Echoes of Earth

by Sean Williams

  * * *

  The gentle pitching of the shuttle was making him sleepy. In the twenty hours since the Spinners had arrived, he had caught only a couple of hours of rest, and then only because his body absolutely demanded it. He refused to indulge in the time-bending habits of his former colleagues in the Tipler. That would have undermined the whole point of him being on Adrasteia.

  But he couldn’t allow himself to sleep now. He had to stay awake and concentrate. Otherwise he would lose his train of thought and forget what he was doing. And he couldn’t forget that, of all things.

  “How long until we arrive?”

  “Three hours,” the shuttle replied.

  He tried to make himself comfortable. One thing he missed about the Drop Point One observation post was the chair; if he’d only stopped to think of bringing it with him. But there hadn’t been time. Once he had made up his mind to go, he didn’t dare hesitate. It was either then or, possibly, never.

  The decision had been relatively easy. A day cooped up in DPO was all he could take; he needed to move, to do, to be. It was more than cabin fever: sitting staring at a screen was robbing him of his sense of self, dissolving his thoughts in the ceaseless river of data from the Tipler. Although he knew it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop it—until he stumbled across the branch that saved him.

  The image had shown the base of Tower Five, on the other side of the planet. All the towers were anchored in a similar fashion, terminating in a plug shaped like a flattened octopus that presumably extended a large distance underground. Each had the same reflective properties as resin. At the terminus of Tower Five, however, a new detail had appeared, subtle and easily missed. Something silver.

  It was difficult to make out what it was exactly. Even when he magnified the picture, the image remained blurred by atmosphere and distance. There was no telling what shape it was, except that, from above, it looked easily large enough to hold an adult human—possibly about three meters around and maybe four high.

  Feeling the first tingle of excitement, he had replayed the data stream to see where the object had come from. Sure enough, it had come from above, along the cable, dropping smoothly and steadily before braking to a gentle halt on the ground below.

  And there it sat, waiting.

  He watched it for ten minutes before getting out of the seat and making his way through the cramped rooms of Drop Point One. It was night again outside; he pulled the hood of his environment suit over his head as he walked across the tarmac and banged a couple of times on the side of the shuttle.

  “Power up,” he told the autopilot. “We’re leaving.”

  “I do not have the authority to—”

  “You have my authority,” he interrupted. “Override code Delta-Juliet-Whisky-four-three. Repeat DJW-43.”

  The side of the shuttle immediately peeled back, exposing the cramped interior.

  “Welcome aboard, Dr. Alander,” said the autopilot smoothly.

  Alander took a moment to load equipment into the arms of the two empty bodies and guide them zombielike into the DPO shelter, not only to create space within the shuttle but to ensure they would be safe also. That he was taking the shuttle and his own body into possible danger was one thing, but he didn’t want to compound the risk by taking more resources with him than were absolutely necessary.

  With the two bodies dealt with, and the destruction of the two probes firmly in mind, he set about plotting a course for the shuttle. Downloading the data from DPO, he ascertained which of the towers had been built by Spindle Five. Something in Spindle Six was causing dramatic changes in the atmosphere around that section of the equator: The cloud layer was bulging upward, toward the spindle, spinning off numerous precyclonic systems in all directions. What that meant for the air around Spindle Five, Alander didn’t know, but the autopilot thought it was nothing it couldn’t handle. It did remind him, however, that its supply of reaction mass was running low and warned that a round trip would be only just possible. If any further maneuvering was required, it would be unable to return him to Drop Point One.

  But he had no intentions of reconsidering his decision. For what stood to be gained, he felt it was a small risk indeed.

  As the door to the cargo bay irised shut, Alander. thought briefly about calling the Tipler. After all, he was in no position of authority any longer, his breakdown had precluded any chance of that in the near future. What if he screwed it up, like he had so many times lately? Didn’t he owe it to the rest of the crew to at least give them the chance to help him?

  But then he remembered all too clearly Sivio’s words: “Don’t try to call us. Keep a low profile, and we’ll contact you as soon as we can.” He might not be keeping a low profile, but at least, by not calling them to inform them of his intentions, he was following orders. Hatzis couldn’t admonish him on that score, at least. Besides, they would detect the launch of the shuttle soon enough and could contact him then if they wanted to.

  A sense of unreality flowed through him when the shuttle’s engines burned—a similar feeling to the one that had led to his breakdown on the Tipler. For a giddying moment, he felt as though he wasn’t real, as though all his senses were feeding into a bottomless black hole, a vast chasm into which he, too, was being dragged. He clung to the lip of this hole for what seemed like an eternity, knowing that if he fell, he might never be able to crawl out again. Not this time.

  If he couldn’t hang on to his sense of self when, unlike the other engrams, he had a body he could call his own, in which he was completely self-contained and independent, then what right did he have to try?

  If not for us, then for whom?

  He snapped back with an existential jolt. What right did he have to try? And why did most of the other engrams indulge him in his efforts to stabilize his self, especially when they didn’t even like the new person he had become?

  Because if he failed, then that undermined their own stability. All it would take was one personality breakdown to prove that it was possible. Who knew who would be next? Essentially, they were all nothing but illusions running on complicated software; unpick the illusion, and there might be nothing left.

  He didn’t care about them as much as he cared about himself, but he was happy to use the argument in order to save himself. It was either that or give up, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

  The shuttle was on its way to the base of Spindle Five and the object that had appeared beside it—a possible one-way mission. For the first time in a long while, he had something that he felt belonged to him, something he could own. For a short while, anyway. He wasn’t fool enough to believe that Hatzis would let him get away with it for too long.

  * * *

  Barely five minutes into the trip, Sivio hailed the shuttle. Alander blinked in surprise as the voice spoke to him out of the claustrophobic darkness.

  “Peter, is that you in the shuttle?”

  “Who else would it be?” he said. He tried to gather his thoughts, preparing himself for the rebuke that was sure to follow.

  “Well, the way things have been around here lately...” Sivio let the sentence trail off into a humorless laugh.

  “I guess,” said Alander. He had no intention of making things easier for the military survey manager just yet.

  “The autopilot tells us you’re heading for one of the towers. Can you confirm that?”

  “If that’s what it says, then it must be true. I’m certainly not flying this thing.”

  “Peter...” Sivio hesitated for a second. “Peter, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m going to take a look at one of those towers, of course. Don’t worry; I’ll keep a feed open once I get closer.”

  “I’m not sure this is wise, Peter. I know they appear to be inactive, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re safe.”

  “I don’t even believe they’re inactive.”

  “Peter—”

  “You don’t have to keep emphasizing my name, Jaym
e,” he said. “I know who I am, and I know what I’m doing, too.”

  When Sivio spoke again, he sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to treat you like an idiot. You’ve just taken us by surprise, that’s all.” There was another pause. “Why are you you’re doing this?”

  “There’s an object at the base of Tower Five,” Alander said, relenting. “If it’s what I think it is, I’m going to ride it to the top and see what lives up there.”

  A third silence. This time he knew someone would be checking the records for the object he had referred to. He waited out the few seconds it would take them to find it, repeating the statement he had given Sivio to keep his mind focused. I know who I am... I know who I am... I know who I am—

  “You think this object might be a cable car of some kind.” Sivio’s voice returned with an uncertain edge. “Is that right?”

  “That, or a rabbit trap,” he said. With me being the rabbit, he thought.

  “And you’re prepared to risk that?”

  He took a deep breath. “Look, Jayme. It makes sense. Someone comes to the system, builds the towers, then everything goes quiet. They don’t talk to us; they don’t explain anything. What they do is give us a means of getting to the top. Or at least that’s what the data suggests. I’m willing to bet that they sent that thing down for a reason. Why else but to invite us up?”

  “Peter, you can’t possibly know—”

  “No, let me finish. If the Spinners were alien, I’d be more cautious. My original had a theory suggesting they’re probably not, and that’s good enough for me. Given that they’re human—or at least of human origin—then that tips the balance in favor of them being nonhostile. Mysterious, yes, but ultimately nonhostile. I think they’re being just as cautious as you’d like me to be: waiting to see what we do next. They made the first move, so we should respond. And how better to respond than to accept their invitation and take a look?”

  “Peter, I’m not saying you’re wrong—”

  “I’m the only one who can go.” He put as much force into the statement as he could. “The Spinners know that. If I don’t go, we’ll be sending them a very different message.”

  “What message? They might not even know about you!”

  “How could they not? We’ve been hailing them since—”

  “For all we know, we could be as insignificant to them as insects are to us.”

  “I don’t buy that,” he said firmly. “They are human; they have to be! And I’d hazard a guess that they not only know we’re here, but that they know everything about us by now as well.”

  “That’s a little unbelievable, Peter. You’re suggesting the Spinners have been in our networks and we had no idea they were there! I can’t believe we could be that vulnerable.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jayme! They built ten orbital towers in a single day. You think the only area they are going to be more advanced than us is just in the material sciences? Our secure systems could be as easy for them to read as skywriting.”

  “And you think they’re listening in now?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “I... I don’t know what to say.” Sivio was sounding increasingly distracted, as though he was trying to think furiously while he talked. “I still don’t like you rushing into this, Peter. At least let me talk to Caryl before you go any further, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s the survey manager in charge of this phase of the mission. She should be informed.”

  “All right,” he said. “By all means inform her, Jayme. Just don’t expect her to change my mind.”

  Sivio didn’t reply to that, and Alander assumed he’d gone to get her. Anticipating what she might say, he tried to prepare some sort of defense. He could see her side of things easily enough. What bothered him was that she would make no effort to see his point of view.

  When her voice came through the shuttle’s link with the Tipler, her tone told him everything he need to know.

  “Why are you so intent on pissing me off, Alander?”

  “Hello, Caryl.”

  “You land that fucking shuttle now, or I’ll override your overrides.”

  “You can do that?” It was unlikely; otherwise, she would have already done it.

  “Believe me, I will if you give me no alternative.”

  “And risk bringing the shuttle down? The autopilot software can only take so much interference.”

  “That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

  “That’s a fairly strong message you’re sending, Caryl.”

  “I’m hoping it’ll sink in eventually.”

  “I don’t mean to me, Caryl. I meant to the Spinners.”

  “Now you’re just talking gibberish.”

  “Am I? Ask yourself this: If they aren’t watching what we do and don’t know about me, why would they have sent a cable car to the surface? Who could it be for if not me? Leaving aside the matter of motive for a moment, doesn’t this tell you that they know the shuttle can’t take me anywhere near geostationary orbit?”

  “But motive is everything. Why would they make overtures to you when they’ve ignored us for so long? And why you? No offense, Peter, but you’d have to admit it’s a pretty valid question.”

  “I can’t answer that, Caryl. But not even you can argue with the fact that there’s only one way to find out.”

  There was a long silence from the Tipler, long enough to make him wonder if she’d cut the line permanently, washed her hands of him rather than attempt to reason with him. But he didn’t give her the satisfaction of breaking the silence to find out. He waited patiently as the shuttle rocked its way through the atmosphere, making its way steadily around the planet to the base of Tower Five.

  “Okay, Peter,” she finally said. There was a weariness to her voice that both satisfied and unnerved him. “At least let’s talk about what you’re going to do. Assuming you’re not acting on a death wish, is there anything we can offer to make it easier for you? Or to guarantee your safety?”

  “I don’t think you can do anything to guarantee my safety,” he said. Privately, he exchanged a few words with the autopilot and felt the pitch of its flight change.

  “But we can—” She stopped. “What are you doing now?”

  “Landing,” he said.

  “What?”

  He could hear her confusion and tried to imagine her expression.

  “Well, now that I have your attention,” he said, “I figure we can take some time to actually plan what we’re going to do.”

  “Thanks, Peter,” she said after a few moments, her voice quiet and controlled. “I appreciate this.”

  “Listen, Caryl,” he said. “I’m the one going into the lion’s den. In some ways I’d rather face you than the Spinners. In fact, to tell the truth, if you had brought down the shuttle, it would have come as something of a relief.”

  “And yet you were prepared to go through with it?”

  “Had you not listened to reason? Yes, I would have.”

  “But now you’re willing to talk?” It sounded as though she still couldn’t quite believe what he was doing.

  He shrugged in the darkness. “It’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

  “It’s good to see you have regained some common sense, at least,” she said.

  The ghost of a smile in her voice was reward enough, for now. He may only have won a battle, but that was sufficient to make him feel a little more confident about the war.

  1.1.6

  The manipulative little fuck, Hatzis thought as she watched the satellite images of the shuttle descending onto a rough plateau some 400 kilometers away from the base of Tower Five. She handed the conversation back to Sivio while she took a moment to collect her thoughts. Giving ground to Alander had galled her more than she would ever admit. Not because she thought she was infallible—far from it—but because it was Alander. Had it been the real him, she might have felt better about it, although the chances were it w
ould still have been difficult for her pride to accept. As it was, it ate into her like acid.

  Dr. Peter Alander had been aboard the Frank Tipler as its resident generalist, not a physicist or chemist or programmer or any of the other specialties the ship carried, but someone who professed to know a lot about everything: the wide-world equivalent of a physician. His role had been to act as adviser to the survey managers, someone who kept in touch with all the various disciplines at once, making sure their work didn’t conflict and noticing when close focus might obscure a bigger picture.

  As such, he commanded a great deal of respect among the other survey staff. Even among the other generalists—and there were ten of them scattered randomly through the missions—he was regarded highly. He was supposed to be good.

  She could respect that, and she would have valued his input at any time during her leg of the mission. But not this damaged Peter Alander who had the potential to forget where he was if distracted. Giving any concessions at all to him just incensed her. And she wasn’t above resenting the fact that a key component of her management team was missing, either, making her job all the more difficult.

  Still, she would bear it as gracefully as she could. She was determined to, and she didn’t doubt that leaders all through history had been forced into similar situations, with or without neural net advisers. That was what she had to do if she was going to be a good leader herself.

  As Sivio walked Alander through basic preparations for his mission, a call came through for her from Cleo Samson.

  “I’ve been watching what’s going on,” said the woman.

  “Why?” Hatzis knew she was being unnecessarily blunt but couldn’t help it. Samson was a chemist; she should have been making space for more relevant disciplines.

  “Owen asked me to help him out with spectrographic analyses of the spindle hulls. I’ve only been real-timing it.”