around the central disk.
He then rolled to one side in his tank, and the ship made a wide arc — looking for all the world as though it were banking in the vacuum of space.
Jag was getting impatient, but Longbottle, like all dolphins, was oblivious to that. He did a series of turns and flips in his tank, and the ship responded in kind. The gravity plates under Jag's compartment compensated completely for the movements, but in his water-filled tube, Longbottle could feel the ship as if it were an extension of his own body.
Finally, when he'd had enough fun, Longbottle set off on a wildly curving path — again, wasteful of energy, but so much more interesting than the straight lines and precise arcs of normal celestial mechanics.
The green star dominated the sky, even though its surface was now thirty million kilometers distant. The Rum Runner had much better force screens and physical shielding than did Starplex itself; it could make a very close passage.
Under Longbottle's fanciful guidance, the ship dived in, skimming the vast orb from just 100,000 kilometers above its photosphere. Scoops on the ship's leading edge sucked in samples of stellar atmosphere.
'Greenness of this star a bafflement to me,' said Longbottle, through the hydrophone in his tank. Like most dolphins, Longbottle could approximate the sounds of both English and Waldahudar (although with mangled syntax — there was no such thing as appropriate word order in cetacean grammar). The computer simply processed those sounds to make them intelligible; it would only switch over to translation mode if a dolphin was actually speaking in delphinese.
Jag grunted. 'I'm puzzled, too. Its surface temperature is twelve thousand degrees. The fardint thing should be blue or white, not green.
The spectral analysis doesn't make any sense either. I've never seen such high concentrations of heavy elements in a star.'
'Damaged perhaps by passage through shortcut?' asked Longbottle, twisting in his tank so that the ship would roll slowly around its axis.
Even with extra shielding, it wasn't safe to keep the same side facing the star.
Jag grunted again. 'I suppose that's possible. Most of the star's chromosphere and corona were probably scraped off during passage through the shortcut. The shortcut's lips clamped down on the photosphere, stripping away the rarefied gas above. Still, all previous tests have shown zero structural change in objects passing through a shortcut. Of course, nothing this big has ever gone through one before.'
The Rum Runner's viewscreens were filled to the edges with flaming green; the physical windows had all turned opaque. 'Take us in once around the star's equator,' said Jag, 'then do a polar loop. It's possible that the star's structure isn't uniform. Before I get too worked up over these absorption lines, I want to be sure the spectra are the same all over.'
It took almost five hours at one one-thousandth of lightspeed to complete the five-million-kilometer sweep around the equator, and another five to do the loop from pole to pole. Longbottle kept the Rum Runner corkscrewing all the while. Jag's eyes were glued to his scanning equipment, watching the dark vertical absorption lines. He kept muttering to himself, 'Silt in the water, silt in the water' — the truth remained hidden.
Jag had no trouble measuring the star's mass from its footprint in hyperspace; it was somewhat heavier than he'd expected. Except for the color, the star's surface was fairly typical, consisting of tightly packed beads of light and dark caused by convection cells in the photosphere. It even had sunspots, but unlike those of other stars, these were'all connected in dumbbell shapes. It was, without doubt, a star — but it was also unlike any star Jag had ever seen before.
Finally, the flybys were complete. 'Ready home to go?' asked Longbottle.
Jag lifted all four arms in a gesture of resignation. 'Yes.'
'Mystery solved?'
'No. A star like this should simply not exist.'
The Rum Runner swept back toward Starplex, Jag muttering over his data for the entire journey.
Keith lay in bed next to his wife, unable to sleep. He looked over at Rissa's form in the darkness, watched the thin sheet covering her rise and fall in time with her breathing.
She deserved better, he thought. He exhaled, trying to force the worries out of himself with the escaping breath, and conjured up images of happier times.
Rissa had dark eyes that turned into upward-arching crescents when she smiled. Her mouth was small, but her lips were full — half as tall as they were wide. Her mother had been Italian; her father, Spanish. She had inherited her lustrous dark hair and his fiery eyes. In his forty-six years of life, Keith Lansing had never met anyone who looked more appealing by candlelight than Rissa.
When they'd first met, in 2070, he'd been twenty-two and she'd been twenty, with a wonderfully curvy figure. Of course, her body shape was changing in natural ways as she aged; she was still in fine condition, but the proportions had shifted. Back then, Keith couldn't have imagined finding a woman of forty-four attractive, but to his infinite surprise, his tastes had altered as the years passed, and although two decades of marriage had doubtless dulled his immediate reaction to her, when he saw Rissa in an unusual way — in a new suit, or stretching to reach something on a top shelf, or with her hair swept in a different manner — she could still take his breath away.
And yet…
And yet, Keith was aware that time was taking its toll on him. His hair was departing. Oh, there were 'cures' for that — imagine suggesting that something as natural as male-pattern baldness required a cure! — but to employ them seemed vain and foolish. Besides, middle-aged scientists were supposed to be bald. It was in the rule book somewhere.
Keith's father had had a full head of dark hair up until he'd been killed at age fifty-five; Keith wondered now whether he'd used a hair restorer. But for Keith to do something like that would be silly.
He remembered Mandy Lee, a holovid star he'd been infatuated with as a twelve-year-old boy. Back then, nothing had been more exciting to him than large breasts on a woman, probably because none of the girls in his class yet had them; they were a symbol of the forbidden, alien world of adult sexuality. Well, Mandy — dubbed 'the binary star system' by some wag at HV Guide — was famous for her physique. But Keith had lost all interest in her when he'd found out that her breasts were fake; he couldn't look at her without imagining the implants beneath the swelling alabaster skin and the surgical scars (even though he knew, of course, the anabolizing laser scalpels would have left no marks at all). Well, he'd be damned if he'd turn his head into a fake; he'd be damned if he'd let people looking at him think, hey, the guy's really bald, you know…
And so there they were, Rissa Cervantes and Keith Lansing: still in love, if not in the passionate way of their youth, in what was ultimately a more satisfying, more relaxing fashion.
And yet — And yet, dammit, he'd just turned forty-six. He was aging, balding, graying, and hadn't been with another woman since his three — such a small number! — awkward encounters in high school and at university. Three, plus Rissa — a total of four. An average of less than one a decade.
Christ, he thought, even a Waldahud could count my partners on the fingers of one hand.
Keith knew he shouldn't think about such things, knew that what he and Clarissa had was something most people never really achieved: a love affair that grew and evolved as they aged, a relationship that was solid and secure and warm.
And yet — And yet there was Lianne Karendaughter. Like Mandy Lee, the very symbol of beauty in his youth, Lianne had exquisite Asian features; something about Asian women had always appealed to Keith. He didn't know how old Lianne was, but there was no doubt that she was younger than Rissa. Of course, as ship's director, Keith could easily access Lianne's personnel records, but he was afraid to do so. For God's sake, she might be as young as thirty. Lianne had come aboard the last time Starplex had passed by Tau Ceti, and now, as Internal Operations manager, she and Keith often spent hours together on the bridge. And yet, to his surprise, no matter how much time he spent with her, he always wished it were more.
He hadn't done anything foolish yet. Indeed, he thought he had everything under control. Still, he'd always been an introspective sort; he wasn't blind to what was going on.
Midlife crisis, the fear that he was no longer virile. And what better way to dispel that notion than by bedding a beautiful, young woman?
Idle fantasies. Of course, of course.
