The Stars are also Fire - [Harvest the Stars 02]

by Poul Anderson

  * * * *

  The Stars Are Also Fire

  [Harvest of Stars 02]

  By Poul Anderson

  Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

  * * * *

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  (Some minor figures are omitted)

  Aiant: A husband of Lilisaire.

  Annie: Former wife of Ian Kenmuir.

  Anson Beynac: Oldest child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Carla Beynac: Sixth child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Dagny Beynac: An engineer, later an administrator, eventually a political leader on

  Luna in early days; her download.

  Edmond Beynac: A geologist, husband of Dagny Beynac.

  Francis Beynac: Fourth child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Gabrielle Beynac: Second child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Helen Beynac: Fifth child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Sigurd Beynac: Third child of Dagny and Edmond Beynac.

  Bolly: A henchman of Bruno.

  Bornay: Son of Lilisaire and Caraine.

  Brandir: Lunarian name of Anson Beynac.

  Bruno: Mayor of Overburg in Bramland.

  Caraine: A husband of Lilisaire.

  Mary Carfax: Alias of a sophotect in Lilisaire's service.

  Delgado: An officer of the Peace Authority.

  Diddyboom: Pet name given Dagny by Guthrie.

  Dagny Ebbesen: A granddaughter and protégée of Anson Guthrie; after her marriage,

  Dagny Beynac.

  Erann: A grandson of Brandir.

  Etana: A Lunarian space pilot.

  Eyrnen: A Lunarian bioengineer, son of Jinann.

  Eythtt: A henchman of Lilisaire.

  Fernando: A priest and leader among the Drylanders.

  Fia: Lunarian name of Helen Beynac.

  James Fong: An officer of the Peace Authority.

  Miguel Fuentes: An engineer on Luna in early days.

  Lucrezia Gambetta: Second governor general of Luna for the World Federation.

  Petras Gedminas: An engineer on Luna in early days.

  Anson Guthrie: Co-founder and chief of Fireball Enterprises; his download.

  Juliana Guthrie: Wife of Anson Guthrie and co-founder of Fireball Enterprises.

  Zaid Hakim: An agent of the Ministry of Environment of the World Federation.

  Einar Haugen: Fourth governor general of Luna for the World Federation.

  Stepan Huizinga: A leader among the Terran Moondwellers in early days.

  Ilitu: A Lunarian geologist.

  Inalante: Mayor of Tychopolis, a son of Kaino.

  Iscah: A metamorph of Chemo type in Los Angeles.

  Ivala: A wife of Brandir.

  Eva Jannicki: A spacefarer for Fireball Enterprises.

  Daniel Janvier: President of the World Federation at the time of the Lunar crisis.

  Jinann: Lunarian name of Carla Beynac.

  Charles Jomo: A mediator in East Africa.

  Ka'eo: One of the Keiki Moana.

  Kaino: Lunarian name of Sigurd Beynac.

  Aleka Kame: A member of the Lahui Kuikawa, serving as liaison with the Keiki Moana

  and other metamorphs.

  Ian Kenmuir: An Earth-born space pilot of the Venture.

  Lilisaire: A Lunarian magnate of the Republic era.

  Matthias: Lodgemaster (Rydberg) of the Fireball Trothdom.

  Lucas Mthembu: Birth name of Venator.

  Dolores Nightborn: An alias of Lilisaire.

  Niolente: A Lunarian magnate of the Selenarchy era, leader of the movement against

  incorporation of Luna in the World Federation.

  Manyane Nkuhlu: A spaceman for Fireball Enterprises.

  Irene Norton: Alias used by Aleka Kame.

  Antonio Oliveira: A spaceman for Fireball Enterprises.

  Joe Packer: An engineer on Luna in early days.

  Sam Packer: A consorte of the Fireball Trothdom.

  Rinndalir: A Lunarian magnate of the Selenarchy era, co-leader of the exodus to

  Alpha Centauri.

  Lars Rydberg: A spaceman for Fireball Enterprises, son of Dagny Ebbesen and William

  Thurshaw.

  Ulla Rydberg: Wife of Lars Rydberg.

  Sandhu: A guru at Prajnaloka.

  Soraya: A metamorph of Titan type in Los Angeles.

  Mohandas Sundaram: A colonel of the Peace Authority on Luna.

  Alice Tam: Anglo version of "Aleka Kame."

  Temerir: Lunarian name of Francis Beynac.

  The Teramind: The apex of the cybercosm.

  William Thurshaw: Youthful lover of Dagny Ebbesen.

  Tuori: A wife of Brandir.

  Uncans: Pet name given Guthrie by Dagny.

  Valanndray: A Lunarian engineer of the Venture.

  Venator: A synnoiont and officer of the intelligence corps of the Peace Authority.

  Verdea: Lunarian name of Gabrielle Beynac.

  Yuri Volkov: A former lover of Aleka Kame.

  Jaime Wahl y Medina: Third governor general of Luna for the World Federation.

  Leandro Wahl y Urribe: Son of Jaime Wahl.

  Rita Urribe de Wahl: Wife of Jaime Wahl.

  Pilar Wahl y Urribe: Daughter of Jaime Wahl.

  Zhao Haifeng: First governor general of Luna for the World Federation.

  * * * *

  What did you see, Proserpina,

  When you were down in the dark?

  Why speak you not of that hollow realm

  Where the puzzled, quiet shades

  Half-dreaming drift through starlessness

  And you were their captive queen,

  Now when we welcome you back to earth

  For as long as you may abide?

  The meadows blossom beneath your feet,

  The world is awash with light,

  But the springtime grass has roots that reach

  To trouble the bones below.

  Is this why you walk among us mute,

  Is this the gift of your love,

  To save us from knowing what you have known,

  Until you descend again?

  -Salerianus,

  Quaestiones, II, i, 1-16

  * * * *

  L

  ong afterward, there came to Alpha Centauri the news of what had happened on Earth and around Sol. How that news came, breaking the silence that had been laid upon it, is another story. At the time, few dwellers on Demeter gave it much heed, disturbing though it was. They were in the course of departure from the world their forebears had made home, for in less than a hundred years it must perish. However, one among them was a philosopher.

  His young son found him deep in thought and asked why. Because he would not lie to a child, he explained that word lately received from the Mother Star troubled him. "But don't be afraid," he added. "This is nothing that will touch us for a very long while, if it ever does."

  "What is it?" inquired the boy.

  "I'm sorry, I can't quite tell you," said the philosopher. "Not because it's a secret any longer, but because it goes too far back," and because ultimately it was too subtle.

  "Can't you tell me anyway?" urged his son.

  With an effort, the father put disquiet aside. Truly, four and a third light-years distant, they need have no immediate fears about the matter, or so he supposed. He smiled. "First you must know some history, and you have barely begun to study that."

  "It jumbles together in my head," the boy complained.

  "Yes, a big load for a small head to take in," the philosopher agreed. He reached a decision. His child wanted to be with him. Furthermore, if he took this chance to describe certain key factors
, a realization of their importance might dawn for the boy, and that might someday make a difference. "Well, sit down beside me and we'll talk," he invited. "We'll look at the beginnings of what you're wondering about. Would you like that?

  "We could start anywhere and anywhen. Creatures not yet human, taming fire. The first machines, the first scientists, the early explorers-or spaceships, genetics, cybernetics, nanotechnology-But we'll start with Anson Guthrie."

  The boy's eyes widened.

  "Always remember, he was just another man," the philosopher said. "Never imagine him as anything else. He'd hate that. You see, he loves freedom, and freedom means having no masters except our own consciences and common sense.

  "He did do more than most of us. You remember how it was his Fireball Enterprises that opened up space for everybody. Many governments didn't like having a private company that powerful, nearly a nation itself. But he didn't interfere much with them; he didn't want their sort of power. It was enough that his followers were loyal to him and he to them.

  "This might have changed after he died. Luckily, before then he'd been downloaded. The pattern of his mind, memories, style of thinking, were mapped into a neural network. And so his personality went on, in machine bodies, as the chief of Fireball."

  "Aw, it's not like that," the boy protested.

  "I'm sorry," his father apologized. "Often I'm vague about how much of your education you've quite grasped, as young as you are. You're right, the truth is endlessly more complicated. I don't pretend to know everything about it. I don't believe anybody does.

  "But let's go on. Of course you have learned how the Lunarians came to be. Human genes needed changing, if human beings were to live, really live and have children, on Earth's Moon. What you may not have heard much about is the other metamorphs, the other life forms that got changed too, many different new kinds of plants and animals and even people. You may not have heard anything about the Keiki Moana."

  The boy frowned, searching memory. "They—they helped Anson Guthrie once—they swam?"

  "Yes. Intelligent seals," his father said. The boy had encountered full-sensory recordings of the ordinary species. "They lived with a few humans like dear friends, or more than friends." The philosopher paused. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. That community wasn't founded until after the exodus."

  "What's that?"

  "Oh, you haven't met the word? Doubtless it is rather archaic. In this case, 'exodus' means when Guthrie led our ancestors to Demeter."

  The boy nodded eagerly. "An’ the an—ancestors of the Lunarians who live in our asteroids. They all had to go."

  "Not strictly true. Probably they could have stayed. But they wouldn't have been happy, the way everything was changing and Fireball itself soon to be no more."

  "Because of the machines?"

  "No, that isn't right either. Don't forget, people have had machines of one kind or another for ages. They made the machines better and better, till at last they began to build robots, which can be programmed to do things without a person in control. And then finally they built sophotects, machines that can think and know that they think, like you and me."

  Now the boy's voice took on the least tinge of fear. "But the so-pho-tects, they made themselves better yet, didn't they?"

  His father put an arm around his shoulders. "Don't be afraid. They have no wish to harm us. Besides, they're far away at Sol. Yes, Earth has come to depend on the cybercosm, all those wonderful machines working and . . . thinking. . . together. That's made Earth very different from what we have here—"

  The philosopher stopped, knowing how readily dim fears arise in children and grow until they leap forth as nightmares. Already he had softened his utterances. He did not know what the cybercosm portended for humankind. Nobody did, maybe not even itself. Let him set the little heart beside him at rest, as well as he could.

  "But it's still Earth, the Earth you've been told about," he said. "The countries are still all in the World Federation, and the Peace Authority keeps them peaceful, and no one has to be hungry or fall sick or go in fear." He wondered how much softening was in that sentence, for indeed he spoke of a world so distant that no ship had borne any of his kind across the space between since Guthrie spent the whole wealth of Fireball to bring a handful of colonists here. Communication with it had virtually ceased. "And we are just as different, in our own ways, from what Earth once was," he finished.

  The boy's mother came into the room. "Bedtime," she told him. "Kiss Daddy goodnight."

  The philosopher stayed behind, meditating. A violet dusk filled the old-style windows, for the companion sun was aloft, remote in its orbit. Presently he rose and went to his desk. He wished to record whatever ideas occurred to him while the news was fresh. As yet they were unclear, but he hoped that eventually he could write something useful, a letter to the man his son would be. Piece by slow piece, he entered:

  "Few of us will ever fully understand what has come to pass—perhaps none, "as strange as it was and is.

  Surely we cannot foresee how far or how mightily the aftermath will reach, whether out among the comets or onward to trouble the stars. A man and a woman searched back through time, bewildered, hunted, alone. Two lives met across death and centuries. To ask what it meant is meaningless. There is no destiny. But sometimes there is bravery."

  * * * *

  1

  L

  ilisaire, Wardress of Mare Orientate and the Cordillera, at Zamok Vysoki, summons the captain Ian Kenmuir, wheresoever he be. Come, I have need of you.

  From Luna her message rode carrier beams through relays circling millions of kilometers apart, until it reached the communications center on Ceres. Then the hunt began.

  Out here in the deeps, vessels seldom kept unbroken contact with any traffic control station. The computer on the big asteroid knew only that Kenmuir's ship had been active among the moons of Jupiter these past seventeen months. It flashed a question to its twin on Himalia, tenth from the planet. Shunted through another relay, the answer spent almost an hour in passage. The ship had left the Jovian realm eleven daycycles earlier, inbound for a certain minor body.

  Given the flight plan Kenmuir had registered, calculating the direction of a laser beam that would intercept him was the work of a microsecond or less. It required no awareness, merely power over numbers. Within that vast net which was the cybercosm, robotic functions like this were more automatic than were the human brainstem's regulation of breath and heartbeat. The minds of the machines were elsewhere.

  Yet the cybercosm was always One.

  The ship received. "A message for the captain," she said.

  Kenmuir and Valanndray were playing double chaos. Fractals swirled through the viewtank before them, in every color and in shapes beyond counting. Guided more by intuition than reason, fingers stroked keyboards. Forms changed, flowed, swept toward a chosen attractor, tumbled away as the opponent threw in a new function. Caught in their game, the players breathed quickly and shallowly of air that they had ordered to be cool, with a tang of pine. They ignored the cabin-wide audiovisual recording at their backs, a view from the Andes, rock and sky and snowdrift on a shrill wind.

  The ship spoke.

  "Halt play!" snapped Kenmuir. The contest for a stable configuration froze in place.

  He spent a moment beneath Valanndray's gaze before he decided, "I'll take it at the console. No offense meant. It may be a private matter." Belatedly he realized that the apology would have gone better had he expressed it in Lunarian.

  He felt relieved when his passenger replied, in Anglo at that, "Understood. Secrecy is precious by scarcity, nay?" If the tone was a bit sardonic, no harm. The two men had been getting along reasonably well, but tension was bound to rise on a long mission, and more than once they had skirted a fight. After all, they were not of the same species.

  Or maybe that saved them, Kenmuir thought flittingly, as he had often thought before. A pair of Terran males like him, weeks or months on end with n
o other company, would either have to become soul-brothers or else risk flying at one another's throats. A pair of Lunarians like Valanndray—well, alterations made in ancient genes had not brought forth any race of saints. But neither of this team found his companion growing maddeningly predictable.

  Kenmuir doubted that their occasional encounters with sophotects had soothed them. An inorganic intelligence—a machine with consciousness, if you wanted to think of it in those terms—was too alien to them both.

  He shrugged the reflection off and walked out into the passageway.

  The ship murmured around him, sounds of ventilation, chemical recycling, self-maintenance of the whole structure. There went no sound or shiver of acceleration; the deck was as steady beneath his feet, at one-sixth of Earth weight, as if he were on the Moon. The corridor flickered with a chromatic abstraction, Valanndray's choice. When it was Kenmuir's turn to decorate, he usually picked a scene from his native world, contemporary, historical, or fantasy.

  Where his path descended, he used the fixed ladder rather than the conveyor. Anything to help himself stay in trim. The command cabin lay near the center of the spheroidal hull. Its interior displayed ambient space, a representation better than reality. Solar radiance was muted lest it blind. Star images were brightened to overcome shipboard lighting. Unwinking, they beswarmed the dark, white, amber, coal-red, steel-blue, the galactic belt icy among them. Jupiter glowed like a lamp, the sun was a tiny disc rimmed with fire-tongues. Kenmuir settled at the main control board. "Screen the message," he ordered.