Keith turned around to look at the young woman.
'Lianne,' he said softly. She faced him, and he mouthed the words 'cool it' at her. He turned back to Jag. 'Did you find a way to do it? To destroy a shortcut?'
Jag lifted his upper shoulders in assent. 'Gaf Kandaro em-Weel, my sire, was head of the project. The shortcuts are hyperspatial constructs that extrude a nexus point into normal space. An absolute coordinate system exists in hyperspace. That's why Einsteinian speed restrictions don't apply there; it is not a relativistic medium. But normal space is relativistic, and the exit — the thing we call the shortcut portal — has to be anchored relative to something in normal space. If one could disorient the anchor point, so that it no longer could extrude through from hyperspace, the point should evaporate in a puff of Cerenkov radiation.'
'And how would you disorient the anchor?' Keith asked, his tone betraying his skepticism.
'Well, the key is that the shortcut is indeed a point, until it swells up to accommodate something passing through it.
A spherical array of artificial-gravity generators assembled around the dormant shortcut could be designed to compensate for the local curvature of spacetime. Even though most shortcuts are in interstellar space, they are still within the dent made by our galaxy. But if you remove that dent, the anchor would have nothing to hold on to, and — poof! — it should disappear. Since the shortcut is so small when dormant, an array only a meter or two across should be able to do the trick, so long as it is fed enough power.'
'Could Starplex provide the power required?' asked Rhombus.
'Easily.'
'That's incredible,' Keith said.
'It isn't, really,' said Jag. 'Gravity is the force that dents spacetime; artificial gravity is all about modifying those dents. In my home system, we have used gravitation buoys in emergency situations to flatten spacetime locally so that hyperdrives could be engaged while still close to our sun.'
'How come none of this has ever appeared on the Commonwealth Astrophysics Network?' asked Lianne, her tone sharp.
'Um, because no one ever asked us?' said Jag weakly.
'Why didn't you suggest we do that, then, to enable us to go to hyperdrive when the Teen star first appeared?' demanded Keith.
'You can't do it to yourself; it has to be done to you, by an external power source. Believe me, we've tried to develop ways for ships to do it on their own, but it doesn't work. To use the human metaphor, it would be like trying to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. It can't be done.'
'But if we were to do this right here and now — cause this shortcut to evaporate — we wouldn't be able to get back home,' Keith said.
'True,' said Jag. 'But we could set up the antigrav buoys to converge on the shortcut after we had gone through it.'
'But stars are apparently popping out of lots of shortcuts,' said Rissa. 'If we were to evaporate the Tau Ceti and Rehbollo and Flatland shortcuts, we'd be destroying the Commonwealth, cutting each of our worlds off from the other.'
'To protect the individual worlds of the Commonwealth, yes,' said Thor.
'Christ,' said Keith. 'Surely we don't want to end the Commonwealth.'
'There is one other possibility,' said Thor.
'Oh?'
'Transplant the Commonwealth races to adjacent star systems far distant from any shortcut. We could find three or four systems close together, with the right sorts of worlds, terraform them into habitable conditions, and move everyone there. We would still be able to have an interstellar community via normal-hyperdrive.'
Keith's eyes were wide. 'You're talking about moving — what? — thirty billion individuals?'
'Give or take,' said Thor.
'The Ibs will not leave Flatland,' said Rhombus, with uncharacteristic bluntness.
'This is crazy,' Keith said. 'We can't shut down the shortcuts.'
'If our homeworlds are in jeopardy,' said Thor, 'we can — and we should.'
'There's no proof that the arriving stars represent any threat,' Keith said. 'I can't believe that beings advanced enough to move stars around are malevolent.'
'They may not be,' said Thor, 'any more than construction workers who destroy anthills are malevolent. We might simply be in their way.'
There was nothing Keith could do about the arriving stars until more information was available, and so, at 1200 hours, he and Rissa went off to find something to eat.
There were eight restaurants aboard Starplex. The terminology was deliberate. Humans kept wanting to refer to Starplex's components in naval terms: mess halls, sickbays, and quarters, instead of restaurants, hospitals, and apartments.
But of the four Commonwealth species, only humans and Waldahudin had martial traditions, and the other two races were nervous enough about that without being reminded of it in casual conversation.
Each of the restaurants was unique, both in ambience and fare.
Starplex's designers had taken great pains to make sure that shipboard life was not monotonous. Keith and Rissa decided to have lunch in Keg Tahn, the Waldahud restaurant on deck twenty-six. Through the restaurant's fake windows, holograms of Rehbollo's surface were visible: wide, flat flood plains of purple-gray mud, crisscrossed by rivers and streams. Clumps of stargin were scattered about — Rehbollo's counterpart of trees, looking like three- or four-meter-tall blue tumbleweeds. The moist mud didn't offer any firm pumhase, but it was rich with dissolved minerals and decaying organic material. Each starg had thousands of tangled shoots that could serve either as roots, or, unfurling themselves, as photosynthesis organs, depending on whether they ended up on top or on the bottom. The giant plants blew across the plains, rotating end over end, or floated down the streams, until they found fertile mud.
When they did so, they settled in, sinking until about a third of their height was embedded in the ooze.
The holographic sky was greenish gray, and the star overhead was fat and red. Keith found the color scheme dreary, but there was no denying that the food here was excellent. Waldahudin were mainly vegetarians, and the plants they enjoyed were succulent and delicious. Keith found himself craving starg shoots three or four times a month.
Of course, all eight restaurants were open to every species, and that meant offering a range of meal items that met the various races' metabolic requirements. Keith ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a couple of pickled gherkins to go with his starg salad. Waldahudin, whose females, like terrestrial mammals, secreted a nutritive liquid for their offspring, found it disgusting that humans drank the milk of other animals, but they pretended not to know what cheese was made of.
Rissa was sitting opposite Keith. Actually, the table was shaped in the Waldahud standard, like a human kidney, and made of a polished plant material that wasn't wood, but did have lovely bands of light and dark in it. Rissa was in the indentation in the table. The Waldahud custom was that a female always sat in this honored position; on their home-world a dame would be positioned here, with her male entourage seated around the curving form.
Rissa's tastes were more adventurous than Keith's. She was eating az torad — 'blood mussels,' Waldahud bivalves that lived in the slurry layer at the bottom of many lakes. Keith found the bright purple-red color disgusting as did most Waldahudin, for that matter, since it was a precise match for the hue of their own blood. But Rissa had mastered the trick of bringing the shell to her mouth, popping it open, and slurping out the morsel within, all without letting the soft mass be seen either by herself or anyone sitting across from her.
Keith and Rissa ate in silence, and Keith wondered if that was good or bad. They'd run out of idle chitchat ages ago. Oh, if there was something on either of their minds, they'd talk at length, but it seemed that they just enjoyed being in each other's company, even if they said barely a word. At least that's the way Keith felt, and he hoped Rissa shared that feeling.
Keith was using a katook (Waldahud cutlery, like duck-billed pliers) to bring some starg to his mouth when a comm panel popped up from the table's surface, showing the face of Hek, the Waldahud alien-communications specialist.
'Rissa,' he barked in a voice somewhat more Brooklynish than Jag's; from the way the comm panel was
