Navigating the Stars

  Navigating the Stars

  Maria V. Snyder

  Contents

  1. 2471:333

  2. 2471:360

  3. 2471:361

  4. 2522:016

  5. 2522:021

  6. 2522:022

  7. 2522:047

  8. 2522:087

  9. 2522:087

  10. 2522:127

  11. 2522:132

  12. 2522:143

  13. 2522:150

  14. 2522:150

  15. 2522:151

  16. 2522:160

  17. 2522:164

  18. 2522:165

  19. 2522:167

  20. 2522:171

  21. 2522:171

  22. 2522:171

  23. 2522:171

  24. 2522:182

  Thank You

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Maria V. Snyder

  About the Author

  In Memory of Araella Renee Bornmann

  20 Dec 1997 – 15 April 2018

  We lost our Rae of sunshine too soon, but the Universe has gained a beautiful new star.

  One

  2471:333

  “The answer is no, Lyra.” My mother utters her favorite—I swear—phrase.

  “But—”

  “End of discussion.”

  Arguing is usually futile. But I’m not about to give up. Not this time.

  We are having dinner in our housing unit. I’m picking at my reconstituted mashed potatoes, wilted broccoli and mystery protein…er…meat…while my dad scans his list of packing supplies on his portable, only half-listening to my mother’s efforts to convince me that traveling to the new planet will be a grand adventure.

  “Besides,” Mom says, almost breathless. “We’ll be the first archaeologists to assess the discovery. This new site on Planet Yulin has the potential to explain who transported the Terracotta Warriors to twenty-two different planets. We’re getting close to an answer.”

  I gotta admit, my parents are the experts with a capital E on the life-sized Warriors. It’s why they’ve been asked to relocate to the new planet. As for finding an answer to one of the Galaxy’s great mysteries, I’m not as confident.

  “Think about it, Lyra,” Mom continues. “Over two million Warriors were custom-made on Earth by ancient Chinese craftsmen and transported by an unknown alien race to other worlds. We’re bound to find evidence of who they were—or are—and why they used Earth’s clay and people to create the Warriors. Why not make their own?”

  Dad looks up. “The clay’s from Earth, but there’s no evidence they were made on Earth.”

  “The Chinese calligraphy on them is all the evidence you need,” Mom retorts and they launch into an all-too-familiar debate.

  I tune them out. Too bad the archaeologists don’t know why the aliens needed all those Warriors throughout the Galaxy. Since we’ve yet to discover any other alien artifacts or sentient beings, we don’t have anyone to ask.

  And this recent discovery is all the way out on the edge of Explored Space. Yeah, you gotta say it with those capital letters since it’s such a big deal that we’ve traveled so far from Earth. But what really boggles the mind is we’re still in the Milky Way Galaxy. Space is big. Really big.

  When my parents finish, it’s my turn. I ensure they are both paying attention by clearing my throat. Loudly.

  In a reasonable tone, I say, “It’s exciting that you have a new site to research. You’ll have all the top scientists eager to explore with you so you don’t need me. I can remain here while you travel to Yulin. After all, I’m seventeen Actual years old—only a mere A-year until I’m of legal age.”

  Mom bangs her fork on the table. “I said end—”

  I keep right on going. “Staying on planet Xinji, I’ll be closer to the university—onsite learning is much more effective than distance. Dr. Wendland’s research on learning strategies has proven it. And Lan’s parents have already agreed to let me stay with them.”

  Mom and Dad exchange a look, which means they are doing that silent communication thing that parents do. I study them while I wait, sitting on the edge of my seat and resisting the urge to jiggle my leg with nervous energy.

  My dad runs a big hand through his short sandy-brown hair, making it stick up at various angles. He normally appears younger than his forty-six A-years, but a sadness pulls on his face, aging him. “We’re going to lose her in a couple A-years anyway, maybe we should consider her—”

  “Absolutely not.” Mom’s brown-eyed gaze focuses on my father with such intensity, I’m surprised he doesn’t burst into flames. Even though she is younger than my father by two A-years, my mother is in charge of our family. “I can’t…not so soon after…Phoenix.”

  Before you ask, yes, my parents named me and my brother after constellations. Kinda funny considering we can’t see either of those constellations unless we’re on Earth, which, by the way, neither of us was born on. My parents have some really strange ideas at times.

  The mention of Phoenix effectively kills any support I might have gotten from my father. He ducks his head and I wilt.

  “Don’t ask again,” Mom says in the I’ve-decided-and-nothing-will-change-my-mind tone.

  It’s not fair, but arguing is pointless and will result in me cataloging thousands of broken Warrior shards as punishment. Appetite ruined, I push my now cold food away and head to my bedroom.

  “Li—” my father calls after me.

  I keep going. Our unit is small and narrow with a kitchen, common room, two bedrooms and the washroom. Not much space is allocated for housing in the base. The majority of the place is occupied by the scientists’ labs, which is where most of the people living here spend all of their time anyway. We aren’t a colony, but a research facility charged with assessing the entire planet. The base is filled with chemists, biologists, geologists, physicists, astrophysicists, meteorologists… Pick any “ologist” you can think of and they’re probably here, including archaeologists like my parents.

  And those ologists have been drooling happy since the announcement of the New Discovery. As for me? Not so much. While they’ve been talking in excited, high-pitched voices and making plans for the trip, I’ve been dreading launch day. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for my parents. They’ve dedicated their lives to puzzling out this great Warrior mystery and I’ve no doubt that they’ll eventually solve it.

  Well…maybe a little doubt.

  However, I’m tired of leaving my friends behind and I need to find my own passion. Not sure what that is yet, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t include researching ancient artifacts.

  My room consists of a narrow bed, a few drawers, a desk, a chair, a screen and a terminal to access the Quantum net…well, a fraction of it—it’s like being confined to the shallow end of the pool—very frustrating.

  When the Quantum net—Q-net—was invented back in 2066, it changed everything. Earth’s technology advanced at a sizzling pace, and inventions like the Crinkler engine, which allows us to travel through space super fast, were designed using the Q-net. Now it’s used to keep track of…well, everything, but it’s most important for knowing the precise location (and time) of all the space ships. Oh, and all the information collected from all the planets is stored within its amazing vastness.

  But admittance to this scientific wonder is limited. Since I’m underage, I’m allowed to access the school programs, game programs, entertainment, and communications. At least the Q-net is able to send text-based communications between planets in Actual time. Can you imagine waiting decades for a reply?

  I flop onto my bed and stare at the images of my friends from the other planets my parents dragged me to before Xinji. They fill the screen. The reality of space travel—the dreaded t
ime dilation—stares back at me. Many of my friends have died of old age by now, and my two friends from our last assignment on Planet Wu’an are now in their fifties. Thanks, Einstein.

  A musical ping sounds. The images fade into the background as the screen displays an incoming communication from a Miss Lan Maddrey.

  “Accept,” I say.

  The words disappear and my best friend’s face appears.

  “What did they say?” Lan asks, but she notices my morose expression. “Oh, sorry, Li-Li!”

  Only my father and closest of close friends call me that. I used to love pandas, okay? My father thought it was cute and that’s how I got the nickname.

  Her eyebrows smash together and furrow her brow. “Did you tell them about Dr. Wendland’s research? I can send them the Q-cluster location to the paper. And my parents—”

  “Won’t matter,” I say.

  “Did your mother utter the three dreaded words?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  We share a moment of silence. Lan’s blue eyes shine more than normal as she nibbles on the blond hair at the end of her French braid. She’s fifteen, but soon to be sixteen—a little over a year younger than me, but we bonded over our mutual love of Diamond Rockler— the greatest singer in the Galaxy. Our only disagreement was over who he was going to marry, me or Lan, and that was three A-years ago. I wouldn’t have gotten so close to her except my parents assured me that this was their last assignment. Sigh.

  “My brother works for the port,” Lan says. “You can sneak off the shuttle and he’ll hide you until it takes off. By the time they discover you’re missing, they can’t return.”

  An interesting idea. My heart races with the possibilities. I could start my own life. I hope to attend Brighton University on Planet Rho, a mere four Earth-years away. We measure distance between planets by how much E-time passes while you’re traveling, not by how many Actual years pass. Which means if I stay here, I’ll be fifty A-years older when my parents arrive at Yulin, but they’ll only be ninety days older. Crazy right?

  Regardless, I’d never see my parents again, which is why they won’t leave me behind. Not yet anyway. They’re still grieving over Phoenix and hoping I’ll catch the science bug and stay with them, but I am tired of hanging around ancient things that have been buried for thousands of E-years. My excitement over running away fades.

  “Thanks, Lan, but I can’t do that to my parents.”

  She nods and gives me a watery smile. “I understand.” She heaves a sigh, then lowers her voice. “When should we plan your...” Lan hesitates. “You-know-what.”

  I glance at my door. It’s closed, but I sit at my desk and insert the entanglers into my ears—they resemble little round plugs, but they allow me to link directly to the Q-net through the terminal. Then I engage the privacy mode. If my parents walk into my room, they’d see a blank screen, but I can still see and hear Lan—another super cool invention courtesy of the Q-net.

  How about at my last required soch-time? Do you think Jarren can fool the snoops? I think.

  Of course. Who do you think created the dead zone in the back corner of the supply bay?

  I laugh. You mean the kissing zone? I heard Jarren took Belle there for a smooch fest.

  He did not! Lan’s cheeks turn pink.

  Oh? Do you have better intel?

  Shut up.

  A knock at my door prevents me from replying. Lan says good-bye and I disconnect and return to my flopped position on the bed. I might be resigned to leaving, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let my parents off easy. “Display wall art,” I say to the screen. Only when it once again shows images of my old friends, do I say, “Come in.”

  Dad pokes his head inside as if expecting to be ambushed. “Is it safe?”

  I huff. My temper isn’t that bad. Well…not since I was seven A-years. “Only if you brought something sweet.”

  He holds his hand out, revealing a plate of chocolate chip cookies. A warm sugary scent wafts off them— fresh baked! My empty stomach groans in appreciation.

  “Then it’s safe.” I’m not above bribery.

  He enters and sets the plate down on my desk. He has a box tucked under his right arm. “You okay?”

  “I’m gonna have to be. Right? Unless you’re here to tell me you changed your mind?” I sit up at the thought.

  “Sorry, Li-Li. We’re not ready to lose you.” My father hunches over slightly as grief flares in his brown eyes.

  My older brother decided to leave for Earth two years ago when he turned eighteen A-years. Earth is about ninety-five E-years away. So by the time Phoenix arrives on Earth, we will all be dead and Phoenix will still be eighteen.

  Guilt over my earlier snit burns in my stomach.

  “You just have to go on one more assignment with us, then you can decide what you want to do,” Dad says.

  “It’s all right.” I gesture to the box. “What’s in there?”

  He sets it down on my desk. “A puzzle.”

  I’ve fallen for that before. “Are you sure it isn’t a bunch of random rubble?”

  “No. We think we have all the pieces, but my assistant swears no one can possibly put it back together.” He raises a slender eyebrow.

  Appealing to my ego, he knows me so well. “Let’s see.”

  Dad opens the box and pours out what appears to be shards of pottery—all terracotta, ranging in sizes from a thumbnail to six centimeters. I scan the pieces. They’d once formed a specific shape, and I can already see it has edges. Could be a piece of armor. Or a shield. Intrigued, I sort through the fragments, flipping them over and matching colors.

  My father hands me the adhesive. “I’ll let you prove Gavin wrong.” He pulls my straight black hair back behind my shoulders and plants a kiss on my temple. “Thanks, Li-Li.”

  “Uh huh.” The air pulses as he leaves. I arrange the pieces—about a thousand or so. There are markings on most of them. Odd. I group the ones that appear similar together. Reconstructing artifacts is actually fun. Not I-want-to-do-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life fun, but challenging and satisfying to make something whole again.

  No one was more surprised than I. Trust me. I was roped into helping my parents a few years ago when they noticed that, after attending my required socialization time, or rather soch-time, and doing my school lessons, I had plenty of free time. I argued there was a reason it was called “free.” It went over as well as my bid to stay on Xinji.

  I was assigned all the chores no one else wanted to do, like sweeping and running the 3D digitizers—each of the thousands of Warriors has to be scanned and cataloged. But one night I found a half-finished reconstruction of a face and, well, I finished it in a couple hours. My parents made a big deal about it and now when there’s a jumble of fragments that is declared “impossible” by the team, it comes to me. Not that I’m that great. There have been plenty of boxes filled with bits that I couldn’t get to go together. A 3D digitizer could do it in minutes, but we only have four so using them for repairing broken pottery is not the priority.

  This piece is tricky. Usually once I connect the edges, the rest is easier to match. But the shape is…octangular? Strange. Lan messages me while I’m working.

  “It’s all set,” she says. “All our friends have been informed.” Her voice is heavy with dismay.

  I glance at her. “Thanks.”

  There’s an awkward silence.

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “At this point, I’ve no idea.”

  “No. The markings on it.”

  I peer at the symbols etched into it. Silver lines the grooves so they stand out from the reddish orange clay. Lan should recognize them. Her parents are the base’s language experts and cryptologists. While life-sized and made of terracotta, the extraterrestrial Warriors have quite a few differences from those discovered in China. One is they are covered with alien symbols that no one has been able to translate.

  “Uh…it’s Chinese calligraphy. Probably the nam
e of the craftsman who built it.”

  “That’s not Chinese.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Lyra.” Her flat tone indicates she’s insulted.

  “Okay, okay. So it’s one of those other alien symbols.”

  She shrugs. “I haven’t seen markings like those before.”

  “Well consider two million Warriors with what… sixty some markings per Warrior, makes that…” Ugh, I suck at math.

  “The symbols are not all unique. And they still haven’t cataloged them all.”

  “Don’t give my mother any ideas,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest in mock horror. But the reality is that with limited funds, personnel and equipment, the Warrior Project is a slow-moving beast.

  Lan laughs. I’m gonna miss that light trill.

  “Seriously, Li-Li. It’s different. It might be important.”

  “Important enough to keep my parents on Xinji?” Hope bubbles up my throat.

  Lan straightens with enthusiasm. “Maybe. When you finish it, bring it to my mom.”

  “Will do.”

  It takes me the rest of the night to complete the piece. I’m not exaggerating. The faint smell of coffee wafts under my door as my parents get ready for their day. I stare at the…shield—for lack of a better word— because it’s a meter wide and a meter long, three centimeters thick and octagonal (of course—the aliens have a serious addiction to the shape…maybe they are sentient octagons? Hmmm).

  The shield has a spiderweb of fine cracks and a few fragments missing here and there—standard for reconstructed objects, but the eight rows of markings are clear. Each row has eight different symbols, but they appear to be similar—like they’re siblings, with similar swoops or curls. Then another row also has eight unique glyphs that complement each other—sorry, it’s hard to explain. But one row looks like Chinese calligraphy, but I’m not sure.