Ephemeral Motion Detection and Interpretation Apparatus was their official name, but quantum goggles was the moniker that had stuck with the public. Seating herself on the floor, Flora slipped them over her head, took a moment to brace herself, then flicked the “on” switch.
Instantly she was plunged into another universe. She could still feel the deck beneath her, still hear the soft thrum of the ship about her, but her eyes were filled with strange and wondrous sights. Colours swam about her, an ever-shifting sea through which the Bona Dea was plunging. It was quite impossible to discern any patterns amidst the frenzy, so she quickly reached up and adjusted the goggles’ focus, cutting out everything within a mile. Now she sat within a hollow sphere of nothingness, with a shifting rainbow wrapped around it. They were ephemeral particles – the quantum goggles could detect all thirteen known types, and translate them into a form the human brain could comprehend.
But they were still going by too quickly. The ship, after all, was coasting along at fifty miles per second; the particles nearest to Flora’s mile-wide limit would be gone in the blink of an eye.
She widened the radius of her sphere further: a hundred miles, a thousand … finally, a million. Now bizarre shapes could be discerned in the distant jumble of colour: forming, flowing into one another, disappearing. Small purple cubes darted through the psychedelic soup, changing course erratically and vanishing without warning.
“You see what I mean?” Gypsy’s voice, coming from just a few feet away, made Flora jump. For a moment, she’d quite forgotten that she was still on the ship.
“If I’m honest, no. I can just about understand the equations behind the ephemeral universe, but I just don’t see how you can get anything from a visual inspection. It’s such a jumble. Chaos.”
“Oh, but there’s order to be found. You can see it a bit clearer if you reset the goggles to show just two or three types of particle at a time. But I prefer it all at once, just relaxing and letting it wash over me. You kind of get a feel for how things are flowing then, you know? Last thing I do before bed.”
Flora shut off the goggles and slipped them over her head, smoothing her hair where the equipment had ruffled it. “I don’t think I’d want to look at that miasma before trying to sleep. All a bit frenetic for my poor little mind.”
Gypsy fashioned an awkward laugh, seemingly unsure whether Flora’s self-deprecation was a joke or not. “If you want to see something really wild, try looking through the goggles while we’re using the KSD.”
“I’m not sure I’d be brave enough. Even seeing the ephemera like this leaves me needing to do something more normal with my brain, just to shake off the after-effects. Are you up for a quick chess game before I go?”
“Sure, why not? Let’s do it.”
“I should warn you, Ms. Cumberland,” said Flora as she brought over the wooden board, “I’ve been boning up on my openings since our last game. Get ready for some serious competition.”
Gypsy smiled, and began setting up the black pieces. Before placing each piece, she tapped the relevant square on the board seven times with her right index finger.
That’s a new one, thought Flora. So time consuming! Poor Gypsy.
The mathematician noticed her friend’s scrutiny and gave a lopsided smile. “Yes, my OCD’s been giving me trouble lately. Still not as bad as it used to be, though.”
Flora could believe that, having seen Gypsy’s old notebooks full of handwritten 7s and various mantras. The phrase ‘Lucky Seven’ had appeared thousands of times. Flora wasn’t sure whether the writings had been meant to bring luck or ward off evil.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s going through your mind when you do that?”
Gypsy placed her final piece in position. “I don’t mind, but I don’t really know how to answer. I just feel like I’ve got to, because otherwise it’ll be my fault.”
“What will be?”
“Oh, whatever happens. Sometimes it’s just a general feeling that something will go wrong. Other times I have specific fears.” She glanced over at the door her mother had left by, and her head twitched slightly. “It’s hard to express. I’m not good with words.”
Flora fiddled thoughtfully with her own pieces.
“Me neither.” She clicked her fingers. “Poetry!”
“Erm … poetry?”
“Yes: a means of expression. Ever tried it?”
“Not really. Kind of boring, isn’t it? And I’d be no good. I’m not creative.”
“You couldn’t be worse than me, and I find it liberating. Really lets you get out how you’re feeling in your soul, you know? I think it could be good for you.”
Gypsy looked unconvinced.
“Let’s try an easy form – limericks. You know how to do them, right? How about if I do one first?”
“Okay …”
Flora thought for a moment, then spoke:
There once was a brave young technician
Who went on a dangerous mission
She flew into space
With style and with grace
Breaking with family tradition
“Now, how was that?”
“Yes, quite good,” was the polite response. “Is it okay if I write mine down?”
Gypsy produced a pencil and paper – she used computers only when necessary – and wrote, wrinkling her brow in concentration.
Flora read:
The maths nerd who has OCD
Appears, quite sadly, to be me
It scrambles my brain
And drives me insane
Still, you’ve got to laugh: tee hee hee
“Bit rubbish isn’t it?”
“No, it’s good!” Flora smiled in encouragement. “Funny and sincere, just like you. Maybe the second line could be tweaked to flow a bit better, but it’s your first try. I think you’ve got a talent.”
“No, no … no talent here. Although I did quite enjoy the challenge of making the words fit. Maybe I’ll do some more. So, are you ready?” Gypsy indicated the chess board; she’d evidently had enough wordplay for one day.
“Right. And I’m quite determined to make it as far as move 20 without resigning this time”
In fact, she didn’t resign at all. Gypsy, with an apologetic wince, checkmated her on move 19.
V
Nothing reveals humanity so well as the games it plays.
David Hartley
“It’s a rather awkward set-up we have here,” mused Sandra Rivers, scratching thoughtfully at the tip of her ear where it protruded from her curls. “Three uniformed ex-military officers running the Hub, a mix of scientists, engineers and doctors nominally beneath them in the chain of command, despite the peaceful nature of our mission. And at the top, a businesswoman and writer, with no experience of captaining a ship.”
“She did make her millions from the space transport industry, to be fair,” said Flora. “That’s given her knowledge of …” She trailed off at that point, distracted by the Amazonian fleet that had launched a quick strike on some of the key planets along her borders. Fortunately, Flora had hidden three Berserker Class attack cruisers inside a nearby interstellar cloud. She sent them swooping into action, and the invaders were soon repelled, with heavy losses.
The owner of the Amazonian fleet, Barbara Young, shrugged philosophically. “Your mind’s on the game today, Flora. I’m impressed.”
The game in question was Conquest: Andromeda, a real-time game of politics and strategy that had been all the rage on Earth when the Bona Dea had left. Doubtless the craze had faded back home, but here in space, where new sources of entertainment were rather more limited, they still played it regularly.
It was possible to have upward of a hundred players in a single game, but today there were just the six of them seated around a circular table in the lounge. In the middle of the table sat a transparent cube, with sides of close to a meter and half, which held a three-dimensional display of the playing field – the Andromeda Galaxy.
Each player also had their own screen, packed with information about the state of the territories they controlled, which they could use to command their troops and communicate covertly with the other players; knowing when to make and break deals was one of the keys to victory.
Flora was one of the weaker players on board, being both too honest to back-stab her allies and too poor a multitasker to easily keep track of all the potential threats and opportunities that the game presented. She was making an extra effort today, though; a pleasing number of stars on the big map were coloured blue, showing that they were components of the Floritanian empire.
Rivers, who seemed to have no difficulty concentrating on four or five things at once, continued the conversation even as she dispatched a team of terraformers to colonize an unclaimed world near the galactic core. “I’m surprised you’re so ready to defend the captain, Flora. It’s no secret that you spent a little time in the cell recently. Miriam Hunter can be a rather … controlling woman. It’s perfectly natural to chafe against one’s bonds.”
“I prefer to leave the chafing to you scientists,” responded Flora, a little more sharply than she’d intended.
Natalia Preciado glanced up from her screen, lips tightening in annoyance. “We’ve every reason to complain. I’ve studied the same single-cell organisms for five months; waste of time. And when we see interesting new world, we rush on. No consultation, no explanation.”
Flora shrugged, distracted by an incoming message from Barbara. She tapped out her reply.
Amazonia: Rivers gaining territory near the core. Let’s co-operate. Joint attack on the Bombus system?
Floritania: Not yet. Soon.
Flora didn’t want to rush into battle and leave her outer defences weak; that mistake had cost her last time. She’d put her shipyards to work first; get a few more Juggernauts built and in position, then she could attack.
“I have been pondering the value of a petition, signed by as many of the crew as possible, requesting that we visit more planets. Politely worded, of course,” said Rivers. “It would be helpful to get some support from outside the science team. Annie, I imagine we can count on you?”
Annie smiled benignly from the other side of the table. Her stint in the cell had ended less than a day ago, and she was on her best behaviour.
“Are you trying to get me thrown out an airlock? I love the captain, me. Nothing but joy and contentment from now on. Joy-tentment!” Her peaceful sentiments were somewhat belied by the full-scale assault that she immediately launched on Preciado’s territory. It did not go well; the biologist had set up her defences with due care, and easily repelled the offensive. As an incidental bonus, she also picked up a couple of systems that the technician had left poorly defended.
“Unlike you to go charging in with your fists flailing, Annie,” noted Barbara drily. She had been needling the younger woman all through the game, well aware that she couldn’t respond without getting herself in more trouble.
Smiling mirthlessly, Annie tapped at her screen.
Annie’s Army of Awesome: Blow up some of Babs’ stars for me, wouldja? I’ll be your loyal servant for a week.
Floritania: You did hit her, to be fair. I think you just need to let her have her fun.
Floritania: Anyway, you’re already my loyal servant.
Annie’s Army of Awesome: Fair point.
Rivers smoothly picked up the thread of the conversation, as if there had been no interruption. “You may feel differently in a week, Annie. In the meantime, perhaps there’s another technician who’ll lend us her support … ?”
“Count me out,” said Flora. “I owe the captain a lot. We all do; we’d be twiddling our thumbs back on Earth if not for her, or stuck in menial positions.”
“Ah, yes. Because of the perceived gender bias in GSEC. I do wonder at those statistics; she neglects to mention that far fewer women apply for jobs in the organization. Is it really such a hostile working environment?”
Floritania: Attack now?
Amazonia: Yes.
“Actually, while I’m happy to sign your petition, I have to agree with the captain there,” said Barbara. If she was hoping to distract Rivers from the fight breaking out in the Bombus system, she was to be disappointed. Seeing that she was going to lose the engagement, the head of science detonated francium bombs on Bombus III, killing the bulk of the 11 billion inhabitants and rendering the planet useless for all players.
Rivers tutted.
“In my early 20s, I spent a year on the Kepler-8 colony studying hydroponics under Professor Lucas,” continued Barbara. “It was about 85% male. Felt like more. Not the most welcoming environment for a woman – particularly a young, attractive one.”
“Someone’s got a mighty high opinion of herself,” muttered Annie.
“I’m only repeating what was said to me with tiresome regularity. Though the language used was generally a little cruder.”
Floritania: I’ve got a dozen multiphase reactor units up for sale. Yours for only 300 droms, you lucky girl!
Annie’s Army of Awesome: Just what I’ve always wanted! ‘Fraid I’m gonna have to knock you down a bit to 275 though, Boss.
Floritania: Ouch, you’re a tough one. But how can I say no to that face? Isoptera II’s neutral; let’s make the trade there.
“You see also this pestering behaviour on Earth,” noted Preciado.
“Far, far less of it,” said Barbara. “It’s about as near to a utopia as you’re going to get. What do you think, Iris? Do you miss Earth?”
This question was addressed to Iris Jones, ship’s junior doctor and undisputed Conquest: Andromeda queen. On the surface, she didn’t appear to be in a particularly good position in this game, the green-shaded stars controlled by her Harvard Hegemony representing a relatively small slice of the galaxy, but she always seemed to time her surge for the finish line perfectly.
Barbara was probably trying to be friendly by bringing the hitherto almost silent doctor into the conversation – a noble sentiment, but not really necessary. Iris had always struck Flora as a happy introvert, quiet by choice, not because she was too shy to speak.
“Earth?” answered Iris, frowning and adjusting her spectacles. “Not especially. There are people on it who I love, of course. But the planet itself? If it’s a utopia then it’s rather a sterile one.”
The Rivers Empire: You’ve built many ships; you’ll need more titanium. I offer a million tonnes for 500 droms.
Floritania: Too much. 450?
The Rivers Empire: No deal.
“Sterile how?” asked Preciado.
“It’s a very controlled environment. You can be born, live and die without experiencing true fear or wonder. Games like these are about as exciting as life gets for many people.”
Floritania: 460?
The Rivers Empire: No deal.
Floritania: Alright, 475. Final offer.
The Rivers Empire: No deal.
“Sounds like you’re made for outer space,” said Annie.
“This is where the opportunities are. And the danger. When we get back home, I’ll start planning my next job straight away. And it won’t involve playing secretary to the Auto-Docs.”
“Uh-huh. I know what you mean. My dad always says that Earth’s only a paradise if you’re one of ‘the four A’s’: administrator, actor, athlete, politician. And most people are one of those things, if they’re anything. For other jobs, only robots need apply.”
Floritania: I’m in the market for titanium. I offer 475 droms for a million tonnes.
Amazonia: No thanks.
“So is anyone going to point out that ‘politician’ doesn’t start with an A?” Annie sounded disappointed.
“We all seem to be resisting the urge,” responded Rivers.
“It’s one of my Dad’s favourite jokes; people think he’s made a mistake, but then he tells them ‘politician’ is spelled A-S-S-H-O …”
“Yes, most amusing.”
&nb
sp; “Well, I always laugh.”
“You’re a very dutiful daughter.”
Floritania: I offer 475 droms for a million tonnes of titanium.
Harvard Hegemony: Scarce resource here. I’d have to ask double that.
Floritania: Too much!
“Yeah, anyway … he makes a good point about modern life, doesn’t he? Things were much better half a century back apparently.”
“I shouldn’t place too much stock in that opinion, Annie,” said Barbara dismissively. “There’s other jobs to be found, as you’ve proved yourself. Certain lines of work have vanished over the years, yes, but there are always new opportunities to take their place. To be blunt, the elderly always think that the world was a better place when they were young. No doubt you’ll be saying something similar when you hit 70.”
Annie was offended. “Hey! Dad’s not elderly. He’s not even 60 yet.”
“Really? He looks older.”
“You’ve never even met him!”
“He was at the launch banquet, remember?”
Floritania: Okay. 500 it is.
The Rivers Empire: No deal.
Floritania: What? That was your offer!
The Rivers Empire: You will have explored the other feasible options since our last communication; no takers, evidently. You’re now bargaining from a position of weakness. 520, final offer.
Floritania: Groan! Fine, 520 it is; send a ship to Tapirus, we can make the trade there.
The Rivers Empire: Agreed.
“Yes, your father spoke to me at length,” explained Barbara. “And made a fairly blatant pass at me, actually.”
Annie snorted in derision. “Dream on. More delusions.”
“Yes, it was a lovely banquet,” said Flora, anxious to change the subject. “I was trying to remember the name of the band that was playing when -”
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