Analog SFF, September 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  He found Eva an empty seat on the bridge, then claimed another for himself. His eyelids drooped. The purposeful sounds of bridge operations washed soothingly over him.

  Someone cleared his throat loudly. Art forced his eyes open.

  “I said, Art,” O'Malley said, “that there's a cabin waiting for you. Your work is done. Go get some sleep. We're pretty full this trip, though, so everyone is doubling up."

  Art turned toward Eva and found her already looking at him. They shared a nuanced glance which said everything that needed to be said. “That won't be a problem,” Art replied.

  “Now, let's go home."

  * * * *

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 45

  Ariel Colony: the United Planets protectorate inhabited by the Snake residents of Sol system (see related entries, Harmony/Victorious Hijacking and Himalia Incident).

  No matter how aggressive or territorial a civilization, to be self-sustaining most of its members must make something other than war. In historic times, no more than ten percent of any K'vithian clan were ever warriors; fewer than five percent of the clan Arblen Ems survivors of the Himalia Incident were. Few combatants bore any responsibility for setting clan policy toward humans or Centaurs.

  Most K'vithian evacuees were, by human standards, civilians: children, workers and administrators, infirm, and elderly. Although some evacuees might justly have been treated as prisoners of war, all were homeless exiles. Many became refugees long before Harmony first approached Barnard's Star.

  Thus, in the aftermath of the Himalia Incident, the UP victors confronted a diaspora more than a defeated army. Any policy other than genocide had to address that unexpected reality, and hope in time to inculcate among the K'vithian exiles respect for the rules, and ideally the values, of the United Planets.

  As a first step toward the UP goal of integration, clan Arblen Ems was settled for orientation and rehabilitation on a middling moon of Uranus: Ariel.

  —Internetopedia

  * * * *

  Arblen Ems Firh Glithwah, Foremost, as she always did upon entering her office, took a moment to study the desolate topography outside the well-insulated windows. Her view to one side was into an ancient crater, and to the other side, into a deep ravine. The gorge was but one minor example of the many interconnected valleys extending for hundreds of kilometers across the surface. On this face of the tidally locked moon, Uranus dominated the sky.

  Ariel was half rock, half water and methane ices. Some of the scattered craters, including the one upon whose rim this settlement perched, had been made by large metallic meteors. Deuterium/tritium scooped from the beautiful blue planet that hung tantalizingly overhead satisfied all their energy needs. And therein, despite the abundance of resources, lay the problem—the clan was permitted no ships. That prohibition was what made the “protectorate” a prison.

  The human norm for an office demanded a desk, and so her office had one. She did all her work and kept all records in cyberspace, securely encrypted. Everything on the desk, like the desk itself, was mere decoration. Be truthful, she told herself. Some items were sentimental, like the hand-carved wooden chess set. It was one of the few items salvaged from the Foremost's cabin before Victorious had been abandoned.

  What would Uncle have said of their situation—besides that chess was simplistic and limiting? She missed his guidance, never more so than when unwanted guests arrived. Yes, she had become, as had her uncle and great-grandfather before her, the Foremost—but however confidently she presented herself, she took her responsibility as proof mostly of the clan's heavy casualties. Did anyone ever feel ready?

  In minutes, ready or not, she had visitors.

  * * * *

  With no more exertion than the occasional flexing of a boot sole or the feather-light press of fingers against a wall, the man known to everyone on Ariel as Carl Rowland propelled himself through the unusually crowded main corridor of Customs/Security. That effortless grace was the product of extensive practice; he had lived here for many years. None of the gawkers paid him any attention, which was fine with Carl. All eyes were on the woman he escorted, whom he had greeted at the Customs lounge with a bear hug.

  Ten years after the linked destructions of Himalia and Harmony, Corinne Elman remained among the most recognized beings in the solar system. Her 3-V docudrama about battle aboard and escape from the starship was a bestseller in two solar systems—and probably in others from which sales figures had yet to arrive. Had she not assigned ninety-nine percent of her royalties to victims’ families and survivors of Himalia, she would also have been not just wealthy, but fabulously, stinking rich. The only thought passersby gave to him was surely: How does he know her? They would never know the answer: as Helmut Schiller. That name, and the face that went with it, were buried. Who better than the UPIA to convince the world the Frying Dutchman in all his reincarnations had finally died? Who better to give him a new identity?

  On the home/prison world of Arblen Ems, even the rich and famous, even friends of the normally dour deputy of the UP's viceroy, underwent the full security protocol. Corinne and her luggage were X-rayed, chemically and biologically scanned, and hand-searched. She took it in good spirits. “It's great to see you."

  And how unbelievably good it was to see her. They arranged to cross paths every year or so, but never before on Ariel. “Welcome to my world, shipmate. When we're done here, I'm buying you the finest breakfast on the planet and giving you the grand tour.” Neither commitment was as generous as it might have sounded, especially the breakfast part. Ariel offered two human-safe restaurants and a staff mess hall. “Then we can tend to your interview."

  He should have known better. Soon after their meal, they were in the terrestrial-conditioned side of the Foremost's spartan but spacious office. Carl understood clan-speak, of course, but only someone with two independent sets of vocal chords could speak it fluently. Firh Glithwah as a matter of principle conducted business only in clan-speak. Pashwah-qith would handle the translations.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Foremost."

  “You are welcome, Ms. Elman."

  “Corinne. I congratulate you on your recent ascension to this position.” They traded courtesies a few times; long, by Snake usage. “You know why I asked to see you."

  “To share your wealth with those who made it possible?” Pashwah-qith's closed captioning added, “Sarcasm,” faster than Carl could net, “She's joking."

  “Because your uncle was Foremost when the hostilities occurred. Because you can now combine what you might have heard as his closest surviving relative with records possibly only available to someone in your new position."

  “I see.” Glithwah did the ironic-laughter head circle. “All will now be revealed."

  Somehow Carl doubted that it would.

  * * * *

  Glithwah had been Foremost for months. Corinne's answer notwithstanding, the obvious reason for this interview was an upcoming “event": ten human-standard years since the destruction of Victorious. Humans fixated on anniversaries, which provided this human yet more opportunities to profit from the clan's misfortune.

  Whatever the impetus, human curiosity was always a danger—the mental leap was too short from analyzing old motives to speculating about new ones. Glithwah strove always to keep the clan's captors fixed upon rehabilitation, on reinforcing their wishful thinking that acculturation was progressing. It mattered not that she preferred to avoid questions altogether; declining interview requests could itself raise suspicions.

  This reporter had good cause from personal experience to be skeptical. She also had a huge human audience, and apparently the ear of UP security. It all made her dangerous. Could Glithwah mislead as adeptly as had Uncle? “Your questions, Corinne?"

  “When Mashkith surrendered, he did so to K'Choi Gwu ka. Why was that?"

  Because we had just killed thousands of humans. And because the Unity, unlike the UP, never had a death penalty. Surely this was obvious? “
A sudden decision at a very desperate time. Reasons lost with Foremost.” Glithwah allowed the repositioning of an excavation rig deep within the crater to distract her for a time. “Absence of data. Very regrettable."

  “Was surrender to the ka in recognition that the ship was Centaur? Might Mashkith have been making deathbed amends?"

  “Perhaps, Corinne.” Certainly not.

  “Let me preface my next question with an observation.” Corinne interlaced her fingers. “Imagine the lifeboat hijacking had gone undetected. The lifeboat rendezvoused with Victorious. Victorious set off to Barnard's Star, fully fueled. My question is: then what?"

  “A very broad question.” And a perilously perceptive one.

  “Not really. Put another way: Could Arblen Ems possibly have prevailed once it arrived home? News of Victorious’ appearance in Sol system returned home at light speed. Your own return would have been at, what, a third that? Long before Pashwah was quarantined, she must have sent word of your arrival in Sol system to the Great Clans. The UP's trade agent on K'vith would have, too. The other clans had ample time to prepare for your eventual reappearance."

  Hunters do not fidget—especially not a Foremost. When Glithwah picked up the black queen from the chess set, it was quite intentional. It was a subliminal suggestion to her visitors: Think chess. Trust in predefined constraints. Believe in the polite and predictable taking of turns. Think inside the box. “Plentiful antimatter in our control. Opposition to clan Arblen Ems too dangerous."

  “He may have intended divide-and-conquer tactics,” Rowland said. “Ally with one or a few powerful clans more interested in their own welfare than in solidarity with the other clans."

  Her thumb stroked away. Think chess. Think boundaries. Uncle had devoted years to strategy; did they think to penetrate his subtlety in minutes? Why should she instruct them? “Without insight for you. My apologies.” Get bored with this session, please.

  Besides, it was a novice's analysis. The risk of betrayal would have been apparent to the Great Clans for as long as they awaited Victorious. Exchanging hostages and co-locating key assets were time-tested countermeasures. There were many such possible dependencies to discourage treachery from within their coalition. Did the humans think Mashkith so desperate or imprudent to bet everything on hopes of undermining an alliance?

  Conjectures flew. When Glithwah could, she left the humans to rebut and confound each other. Her most common reply, when pushed to speculate, was the pleading of ignorance. In this manner, they discussed without resolution: Would antimatter weapons used freely destroy the value of the conquest? Could antimatter weapons used sparingly overcome vastly superior numbers on the other side? Might the opposition clans’ leadership exhibit Lothwer's death-before-dishonor fanaticism? How in each case might Mashkith have responded?

  The question about Lothwer cut deeply. She pleaded ignorance once more, this time honestly so—she had been merely a deprived child of exile when the flight to Sol began. Let them believe Lothwer's weaknesses were more typical than Mashkith's devious brilliance. Glithwah's sincerest and never expressed worry was whether she had inherited the Firh family talents—or the family flaw of overreaching.

  Rowland refused to drop the topic. “I don't see Mashkith embarking upon a strategy that involved a bloodbath. It doesn't fit what we know of him."

  That was insightful—and hence, bad. It would not do for the UP security officer to understand. “Omelets versus eggs. Human metaphor."

  He shook his head. “Mashkith was scary smart, but not a mass murderer. He might have threatened to attack major human settlements, even Earth itself, with antimatter—especially after he was the one holding all of it. He didn't."

  “He didn't hesitate to destroy Himalia without warning.” Corinne's hands trembled a bit, still enraged after so many years. “In the end, how many thousands died from that decision?"

  Himalia had been a top secret, officially undisclosed, military research facility. It was a legitimate target. For the families who had lived there, and all those lost in the aftermath, Glithwah was sorry as Mashkith had been—but the humans themselves provided an appropriate term: collateral damage. As for warnings, even among humans, declarations of war were a quaint and often discretionary concept.

  She articulated neither justification, for human misunderstanding suited her purpose. Forgive me, Uncle. “Himalia: evidence of Mashkith's single-mindedness. Implication: his readiness for application of antimatter until total victory on K'vith."

  As inaccurate and unfair to Mashkith's memory as that impression was, Glithwah was relieved when her visitors departed espousing it.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 46

  Twenty years lost in suspended animation, twenty years stolen as prisoners of the Snakes, thirteen years gone to the construction of a new starship and the new antimatter factory to produce its fuel ... Eva sympathized with the Centaurs who chose not to spend many more years to return to the Double Suns. She had worked alongside enough Centaurs to know what a wrenching decision it must have been for a crew-kindred to sunder. Those electing to stay were made welcome anywhere they chose in the solar system. They had chosen to settle here.

  The Australian Outback was breathtaking.

  Achingly beautiful vistas beckoned wherever one went: vast stretches of desert sand and red sandstone, rock pools and wetland wilderness, towering rock formations and great canyons. Here one encountered boab trees with their immense trunks; there, groves of old-growth mallee, each dense thicket but a single ancient tree; yet elsewhere, great stands of eucalyptus and river red-gum trees. Everywhere there were fabulous animals: crocodiles and emus, koalas and wallabies, kangaroos and wombats and platypuses. And at night, one of the brightest sparks in a crystalline sky ablaze with lights was Alpha Centauri. It was all wonderful and eerie. In its ecological wholeness, it was more novel to Eva than to the Centaur friends who took delight in showing it to her.

  She hoped to find their home world as fascinating.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Allyson Walsh was taller than her father. Her hair and complexion were as dark as Art's were Nordic. Spend ten minutes with her, though, and Art's influence was palpable, even without knowing the young woman was an engineer. Eva and Allyson were strolling in the deepening dusk along the great salt flat that was Lake Torrens.

  “This,” was a broad concept. Being a part of the first human expedition to another star. Observing firsthand the operation of the first human-built starship. Guiding the program of physical measurements and interstellar observations along the way. Collaborating at their destination with the Unity's leading physicists—those whose insights had made the ship possible, whose quantum-gravity theory she was only now beginning, she flattered herself, to fully grasp. Cultivating the still delicate relationship with humanity's nearest neighbors. Accompanying home good friends. “This” was all those things.

  Twenty meters ahead, Art walked side by side with his son Bart. It was an evening for goodbyes, which was the true significance of Allyson's question. “This” also meant thirty years absence from everything Eva knew, and from almost everyone she knew, including her stepson and—daughter who had come down from the moon to see them off. “Am I sure? Hell, no. But what an adventure it will be."

  “And of course there is no stopping Dad. I'm glad you'll be together.” Allyson cocked her head. “Although how Dr. Claustrophobe plans to handle fourteen years each way cooped inside a flying pebble is a mystery to me."

  “Believe me, I've asked him that. After the tenth try, I got a credible answer. Art said, ‘Life within a fraction of a cubic kilometer of rock will get to me. When it does, remind me that just outside are trillions of klicks of emptiness in every direction. Remind me we've all been forced until now to spend our lives trapped in one little solar system.

  “'A galaxy should be roomy enough even for me.’”

  * * * *

  Hard ceiling rails and padded bucket seats; potted ornamental dwarf bluefru
it vines and no-nonsense holo status displays; photonic and biocomp components commingled beneath the sculpted plasteel panels of control consoles ... here on the bridge, the collaborative nature of New Beginnings was unmistakable. The ship soon to take them home was a joint effort with the United Planets. Not for the first time, Gwu thought how auspiciously named was the human polity—and how different everything would have been if Sol had been Harmony's chosen destination.

  “I never thought we'd get here.” Art Walsh floated nearby, at more or less right angles to Gwu, a big smile on his face. “It's been a long time coming."

  Not nearly as long as for the crew-kindred, many of whom bustled around her tending to last-moment details. Too long, in fact, for many. Gwu could openly admit to sadness at the coming separation; she shared only with Swee her touch of envy. How wonderful it would have been to stay and explore. But for all the temptation, her commitment to duty never wavered. She would bring home everyone who wished to return. “Great rewards merit great efforts."

  “Fair enough. Be right back.” Art shoved off to consult on yet another calibration check of the main comm console. All around her, small clusters, more often humans and crew-kindred together than groups of either species alone, murmured purposefully.

  In a saner universe, the main holo would have celebrated nearby Saturn in all its ringed glory. Instead, that display presented the many warships swarming around New Beginnings and Prometheus, the little moon on which their antimatter had been produced.

  Eva Walsh-Gutierrez and Swee emerged from the central-core elevator, back from inspecting the engine room. Swee swung gracefully from rail to rail to rail, stopping at Gwu's side. “We can fine-tune forever. My opinion is we leave now and putter later.” He entwined a tentacle in one of hers. “What says the ka?"

  “That she is eager to see the Double Suns again.” She called out to all on the bridge, “Stations, everyone."