Cave of Stars (Macrolife Book 2)

by George Zebrowski

  Voss nodded and was about to ask a question.

  “There’s more,” Iannon continued. “If we test with one or more persons on board, we might lose them. If we set the craft for automatic return, unmanned, we might either lose the craft or our one chance of getting to the base, recalibrating the small jumper’s throw, and getting back here to work on our main drive. Now, if we couldn’t get the main to work, we could start ferrying people ahead, especially if we could repair the other small craft. It might take a while, back and forth, to get everyone there, but it would still be faster than what we’re facing. What do you think?”

  “Do you want to try?” Voss asked. “It seems to me that it’s worth trying to get even one small craft to throw accurately, if it means we could repair our main drive and bring the ship in.”

  Iannon nodded. “It’s tempting.”

  Voss said, “If it worked, even the ferrying alone would be worth it.”

  “True, but now we come to more problems. I want you and Blackfriar to understand them all before we even think of making a decision.”

  “What was Wolt’s reaction?” Voss asked.

  “Much like yours. But I wanted to go through it all with you alone, just to make sure I have it all clear. Without the Link’s simulations, I seem to need to say things out loud, and more than once.”

  Without the Link’s vast database, an entire universe of evolving simulation was no longer available, Voss thought. Rehearsing problems in model form was gone, as well as the addition of each solution to still more complex models. The Link, among many other things, had been the mobile’s collective experience, and its loss was clearly responsible for the constant dismay in Iannon Brunei’s face. He was trying to do what no individual engineer had been asked to do in a long time.

  “We’ve got to rule out an automatic first try because it might lose us the craft,” he said. “A crew of three or four might make all the difference, but if they don’t come back, you’ll be losing experienced engineers.” He grimaced, and Voss knew that he meant experienced in working with the Link’s resources.

  “Problems may occur in the years to come that we can’t handle,” he continued. “And their loss will decrease the number of skilled teachers we would have.” He sighed and ran his fingers nervously back through his long black hair. “Mine is the best knowledge we have to make a difference aboard a small craft, yet I’m the one you can’t risk.”

  “Can you teach someone to go in your place?” Voss asked.

  “In time. But now we come to something even more tangled. The chance of the small jumper working is really not much better, in my estimate, than trying our main drive several more times. Another try might get us there, but we can’t risk everything on that one chance, which might throw us somewhere from which we could never get back. I would recommend another try only if we had major problems with life support, which might very well happen in a decade or two, thus forcing us to jump or die.”

  Iannon stared at him with something like a perverse smile, as if he were proud of having tied up all the knots so neatly—but then Voss saw that it was not a smile. It was a grimace of fear struggling with the horror of how much would depend on his reasoning being right.

  “Do you think either of the small craft can make it?” Voss asked.

  “I would guess that one of the small craft can make the base,” Iannon said. “Coming back is likely if the crew is able to adjust their drive at the base, to make sure it will work. But we must assume that the base is there and usable. Any number of things can go wrong all down the line. Therefore, for better or worse, we can’t send our best people, even though they would be the most likely to succeed. Three would have to go at least, and we would have to be prepared to do without them.”

  “Can you think of anything you couldn’t teach someone to handle here or in the small ship?” Voss asked.

  Iannon grimaced. “No. But it will take time, and I would have to be sure of them.”

  “Then consider going yourself,” Voss said.

  Iannon seemed relieved, but the doubts showed again in his face. “I’ll attempt to train people to replace me. It will take months, at least, and I may not feel that I have succeeded. We can try this at any time, you know, even years from now. I’ll prepare two people to go with me.”

  Voss nodded. “Be sure. Take all the time you need.”

  “I’m torn about going, Voss, but…I see myself doing it, getting there and bringing back all the help we’ll need to get through. I dream about it…as if the Link were still there showing it to me.” He looked at Voss, and for a moment his black eyes seemed calm as he said, “I’ll get back.”

  “You’ll save us a century,” Voss said.

  59

  Josepha was about to enter her cabin when she saw Jason coming down the passageway. “I have to speak to you,” he said almost casually.

  She looked away as he stopped at her side. “I must talk to you,” he continued calmly. “It’s important.”

  She turned her head and looked at him, unsure of what to say. He had not shaved in a while and looked tired, but seemed otherwise composed.

  “Are you alone?” he asked, looking at the door. “Is he in there? I can come back later.”

  She hesitated, then told herself that this was Ondro’s brother Jason, and that she had no reason to fear him. He had never been violent. “Come in,” she said at last, touching the plate. The door slid open and she went inside, then turned around to face him. “What is it, Jason?”

  The door slid shut. He backed up against it and slid down to sit on the floor. Strain showed in his face. Concerned and startled, she retreated to her bunk, sat down nervously, and waited for him to speak.

  He closed his eyes and said, “What right have they to decide anything for us? Their decision has condemned us to death.” She saw that he was angry.

  “What are you saying?” she asked, knowing full well what he meant

  He opened his eyes and grimaced. “There won’t be any sleep for us. Their oldest people will get those berths.”

  “There aren’t enough berths for them, either,” she said.

  “All of us will die,” he said, “but you’ll get through. He’ll see to that.” He laughed. “It’ll serve you right if the chamber fails and you wake up dead.”

  She tried to control her reaction. “But what else can be done? You know the chambers may not work very well.”

  “They might have offered a lottery,” he said, “for hibernating in shifts, maybe.”

  “That would only put more people at risk,” she said.

  “It would be better than chance,” he said. His eyes opened wide and stared at her. “We can jump. I’ve heard that the main system is still operational, but they’re afraid to try it”

  “It’s too dangerous, Jason. We might get lost—and then even the chances still open to us would be gone.”

  “But it’s a chance for us,” he said. “Our people will certainly die aboard this ship if we don’t take chances now.”

  “You would have died on the islands,” she said, “or from the effects of the collision. Voss and I got you out.”

  “And look how many are left!” Jason cried. “They promised so much, but it’s always out of reach. If they had not come here—“

  “You would have died on the islands,” she said, “and I would have died in the city. Another jump would risk all the life on this ship. You know that.”

  He shook his head and smiled bitterly. “It’s not the same for us as it is for them. They’re willing to die for their way of life, if that will get them through.” He looked at her for a moment, then said in a voice that broke with pity, “Don’t you see? There will be no more of our kind?”

  She looked at him carefully, without fear, and a distant part of her wondered about her lack of feeling. “What do you want?” she asked, knowing that he was in agony over her.

  He smiled despairingly. “You, for one thing—but I’ll settle for another jump and
the chance to extend my life.”

  “You don’t understand the dangers of a jump,” she said.

  “You believe what he tells you?” he asked. “Yes, I see that he’s explained it to you. With him, you don’t have to consider what anyone else thinks or feels.”

  “Jason, I think for myself, and I know that we can’t risk everything.”

  “We? You count yourself with them? You and Voss probably have a nice safe sleeper ready somewhere!” His eyes were wild now, fixing her with his resentment, and she expected that he would suddenly get up. “There are so few of us, but we’re not important to them! Josepha, we won’t last a century. We’re useless. They should never have visited our world.” He covered his face with one hand.

  Josepha felt the silence come alive between them, filling with their fears. She knew that he feared becoming violent toward her, and she was afraid that he was right about everything.

  ‘Talk to Wolt Blackfriar,” she said softly. “Try to understand more.”

  “Just like your father,” he muttered into his hand. “No good for your own kind. You’ll help finish what he started.”

  “That’s not fair,” she tried to say, but her throat was dry and the words came out in a loud whisper.

  “Fair?” He looked up, as if sensing her weakness. “We’re being mistreated every day!”

  “How?” she demanded, regaining her voice.

  “Oh, they give us food and living quarters, but we’re nothing to them. We can’t be useful, because we don’t know enough. It’s another prison.”

  “Have you tried to know some of them?”

  “Their women avoid us,” he said, glaring at her, and Ondro was in his eyes, trapped there, unable to reach her. In a moment he would speak in Ondro’s voice; he would smile and it would be Ondro’s smile. He would stand up and come to her, and it would be Ondro touching her, but Jason hitting her.

  “I’ll speak for you,” she said, trembling as if in a dream.

  He grimaced, and it was Jason’s face that said, “What does he want you for? Love? Children—so his kind can live again? Would you have chosen Voss if Ondro had lived?”

  Josepha went cold with doubt as she gazed into his mocking face. Would Ondro have mocked her?

  “I’ll speak for all of us,” she said, getting up and coming toward him. “I’ll try to present your views.”

  He embraced her hips, buried his face in her belly, and she touched his head gently as he wept.

  “My poor brother,” he whispered. “What did he do to be rescued from one grave, only to die in another?”

  Hatred of her father swelled in Josepha’s breast as she held Jason’s head in her hands.

  “I’ll speak for all of us,” she said again.

  60

  Iannon Brunei’s party consisted of one other man and two women, Narilla Zora and Neva Hedron. All three, Voss knew, had been tutored by Iannon in life support and propulsion systems, with the help of as many texts as could be retrieved and displayed for study.

  Voss came with Josepha and Blackfriar to see the team off in the departure bay. He had come to know the three younger people only a little, and now realized why he had kept his distance; he had lost too many friends already.

  Everything that needed to be said had been said, Voss thought as he stood before the impassive engineer and his team. The four would reach the base, adjust their drive if necessary, and return as soon as possible with the needed equipment and supplies. The working intelligence at the base would link to them when they arrived. Voss suddenly wished he were going along, if only to link again and feel the presence of past and knowledge at the ready again within himself.

  “Farewell,” Josepha said in a solemn voice.

  Next to her, Blackfriar only nodded.

  Iannon took a deep breath and turned away. Voss looked for a moment into the youthful faces of Narilla, Neva, and Amon. They seemed to be smiling, but they had to know full well that they might never come back. He had thought it would be easier for someone who had lived a century or two to be braver than a younger person, but had finally concluded that an older one might cling more to safety, knowing just how much might be lost. A younger one like himself might be more willing to risk the unknown.

  Then he reminded himself that there was little enough chance for all of them.

  The three younger people turned and followed Iannon into the lock. It closed, sealing off the bay.

  Voss looked at Josepha. She still seemed troubled about something, but he knew that she was not ready to tell him.

  “I hope they make it,” she said with faint hope in her voice.

  Wolt said, “We will continue to plan according to the worst possible case, namely that we’ll be on this ship for nearly a century.”

  What was it like for her to know, Voss asked himself, that their lives were draining away like blood from an open wound, that she and the Cetians would die, while he might just be able to reach renewal at Praesepe?

  He thought again of Paul Anselle, and knew that Josepha was also troubled about him. She was hoping that he was still alive, but in all likelihood Ceti’s few survivors would die waiting for help that would never arrive.

  They watched the small craft shrink away on the utility screen. After a minute there was a faint flash in the starry black, signaling a jump.

  Voss took Josepha’s hand and leaped ahead of the small ship in his mind, and imagined its arrival at the cache of treasures that he and she might never see.

  61

  “Do you think they got there?” Josepha asked.

  Voss lay in his bunk as she dressed, unsure of how to answer her. The ten-day return period was drawn to a close. He thought of what might have gone wrong. The base might not have been there. Iannon and his people might have been thrown into distant spaces on the outward jump, or on the way back. The ship was coming back in short jumps because that was all it could handle. Any number of things might have happened, and there was nothing to do but wait.

  “If they don’t come back,” she said, pulling on her coveralls, “we’ll have to raise children, teach them while we live, and die. You will outlive me, won’t you?”

  She stood still, looking at him, waiting for his answer.

  “Yes,” he said, “that’s likely, and still might not be enough. No one, including our children, may last the time we might need to get there.”

  “But you said a century.”

  “Time and achievable velocity,” he said. “Our measurements may be off. Sublight travel…”

  “So it’s possible that everyone will die?” she asked.

  “I still think we’ll make it, one way or another. All of us, or some of us.”

  “It frightens me,” she said.

  “If the ship lasts long enough to support a new population,” he said, thinking of what it would take to birth, educate, and leave on its own even a group of a few hundred. He and Blackfriar met daily with the specialists to attempt projections of resources and the maintenance of equipment—and always there was something missing, some device or program that had not been taken from the mobile before its death. Voss wondered if he could bring children to be on their own in such a desperate situation.

  “Any more word on the number of sleep berths?”

  “There won’t be enough for more than two dozen people,” he said, “and the systems are unreliable now. People will die. We would need hundreds of berths to even think of setting up shifts.”

  She did not answer him. He sat up, got down from the bunk, and embraced her. She came into his arms uneasily, but held him after a moment.

  “I regret our blindness,” he said, “in the way we came to visit your world.”

  “What could you have done?” she asked. “You could either have come or stayed away.”

  “We might have stood off,” he said, “further off in your sunspace, and sent in small craft to visit. We might have learned more and been more careful with your…Pontiff.”

  “You h
ad no reason to be suspicious,” she said. “It was all one man who did this. We were struggling to change. Ondro and Jason and countless others knew what was wrong with our world. I grew up hoping for and expecting change.”

  He held her close. “And you would have had time to change if we hadn’t arrived in time to provoke your father.”

  She pulled free and looked into his eyes, and he knew that she did not want him to blame himself or his world.

  “He was to blame,” she said, “because he acted deliberately to do harm. Your world did not.”

  And for a moment he felt again that his reason was crumbling. He missed the Link, the inner world of knowledge and discussion into which he might retreat in moments of fear and doubt, where he had always found modes of analysis and decision, and the continuing ideals of a way of life whose ruins now stood as much within him as in the makeshift vessel around him. Only the hope of regaining the lost way of life kept him going. Josepha, no matter how much or how little he cared for her, was unimportant before his loss.

  “I know,” Josepha said, “that you are just as wounded as I am.”

  He looked down at her calmly, thinking of the release that she had given him from his fears, but wondered whether he truly loved her. He had wanted to give her the servant Link, the assurance of life for as long as they might wish it, and a universe to explore and feel at home in. Now, without the inwardness of his world, without the treasure of centuries, to which they would have added together, he saw the confidence that had been his, and his to give, diminishing until it died.