The Stars Are Also Fire

by Poul Anderson

  Brandir stiffens. “It is our regolith which they sift for atoms the solar wind laid there through billions of years. They have no more claim upon it than they do upon our freedom.”

  Dagny manufactures a sigh. “I didn’t expect you’d stoop to rhetoric. Come off it, son.”

  He waits, poised.

  “The fact is,” she declares, “your class doesn’t figure it can pay compensation for the property and the rights.”

  He goes impassive. “To buy out the miscontent Terrans will be an amply heavy lift.”

  “You haven’t got the cash, you mean. Okay, consider a swap. You have ships and robots in the asteroid belt, new and fairly small investments but that should be worth a whopping lot by the time negotiations for independence begin,” if any such time is in the future. “Offer to turn over enough of that to be an acceptable exchange for the helium plants.”

  He comes as near showing shock as memory can recall. “My lady, that would reduce Lunarian space trade to paltriness.”

  “You may find you haven’t much choice, if you want your sovereign state,” she replies. “You can build the fleet back up afterward. Or you can decide sovereignty’s too expensive. This is only a suggestion of mine, but I hope it will start you and your fellows thinking.

  “Hash it over with them. This isn’t an immediate issue, after all. Between us, we might hammer out a better scheme. The point I’m making today is that you must, you must, make ready in your minds to bargain, and to give as well as get.”

  They touch on other aspects, rather cursorily, but lightning flashes are brief.

  As he bids her a courtly adieu, he leaves off inquiring how she has fared personally. He would have asked his mother. She tells herself that it ought not to hurt. She is a download.

  Alone, she reviews the daycycle. Much remains to be done, and events can always whip out of control; but it does appear that this latest potential for eruption can be safely drained off, and maybe even a little progress made toward a united Moon. That is the true goal. Without a commonalty, there can be no Lunar independence, probably no peace, possibly no survival.

  37

  Most of Vancouver Island was park. You had to wait your turn for camping, but day trips were unrestricted and Victoria offered visitors an abundance of services. The smaller businesses among these were accustomed to cash payments. In the morning Kenmuir and Aleka would get a private, manned cab to Sprucetop Lodge in the mountains. From there it was a stiff day’s hike down to the Fireball property, where the gate should recognize him and let them in.

  First they would take a night’s rest here. The risk seemed less than the need.

  As they left the café Where they had had dinner, light blazed off windows in the Parliament buildings. It was as if those stately museum pieces momentarily remembered how life once busied itself within them. The light streamed from a sun golden-hazed on the horizon, threw a glade across the bay, drenched lawns and flowerbeds, gilded the wings of two belated gulls asoar in silver-blue. A group of young people stood gathered on a dock. Song lifted, a guitar toned, otherwise the evening lay quiet and few folk moved along the streets.

  “Beautiful,” Aleka murmured.

  “Yes.” Kenmuir barred himself from calling it somehow sad. Was that only his mood?

  “Like home,” she said.

  He arched his brows. “Really?”

  “Oh, the country, the air, everything’s different. What a wonderfully various planet this is, no? But the peace and happiness, they’re the same.”

  Which she hoped to preserve on Nauru. Could she? Even if this crazy gamble of theirs, incredibly, paid off, could she?

  They started toward the house where they had engaged bed and breakfast. Perhaps that caused her to fall silent. They had agreed on the tubeway that it would be safest, minimally noticeable, to stay as companions. “I can mind my manners,” he promised, feeling a flush in his cheeks. She nodded, smiled, and relieved him by saying no more.

  Instead they had mostly talked of what was past and what might come to be. Bit by bit, shyly at first, later more freely, they grew well acquainted, and liked what they found.

  They were walking along a tree-shaded boulevard, already in twilight, before she spoke further. “I want to show you my home.”

  “I’d love to see it,” he answered. See it, and know it for doomed.

  “This place reminds me so much,” she repeated herself. “Not that I haven’t been in others like it, in their particular ways. We do live in a golden age, almost.”

  Though he didn’t want to argue, he was unable to let a misstatement go by. “May I point out that gold is solid and inert?”

  She frowned. “You needn’t. I’ve heard enough about how nothing ever really changes any more, how we’re at the end of science and art and adventure.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “Look around you.” She stopped, which made him jerk to a halt, turned, and gestured back toward the water. How supple every movement was, he thought. “Those youngsters there, or those we saw leaving Winnipeg, or nearly any kids anywhere. To them, the world is new. Love and sport and Earth and Moon, all the great works, all the story of our race, it’s theirs.”

  “True,” he must concede. “I’ll never use up the facts in the databases. Or Shakespeare or Beethoven, I’ll never discover everything that’s in them. A lifetime’s too short for it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Nonetheless you’re at odds with the system.”

  She stamped her foot. “How often will we go over this ground? Haven’t we trampled it flat by now?” She resumed walking, long strides. “I didn’t claim things are perfect, or ever will be. We’ll always have to fight off entropy.”

  He’d clumsied again. Rather than apologize, which she’d told him he did too readily, he attempted a chuckle. “I didn’t expect such a trope from you.” She glanced at him. Her eyes lighted the dusk. “Oh, you know your physics, but I think of you more in terms of sea and wind and—Yes, the universe does still hold plenty of surprises.”

  She dropped whatever annoyance she had felt. Earnestness remained. “And we won’t go static, either. Like my Lahui, why, they’ve got all sorts of evolving to do yet. I bet they’ll become something nobody foresaw.”

  He knew he should mumble agreement and proceed to inconsequential. He couldn’t. Was that stubbornness, or was it respect for her intelligence? “Will it matter, though?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The cybercosm tolerates us—”

  “It helps us!” she exclaimed. “Without it, Earth would be … a poisoned desert … and savages fighting for scraps.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe we would have solved our problems by ourselves.” He raised a hand. “In any case, the situation is what it is. Very well, I grant you, the cybercosm is not unkindly. It serves us, you might even say it indulges us. The monsters, the genocide artists of history, those were human.”

  “And we’re freed of their kind.”

  “To what end? To keep us contented, out from underfoot, while the cybercosm goes on to its destiny?”

  “Which is?” she demanded.

  “You’ve heard. It’s been prophesied for centuries, since before artificial intelligence existed. Mind, pure mind, taking over the universe.”

  “Do you mind?” Her laugh went sweet through the quietness. “Me, I’m not jealous. I just want my people to make their own future.”

  “But in that, aren’t they constrained, guided, shaped to fit into limits set for them?”

  She tossed her head. “I haven’t noticed much constraint or guidance on me lately.”

  No, he thought. She was with him on a mission they did not understand. Lilisaire’s cause, devious and dubious. Irony: It would deny a home in space to humans who shared his longings; it would confront and in some dark way endanger the order of things that nurtured Aleka; yet still they waged their forlorn campaign.

  Together.

  The words flew out as if of themsel
ves. “I don’t believe anything short of reconditioning could compel you. I’ve never known anyone more independent.”

  She caught his hand. The clasp glowed. “Gracias. You’re no auhaukapu either.”

  They stopped once more and faced one another. Briefly, marvelingly, he wondered how that had happened. It was at a deserted intersection. The sky had turned violet and the Moon, waxing toward the half, seemed brightened thereby. They did not let go their hold.

  “How I want you to meet the Lahui,” she said low. “I can imagine you joining us. We could use your skills and, and you.”

  He shook his bewildered head. “No, I’m too old, too alloyed with my habits.”

  Her teeth gleamed. “Nonsense! You outperform every young buck I can name. That time in Overburg—”

  “The fight? That was nothing.” He forced honesty: “And, in a way, I brought it on.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, I—I’d accepted Bruno’s … hospitality, and he naturally expected—” Kenmuir choked.

  “Maopopo ia’u.” He heard the scorn. “I know. He figured me for property, like his women.”

  Trapped, he floundered about. “I, I didn’t like it—didn’t see how to say no, when he got insistent—”

  “Why should I blame you?” she asked soothingly.

  “But I think you should know—I’d like you to know—” He struggled. “When I was alone with her, I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, Kenmuir.”

  “The situation, and, and clearly she didn’t care—I said I was very tired, and she yawned, and … we both went to sleep.”

  Aleka threw back her head. Her laughter rang.

  In Kenmuir, chagrin faded to ruefulness. His heart thuttered less loudly. After all, how important was this? Lilisaire. Meanwhile, he had—reassured?—his friend.

  Aleka sobered. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be.” He managed a smile. “It is rather funny.”

  She took his other hand as well and looked directly up at him. “You’re a lovely man, you are. And we have no idea where we’re bound. Most likely to failure. Maybe we’ll go free, maybe not. But Pele grins.”

  He waited.

  “We’ve got tonight,” she said.

  He woke once. An old-style window, open to cool air and a breeze that lulled in leaves, faced west. The Moon shone through. It barely brought from shadow the curves along shoulder and arm and cheek where she lay breathing close against his side. Happiness welled quietly up in him. For this short spell, the Moon was the home of peace.

  38

  The Mother of the Moon

  They found Dagny Beynac on the north rim trail. She had left her car at the shelter and gone afoot, alone, in an hour when no one else was about. It was a fairly easy hike, which she had often made, even in recent years; but her heart was old—“paper-thin,” she had said, as if she felt it flutter in a wind from outside space-time—and on the heights it failed her.

  Or perhaps it did not, some among the party thought. A biomonitor in her suit would have flashed an alarm to bring the paramedics within minutes. They might have been able to restart her body. Although at her age self-clone transplants were not feasible, surrogates might have kept her alive in a maintenance unit for several more years. The team discovered that, without mentioning it, she had long since removed her monitor.

  For an equally long while her habit of going topside by herself, leaving no word behind, had been the despair of her friends. When they protested, she reminded them cheerfully that she was rambling the Moon before they, and usually their parents, were born. This was her choice.

  Certainly the last sight she saw had been magnificent. Here a crest ran along the top of the ringwall, high and narrow enough that to southward she spied the crater floor. That part was deeply shadowed, but the central peak thrust up into light athwart ramparts visible above the opposite horizon. Closer by, a radio mast gleamed like a victorious lance. Northward the slopes flowed down with the gentleness of Lunar rock, sharp edges worn away by skyfall, in highlights and sable. Beyond them the terrain was brighter than most, impact splash which farther onward fingered out in great rays. Mountains guarded that rim of vision. Radiance went in a tide from an Earth near the full, blue and white, the colors of sea and air, dappled with land. Elsewhere in the night burned a few brightest stars. It was the dwelling place of silence.

  When her absence raised fears, the Tychopolis constabulary ordered a satellite scan. Lunarian legislators had bargained to get a law that that was done at such resolution only in emergencies. Beynac had supported them, making tart remarks about privacy. Opticals picked out the huddled shape almost at once and a squad hastened to it; but that was hours after the death.

  Luna mourned. On Earth, every Fireball flag went to half-staff.

  The news triggered various programs she had prepared. Most of them concerned just the tidying up of affairs. Half a dozen were messages, each personally encrypted for the recipient. One went to Lars Rydberg on Vancouver Island.

  Dearest Lars,

  When this reaches you I shall be gone. Farewell, fare always well, you and yours whom I have loved.

  Maybe we will have been together again after the date above. Probably we’ll at least have talked by phone, as good as you are about calling. When last we did, your reserve broke down a little and you said the transmission lag, which otherwise you shrug off, felt like a small bleeding. You hurried on to something else, and I waited to cry till we were done. Yes, every time of late we have known we might not get another time. We haven’t voiced it—why should we?—but months ago I noticed, a bit surprised, that my “hasta la vista” to you had become “vaya con Dios.” Go with God.

  Now you will weep. I hope you don’t keep solitary, but let Ulla comfort you. It is a gift you can give her, you know. Sten, Olaf, Linnea, Anson, William, Lucia, Runa, their spouses and children and children’s children, no, I cannot find words for them except, “How blessed I have been. Thank you, thank you.”

  That is true, darling. My life was a glorious adventure. Remember me, miss me, but never pity me. There have been things I would change if I could. Of course. Above all, I would have had my Edmond and my Kaino live out their days. But the joy that was ours did not die in me; and what wonders became mine! I not only saw a dead world bloom to life and a new race arise, I helped bring it about, I helped lead us toward liberty, and meanwhile humans went to the ends of the sun’s kingdom and I was warmed by undeservedly much love. I will not let these riches go from me in dribs and drabs, among machines and chemicals, the eyes kept open while the brain behind them shrivels. No, I will live on, gladly, till I can no longer live free. Then, the medical data give reason to hope, I shall depart quickly and cleanly and altogether ready.

  Afterward—I don’t suppose “afterward” means anything in this case. “Go with God” is a wish that you go in safety and happiness, no more. Maybe I’m wrong. It would be a new adventure to find out!

  Regardless, nobody ever quite leaves the living universe. What we have done travels on and on, we cannot tell how far, before it’s lost in the cosmic noise. Closer to hand, duties remain to carry out, decencies to respect, mercies to grant.

  And so I appeal to you, my Earth-son. You will understand what my dear Moon-children cannot. You, who have become a power within mighty Fireball, yet are wholly human, can do what neither Anson Guthrie nor any Selenarch is quite able to.

  Oh, you will keep your troth. You will stay Guthrie’s man as you promised long ago. I ask just that you set aside whatever weariness of age is on you and volunteer to him your services in the cause of Lunar peace.

  You have the insights, the connections, the experience, everything I showed you and confided in you and got you involved with. No, you will not be the never-existent indispensable man. But you can play a very large—and very quiet; I know you—role in the coming years. It will be hard, thankless, often maddening, possibly catastrophic, but it will better the odds, and what more can we mortals
do?

  Herewith is a file, which I keep updated. It summarizes the situation, the factors I believe are important, and any recommendations that occur to me. You will see that much of this is confidential. I trust you. I trust you also to study it. Then, if you agree you can make a difference, you will go to Guthrie. And God go with you.

  What else? They talk of building a great tomb for my ashes, come the day. I thought of asking you to intervene as best you can, try to have them scattered where Edmond’s lie. But no, Verdea is passionate about what this would mean to everybody. If they really want it, let them. It won’t matter to me. Save your efforts for the living and the not yet born.

  What does matter, though—be kind to my download.

  I think that’s all. As you in your heart bid me goodnight, wish the children, from me, a good morning.

  Your

  Mother

  39

  Kenmuir drew to attention. “Hola, señor,” he greeted. Aleka crossed hands on breasts and bowed. The woman who had escorted them from the gate saluted.

  The huge old man in the huge old room looked up from his hearthside chair. Lighting was turned low and the fire cast flickers over him. Its crackle mingled with an undertone of music—a contemporary piece that Kenmuir recognized, Nomura’s “Symphonic Variations on Sibelius’s ‘Swan of Tuonela.’” As somber in the dimness were the portraits that stared from their frames. Through the windows he saw the long Northern dusk deepening into night.

  “So you’re back, Ian Kenmuir,” Matthias rumbled.