A few hours later, the outbound ships have finished their mission. They grow to specks and seem to be trying to return, but one by one blossom into small, brilliant clouds of plasma.
“Jesus!” Borden says and grips a searcher arm as if for assurance. The searcher sighs like a teakettle but otherwise neither moves, resists, or reacts. The clouds flash brilliant colors, then fade to gray—and spread out until they’re gone.
“Expendable?” Litvinov asks.
“Maybe not even real,” Kumar muses.
“What if they tried to deliver something—and somebody interfered?” Borden asks. She’s got a funny look on her face and starts to hand-over to the cubbies.
“What if they tried to deliver … and nobody wanted it?” I ask.
“What are you saying, Venn—we’re no longer A-list?” Jacobi asks.
“Jesus, my scalp again,” Joe says.
The others agree.
“Get ready!”
Again, except for Borden, no time to get to our cubbies. Our Skyrines hug like koalas. They do not want to make the leap while the searchers are touching them. As if we could get jumbled up with a catamaran squid or two and come out looking like a plate of sushi. Who knows?
“Crap!” Jacobi says as the blankness descends.