ark. He has collaborated with both Arthur C Clarke and Terry Pratchett, and is involved in the SETI project. Throughout all this, he has continued to produce some of the most thought-provoking and memorable short fiction around; which is why Stephen was one of the first authors I approached regarding the Imaginings project (speaking to him as he was in London, about to board a plane for the US where he would link up with a certain T Pratchett). Needless to say, I was delighted when he agreed to participate.

  All of the above perhaps intimates but doesn’t specify one further fact about Stephen Baxter that is worth noting: in addition to being an exceptional writer, he is good company and a genuinely nice man.

  Here then, is Imaginings 2: Last and First Contacts; a collection of stories personally selected and organised by Stephen Baxter. What could be better?

  Ian Whates

  February 2012

  Erstkontakt

  During her time at Peenemünde, Dorothea only spoke to Wernher von Braun once.

  Oh, everybody knew who he was. You saw him around, and the draftswomen and the secretaries in their great dormitories would speculate about the tall, upright young fellow, so different from the older, rather odd-looking senior scientists and engineers around him, as at ease with the humblest of staff as with the Party leaders who frequently visited the research centre. Even the foreign workers in their ugly fenced-off barrack at Trassenheide probably worshipped him, the girls imagined.

  But von Braun was SS. You always had to remember that. And when Father Kopleck, the centre’s chaplain, called to say that von Braun wanted to see her in his office, Dorothea’s heart fluttered with dread.

  That bright day in October 1942 had already been an auspicious one, for that afternoon the Aggregat 4 rocket that was going to win the war for Hitler had made its first successful test flight. When the firing was due everybody had gone out to see, crowding in the parking lots and on the rooftops; you worked ferociously hard here, but you couldn’t miss such a moment. Well, the lathe operators had flirted with the typists, and everybody laid bets about how long the ship would last before it blew up this time. From Dorothea’s office block she couldn’t even see Test Stand Seven, a concrete platform near the northern shore of the peninsula.

  But you couldn’t miss the A4 itself when it went up, a droplet of liquid light rising straight up out of a bank of pine trees and into the sky, trailing white smoke. Dorothea was struck by the sheer verticality of it, compared to the horizontal lines of the landscape, the green of pine forest and marsh. She saw ducks flapping off to the west out of the rocket’s way.

  And then the noise of it reached her ears, a thundering, crackling roar. The rocket punched through a layer of cloud and kept on climbing, arcing out over the Baltic.

  Everybody cheered, and went back to work.

  And not a couple of hours later, before the end of the shift, Father Kopleck came to find Dorothea, and said she had been summoned to the presence of Doctor von Braun, to talk about her comet.

  Von Braun’s office was in one of the grander houses in the senior staff accommodation quarter. This area was like a university campus, with two-s
torey buildings set around squares of green, and a sports ground, and young people riding bicycles. It was quite a contrast to the horrible warehouse-like block where Dorothea had to sleep, along with thousands of other young women. But even here guards patrolled with dogs.

  They were met at the door by a young officer in the black uniform of the SS, who checked the identity cards pinned to their clothes, the priest’s black jacket and Dorothea’s woollen cardigan. Dorothea felt a thrill of terror and excitement; the SS were so glamorous, so terrible. But the officer was very handsome, and he smiled at her. ‘I am Lieutenant Bergher. My name is Adam. You have nothing to fear from Doctor von Braun. He is even more charming than I am.’

  The priest, about forty, a local man, sensible and good-humoured, arched an eyebrow at that sally, but said nothing.

  Bergher escorted them into the house and led them along a corridor panelled with polished wood to an expansive office. Here von Braun sat behind a desk as wide as the Baltic, littered with papers, blueprints, trajectory diagrams and scribbled notes. He stood to greet them. ‘Fraulein Rau, and Father –’

  ‘Hans Kopleck, sir.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He shook the priest’s hand, then took Dorothea’s hand, quite gently, and bowed. In a snappy civilian suit, he really was tall, handsome, cultured; he was thirty years old, some eight years older than Dorothea. ‘Please sit. Forgive the litter. The results of the test flight are only just coming in.’

  ‘I saw it, sir,’ Dorothea said, sitting down primly before the desk.

  ‘Spectacular, wasn’t it? A success in every aspect. At last we have something to show the Fuhrer! And now the hard work begins, as we prepare the missile for mass production. But we changed the timing of the test, you know, Fraulein Rau. Because of you.’

  To have such significance suddenly thrust upon her was frightening. ‘Why? Not because of my comet, surely?’

  ‘Exactly because of your comet, yes.’

  She failed to understand.

  ‘I must share the blame,’ Father Kopleck said gently. ‘You may know that I grew up here, on the peninsula, Doctor von Braun. When the engineers came – well, the fishing villages were demolished, and the families moved on, with handsome enough compensation. But I stayed on.’

  ‘Even rocket scientists need God, eh, Father?’

  ‘That was my instinct. It came to my attention that Fraulein Rau here had an interest in astronomy.’

  ‘Only minor,’ Dorothea said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. ‘But I brought with me the little telescope my father once bought for me. I hoped the seeing would be better than in Munich.’

  ‘So I showed the Fraulein the beaches on the north coast. Where I knew from my own boyhood memories that the view of the starry sky is unimpeded and spectacular, on a clear night.’

  ‘It was all approved,’ Dorothea said quickly, to this SS man. ‘I gained permission from my supervisor.’

  ‘As did I,’ said the priest dryly.

  Von Braun glanced at a file. ‘You work in operations, Fraulein. The tedious but essential work of documenting material flows and manpower allocations, eh? And yet you are evidently a capable astronomer. Well, it’s no surprise. We have selected everybody we could for some element of an academic background. Even clerks such as yourself. Even Adam there! The more intelligence is focussed on our huge task at all levels, the more chance it has of success. And so, Fraulein astronomer, on that beach you observed your comet.’

  ‘It was a bright shifting star – obvious, if you look out for a couple of nights in a row. I sketched its position and estimated its changing magnitude. With my father I used to observe variable stars, and developed the necessary skills.’

  ‘I have your report here.’ Von Braun searched his desk, and held up a cheaply printed single-page document. ‘“The Peenemünde Chronicle”!’

  She felt apologetic. ‘It’s just a silly thing some of the girls produce. We print notices of dances and so on. Bits of gossip.’

  ‘And here you published your astronomical discovery.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know what else to do with it…’

  ‘You could have notified one of the observatories. Or an academic journal. Perhaps you have priority; I doubt that there is much scientific sky-watching going on in this world at war. Dorothea’s comet! Well, your little notice in this schoolgirl rag attracted the eyes of some of my scientists.’ He winked at her. ‘Some of my younger colleagues, you know, Fraulein, like to read about comets and about dances with pretty secretaries.

  ‘But it was your quite precise observations of the object’s path across the sky that ultimately brought this to my own attention. You see, Fraulein, as my trajectory specialists will tell you, these observations of yours are sufficient to reconstruct the path of your comet, as it has approached the inner worlds of the solar system.’

  ‘I understand, though I hadn’t the resources to do that myself. A comet’s path may be elliptical if it is contained within the solar system, or parabolic or hyperbolic if it comes from beyond the system.’

  ‘Very good,’ said von Braun, rather patronising. ‘But in this case, my dear girl, the object’s orbit is neither elliptical nor parabolic nor hyperbolic. Your observations clearly show, and I have no reason to doubt them, that this object, as it approached the sun, was decelerating.’

  There was a stunned silence, broken at last by the priest. ‘I suspect I am the only one here who doesn’t understand the significance of that.’

  ‘It means, Father,’ said Dorothea, ‘that my comet can’t be a comet at all.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Wernher von Braun. ‘Not only that, I had one of our specialists train a spectroscope on the thing. You understand that such an instrument gathers emitted or reflected light, and breaks it down to deduce the elemental composition of the source? Of course you do. We have it here to study the exhaust products of our rockets. Fraulein, your “comet” is not a snowball lit up by reflected sunlight. It creates its own light! My fellows believe we have observed an exotic, umm, exhaust, analogous to the exhaust plume of an A4. Some suggest it is the result of some form of atomic disintegration. For it is the energy of the atom, you know, that will ultimately carry us to the stars and beyond.’

  She gaped. ‘The stars?’

  ‘Oh, yes. In fact a reconstruction of the trajectory indicates that our visitor was travelling at a significant fraction of the speed of light itself before it began its deceleration. Your “comet” must have travelled from another star.’ He grinned at her. ‘Perhaps you are surprised by the course of this conversation.’ He opened a drawer, rummaged, and produced a magazine, cheaply produced with a gaudy cover: Astounding Science Fiction, the title in English. ‘I have this delivered to a mail drop in Switzerland under a false name. My own career began with dreams of the stars, of flights to Mars. One must feed the imagination, Fraulein, even in wartime. Now. Do you know what has become of your “comet” recently?’

  She frowned. ‘I haven’t been out to the beach for some nights. We’ve been so busy with the A4 launch approaching.’

  ‘Of course. Well, we have observed it. It is no longer decelerating, no longer approaching the sun.’

  ‘Then what?’

  He traced circles with a fingertip. ‘Earth has a second moon, Fraulein Rau.’ He smiled at the wonder that must show in her face. ‘Now do you understand why we changed the timing of the A4 launch?’

  ‘Not entirely, sir.’

  ‘I can’t believe that the object has not been observed elsewhere in the world, but only we have the wherewithal to do something about it.’ He spread his hands. ‘This is the world’s only rocket factory. We launched the world’s very first spaceship this afternoon! Is this “comet” of yours some ark from the stars? If so perhaps we can lure it down here. To speak to us. Where better? And that is why we launched the A4 just as the orbiting comet crossed our meridian. So it would be seen.

  ‘Now.’ He leaned forward. ‘I have a special assignment for you, Fraulein. You may b
e the best amateur astronomer at Peenemünde. I want you to spend more nights with your telescope on that beach. Perhaps the Father here will accompany you – and Lieutenant Bergher, too, for reasons of security. I want you to watch your comet as it passes through our clear skies. Report immediately any change in its orbital elements. But for now, you must understand, this is all top security.’

  She was used to security. ‘Of course, Doctor von Braun.’

  ‘No,’ he said sternly. ‘That was a routine answer. Listen to me. You must know, Fraulein, that our work here is under intense scrutiny. Our rockets are hugely expensive and have already taken years to develop. Germany fights a war on two fronts; resources are scarce, and other projects have their champions who compete for the ears of the top levels of the party. Our credibility is important, and must be cherished.’ With a self-deprecating smile he tucked away the issue of Astounding. ‘Our enemies, I mean our internal enemies, may present Dorothea’s comet as a bit of foolishness that shows we are not serious in our endeavours here. We can’t have that. And yet we can’t let the opportunity of encountering this wanderer go by. Which is why –’ He pressed his forefinger to his lips.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good girl. This applies to you too, Father.’

  ‘Priests know how to be discreet.’

  ‘Good. Adam here will be your contact. Remember, Lieutenant Bergher, any developments must be reported to me in person, immediately.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor von Braun.’

  A secretary popped her head around the door. ‘Colonel Dornberger is here for you, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned a dazzling smile on Dorothea. ‘Good luck, Fraulein!’

  So began a strange double career for Dorothea. By day she worked with the rest of the clerks and secretaries on the unending task of keeping this establishment of thousands of people, tens of thousands of complex machines, and millions of marks, functioning and flowing. And then when the working day was done, whenever the night was clear, Dorothea would be collected by Father Kopleck and Lieutenant Bergher in an SS staff car and driven off with her telescope and notebooks to the northern coast.

  Sometimes Dorothea wondered how she kept it all up. Some mixture of excitement and fear kept her nerves sparking, she suspected. When she did get a chance to sleep, on cloudy or rainy nights, she slept very deeply indeed.