Her Smoke Rose Up Forever (S.F. MASTERWORKS)

by James Tiptree Jr.

  And so it had begun.

  Lorimer’s mind floats back to himself now floating in Gloria, nearly a year, or three hundred years, later; watching and being watched by them. He still feels light, contented; the dread underneath has come no nearer. But it is so silent. He seems to have heard no voices for a long time. Or was it a long time? Maybe the drug is working on his time sense, maybe it was only a minute or two.

  “I’ve been remembering,” he says to the woman Connie, wanting her to speak.

  She nods. “You have so much to remember. Oh, I’m sorry—that wasn’t good to say.” Her eyes speak sympathy.

  “Never mind.” It is all dreamlike now, his lost world and this other which he is just now seeing plain. “We must seem like very strange beasts to you.”

  “We’re trying to understand,” she says. “It’s history, you learn the events but you don’t really feel what the people were like, how it was for them. We hope you’ll tell us.”

  The drug, Lorimer thinks, that’s what they’re trying. Tell them . . . how can he? Could a dinosaur tell how it was? A montage flows through his mind, dominated by random shots of Operations’s north parking lot and Ginny’s yellow kitchen telephone with the sickly ivy vines. . . . Women and vines . . .

  A burst of laughter distracts him. It’s coming from the chamber they call the gym, Bud and the others must be playing ball in there. Bright idea, really, he muses: using muscle power, sustained mild exercise. That’s why they are all so fit. The gym is a glorified squirrel-wheel, when you climb or pedal up the walls it revolves and winds a gear train, which among other things rotates the sleeping drum. A real Woolagong . . . Bud and Dave usually take their shifts together, scrambling the spinning gym like big pale apes. Lorimer prefers the easy rhythm of the women, and the cycle here fits him nicely. He usually puts in his shift with Connie, who doesn’t talk much, and one of the Judys, who do.

  No one is talking now, though. Remotely uneasy, he looks around the big cylinder of the cabin, sees Dave and Lady Blue by the forward window. Judy Dakar is behind them, silent for once. They must be looking at Earth; it has been a beautiful expanding disk for some weeks now. Dave’s beard is moving, he is praying again. He has taken to doing that, not ostentatiously, but so obviously sincere that Lorimer the atheist can only sympathize.

  The Judys have asked Dave what he whispers, of course. When Dave understood that they had no concept of prayer and had never seen a Christian Bible, there had been a heavy silence.

  “So you have lost all faith,” he said finally.

  “We have faith,” Judy Paris protested.

  “May I ask in what?”

  “We have faith in ourselves, of course,” she told him.

  “Young lady, if you were my daughter I’d tan your britches,” Dave said, not joking. The subject was not raised again.

  But he came back so well after that first dreadful shock, Lorimer thinks. A personal god, a father-model, man needs that. Dave draws strength from it, and we lean on him. Maybe leaders have to believe. Dave was so great; cheerful, unflappable, patiently working out alternatives, making his decisions on the inevitable discrepancies in the position readings in a way Lorimer couldn’t do. A bitch . . .

  Memory takes him again; he is once again back in Sunbird, gritty-eyed, listening to the women’s chatter, Dave’s terse replies. God, how they chattered. But their computer work checks out. Lorimer is suffering also from a quirk of Dave’s, his reluctance to transmit their exact thrust and fuel reserve. He keeps holding out a margin and making Lorimer compute it back in.

  But the margins don’t help; it is soon clear that they are in big trouble. Earth will pass too far ahead of them on her next orbit, they don’t have the acceleration to catch up with her before they cross her path. They can carry out an ullage maneuver, they can kill enough velocity to let Earth catch them on the second go-by; but that would take an extra year and their life support would be long gone. The grim question of whether they have enough to enable a single man to wait it out pushes into Lorimer’s mind. He pushes it back; that one is for Dave.

  There is a final possibility: Venus will approach their trajectory three months hence, and they may be able to gain velocity by swinging by it. They go to work on that.

  Meanwhile Earth is steadily drawing away from them and so is Gloria, closer toward the sun. They pick her out of the solar interference and then lose her again. They know her crew now, five of them. The man is Andy Kay, the senior woman is Lady Blue Parks; they appear to do the navigating. Then there is a Connie Morelos and the two twins, Judy Paris and Judy Dakar, who run the communications. The chief Luna voices are women too, Margo and Azella. The men can hear them talking to the Escondita, which is now swinging in toward the far side of the sun. Dave insists on monitoring and taping everything that comes through. It proves to be largely replays of their exchanges with Luna and Gloria, mixed with a variety of highly personal messages. As references to cows, chickens, and other livestock multiply, Dave reluctantly gives up his idea that they are code. Bud counts a total of five male voices.

  “Big deal,” he says. “There were more chick drivers on the road when we left. Means space is safe now, the girlies have taken over. Let them sweat their little asses off.” He chuckles. “When we get this bird down, the stars ain’t gonna study old Buddy no more, no ma’am. A nice beach and about a zillion steaks and ale and all those sweet things. Hey, we’ll be living history, we can charge admission.”

  Dave’s face takes on the expression that means an inappropriate topic has been broached. Much to Lorimer’s impatience, Dave discourages all speculation as to what may await them on this future Earth. He confines their transmissions strictly to the problem in hand; when Lorimer tries to get him at least to mention the unchanged-language puzzle, Dave only says firmly, “Later.” Lorimer fumes; inconceivable that he is three centuries in the future, unable to learn a thing.

  They do glean a few facts from the women’s talk. There have been nine successful Sunbird missions after theirs and one other casualty. And the Gloria and her sister ship are on a long-planned flyby of the two inner planets.

  “We always go along in pairs,” Judy says. “But those planets are no good. Still, it was worth seeing.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Dave, ask them how many planets have been visited,” Lorimer pleads.

  “Later.”

  But about the fifth meal-break Luna suddenly volunteers.

  “Earth is making up a history for you, Sunbird,” the Margo voice says. “We know you don’t want to waste power asking, so we thought we’d send you a few main points right now.” She laughs. “It’s much harder than we thought, nobody here does history.”

  Lorimer nods to himself; he has been wondering what he could tell a man from 1690 who would want to know what happened to Cromwell—was Cromwell then?—and who had never heard of electricity, atoms, or the U.S.A.

  “Let’s see, probably the most important is that there aren’t as many people as you had, we’re just over two million. There was a world epidemic not long after your time. It didn’t kill people, but it reduced the population. I mean, there weren’t any babies in most of the world. Ah, sterility. The country called Australia was affected least.” Bud holds up a finger.

  “And North Canada wasn’t too bad. So the survivors all got together in the south part of the American states where they could grow food and the best communications and factories were. Nobody lives in the rest of the world, but we travel there sometimes. Ah, we have five main activities, was industries the word? Food, that’s farming and fishing. Communications, transport, and space—that’s us. And the factories they need. We live a lot simpler than you did, I think. We see your things all over, we’re very grateful to you. Oh, you’ll be interested to know we use zeppelins just like you did, we have six big ones. And our fifth thing is the children. Babies. Does that help? I’m using a children’s book we have here.”

  The men have frozen during this recital; Lorimer is holdi
ng a cooling bag of hash. Bud starts chewing again and chokes.

  “Two million people and a space capability?” He coughs. “That’s incredible.”

  Dave gazes reflectively at the speaker. “There’s a lot they’re not telling us.”

  “I gotta ask them,” Bud says. “Okay?”

  Dave nods. “Watch it.”

  “Thanks for the history, Luna,” Bud says. “We really appreciate it. But we can’t figure out how you maintain a space program with only a couple of million people. Can you tell us a little more on that?”

  In the pause Lorimer tries to grasp the staggering figures. From eight billion to two million . . . Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, America itself—wiped out. There weren’t any more babies. World sterility, from what? The Black Death, the famines of Asia—those had been decimations. This is magnitudes worse. No, it is all the same: beyond comprehension. An empty world, littered with junk.

  “Sunbird?” says Margo. “Da, I should have thought you’d want to know about space. Well, we have only the four real spaceships and one building. You know the two here. Then there’s Indira and Pech, they’re on the Mars run now. Maybe the Mars dome was since your day. You had the satellite stations though, didn’t you? And the old Luna dome, of course—I remember now, it was during the epidemic. They tried to set up colonies to, ah, breed children, but the epidemic got there too. They struggled terribly hard. We owe a lot to you really, you men I mean. The history has it all, how you worked out a minimal viable program and trained everybody and saved it from the crazies. It was a glorious achievement. Oh, the marker here has one of your names on it. Lorimer. We love to keep it all going and growing, we all love traveling. Man is a rover, that’s one of our mottoes.”

  “Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” Bud asks, blinking comically.

  Dave is still staring at the speaker. “Not one word about their government,” he says slowly. “Not a word about economic conditions. We’re talking to a bunch of monkeys.”

  “Should I ask them?”

  “Wait a minute. . . . Roger, ask the name of their chief of state and the head of the space program. And—no, that’s all.”

  “President?” Margo echoes Bud’s query. “You mean like queens and kings? Wait, here’s Myda. She’s been talking about you with Earth.”

  The older woman they hear occasionally says, “Sunbird? Da, we realize you had a very complex activity, your governments. With so few people we don’t have that type of formal structure at all. People from the different activities meet periodically and our communications are good, everyone is kept informed. The people in each activity are in charge of doing it while they’re there. We rotate, you see. Mostly in five-year hitches, for example, Margo here was on the zeppelins and I’ve been on several factories and farms and of course the, well, the education, we all do that. I believe that’s one big difference from you. And of course we all work. And things are basically far more stable now, I gather. We change slowly. Does that answer you? Of course you an always ask Registry, they keep track of us all. But we can’t, ah, take you to our leader, if that’s what you mean.” She laughs, a genuine jolly sound. “That’s one of our old jokes. I must say,” she goes on seriously, “it’s been a joy to us that we can understand you so well. We make a big effort not to let the language drift, it would be tragic to lose touch with the past.”

  Dave takes the mike. “Thank you, Luna. You’ve given us something to think about. Sunbird out.”

  “How much of that is for real, Doc?” Bud rubs his curly head. “They’re giving us one of your science-fiction stories.”

  “The real story will come later,” says Dave. “Our job is to get there.”

  “That’s a point that doesn’t look too good.”

  By the end of the session it looks worse. No Venus trajectory is any good. Lorimer reruns all the computations; same result.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any solution to this one, Dave,” he says at last. “The parameters are just too tough. I think we’ve had it.”

  Dave massages his knuckles thoughtfully. Then he nods. “Roger. We’ll fire the optimum sequence on the Earth heading.”

  “Tell them to wave if they see us go by,” says Bud.

  They are silent, contemplating the prospect of a slow death in space eighteen months hence. Lorimer wonders if he can raise the other question, the bad one. He is pretty sure what Dave will say. What will he himself decide, what will he have the guts to do?

  “Hello, Sunbird?” the voice of Gloria breaks in. “Listen, we’ve been figuring. We think if you use all your fuel you could come back in close enough to our orbit so we could swing out and pick you up. You’d be using solar gravity that way. We have plenty of maneuver but much less acceleration than you do. You have suits and some kind of propellants, don’t you? I mean, you could fly across a few kays?”

  The three men look at each other; Lorimer guesses he had not been the only one to speculate on that.

  “That’s a good thought, Gloria,” Dave says. “Let’s hear what Luna says.”

  “Why?” asks Judy. “It’s our business, we wouldn’t endanger the ship. We’d only miss another look at Venus, who cares. We have plenty of water and food, and if the air gets a little smelly we can stand it.”

  “Hey, the chicks are all right,” Bud says. They wait.

  The voice of Luna comes on. “We’ve been looking at that too, Judy. We’re not sure you understand the risk. Ah, Sunbird, excuse me. Judy, if you manage to pick them up you’ll have to spend nearly a year in the ship with these three male persons from a very different culture. Myda says you should remember history, and it’s a risk no matter what Connie says. Sunbird. I hate to be so rude. Over.”

  Bud is grinning broadly, they all are. “Cavemen,” he chuckles. “All the chicks land preggers.”

  “Margo, they’re human beings,” the Judy voice protests. “This isn’t just Connie, we’re all agreed. Andy and Lady Blue say it would be very interesting. If it works, that is. We can’t let them go without trying.”

  “We feel that way too, of course,” Luna replies. “But there’s another problem. They could be carrying diseases. Sunbird, I know you’ve been isolated for fourteen months, but Murti says people in your day were immune to organisms that aren’t around now. Maybe some of ours could harm you, too. You could all get mortally sick and lose the ship.”

  “We thought of that, Margo,” Judy says impatiently. “Look, if you have contact with them at all somebody has to test, true? So we’re ideal. By the time we get home you’ll know. And how could we all get sick so fast we couldn’t put Gloria in a stable orbit where you could get her later on?”

  They wait. “Hey, what about that epidemic?” Bud pats his hair elaborately. “I don’t know if I want a career in gay lib.”

  “You rather stay out here?” Dave asks.

  “Crazies,” says a different voice from Luna. “Sunbird, I’m Murti, the health person here. I think what we have to fear most is the meningitis-influenza complex, they mutate so readily. Does your Dr. Lorimer have any suggestions?”

  “Roger, I’ll put him on,” says Dave. “But as to your first point, madam, I want to inform you that at time of takeoff the incidence of rape in the United States space cadre was zero point zero. I guarantee the conduct of my crew, provided you can control yours. Here is Dr. Lorimer.”

  But Lorimer cannot of course tell them anything useful. They discuss the men’s polio shots, which luckily have used killed virus, and various childhood diseases which still seem to be around. He does not mention their epidemic.

  “Luna, we’re going to try it,” Judy declares. “We couldn’t live with ourselves. Now let’s get the course figured before they get any farther away.”

  From there on there is no rest on Sunbird while they set up and refigure and rerun the computations for the envelope of possible intersecting trajectories. The Gloria’s drive, they learn, is indeed low-thrust, although capable of sustained operation. Sunbird
will have to get most of the way to the rendezvous on her own if they can cancel their outward velocity.

  The tension breaks once during the long session, when Luna calls Gloria to warn Connie to be sure the female crew members wear concealing garments at all times if the men came aboard.

  “Not suit-liners, Connie, they’re much too tight.” It is the older woman, Myda. Bud chuckles.

  “Your light sleepers, I think. And when the men unsuit, your Andy is the only one who should help them. You others stay away. The same for all body functions and sleeping. This is very important, Connie, you’ll have to watch it the whole way home. There are a great many complicated taboos. I’m putting an instruction list on the bleeper, is your receiver working?”

  “Da, we used it for France’s black-hole paper.”

  “Good. Tell Judy to stand by. Now listen, Connie, listen carefully. Tell Andy he has to read it all. I repeat, he has to read every word. Did you hear that?”

  “Ah, dinko,” Connie answers. “I understand, Myda. He will.”

  “I think we just lost the ball game, fellas,” Bud laments. “Old mother Myda took it all away.”

  Even Dave laughs. But later when the modulated squeal that is a whole text comes through the speaker, he frowns again. “There goes the good stuff.”

  The last factors are cranked in; the revised program spins, and Luna confirms them. “We have a payout, Dave,” Lorimer reports. “It’s tight, but there are at least two viable options. Provided the main jets are fully functional.”

  “We’re going EVA to check.”

  That is exhausting; they find a warp in the deflector housing of the port engines and spend four sweating hours trying to wrestle it back. It is only Lorimer’s third sight of open space, but he is soon too tired to care.

  “Best we can do,” Dave pants finally. “We’ll have to compensate in the psychic mode.”

  “You can do it, Dave-o,” says Bud. “Hey, I gotta change those suit radios, don’t let me forget.”