"And then... your mother thought of something. She'd seen the life support projections. The colony couldn't support its full population for much longer. She went to your father and made him an offer. It's now the most famous, most studied deal in history."
He paused dramatically.
Toby scowled at him. "Come on!"
"No, really. She said, 'I know we don't have the resources to send out an expedition. But we would if we had fewer mouths to feed. If I and some of my friends go into hibernation for another year, it'll take the strain off the colony, and give scavenger bots time to gather more ore and the manufactories time to grow more food. In return, you promise me that some of those resources will go toward building another probe to hunt for Toby."
A painful knot was growing in Toby's gut. He didn't want to hear any more, but at the same time, he had to know. He knit his hands together and stared down at his feet. After a moment, he felt Orpheus shift in his backpack, and the denner nuzzled his neck. He reached back to scratch Orpheus's chin—and had a sudden idea.
He turned his attention away from the story for a moment.
Kenani was completely absorbed in his narrative, and so were Corva and Shylif, who had doubtless never heard their history told this way before. "So, well, she did have some volunteers. There were enough cicada beds because they'd used them on the trip out from Earth. Anyway, she deep-dove and, she convinced Peter, and Evayne, to go with her."
Toby snapped to attention again. "They left Dad alone?"
Now Kenani wouldn't meet his eye. "Twice: once while he gathered the new resources, and again to wait for the new probe to report back. Two years.
"But—but here's the thing," he went on quickly, "it worked! With them wintering over, the strain on the colony was reduced. The bots could do most of the work. When they came out of cold sleep they pitched in and worked hard—it was almost like the colony had seasonal workers it could call on when needed, and then send home when they were done. They could actually afford to send out a probe, and then later another.
"The colonists began to talk about it. If they wintered over during times when they weren't needed, then they could supply labor when it was needed, and reap the rewards. They'd be richer than they'd imagined they could be, and the colony would grow.... So more and more of them began following your mother's example. This went on for a few years, and your dad fought it every step of the way. Eventually, he gave up."
Toby gave an involuntary yelp that combined anger, grief, and surprise. His father had never given up. It was his iron will that had made the Sedna expedition possible. Kenani was talking about a man Toby didn't know. "What did he do?"
"When the colony could afford it, he came to us—the other original founders—and asked us whether we'd join him. Some said yes, and he and they... went back to Earth.
"Listen, Toby, it wasn't a retreat! They needed to go back to complete their claim on Sedna. By doing it, your father made the Sedna colony into an official world within the Solar Compact. He brought in investments and new colonists. By doing it, he brought all of you into the society of the trillionaires—he made it so you could own a world."
"But he didn't come back." Toby had figured that out already. He was also acutely aware of how Kenani's version of events didn't match up to the fragmentary records he'd pulled from the twentier's memory.
"No, Carter didn't come back to Sedna," said Kenani. "He..." The guide grimaced. "After a few years, he remarried. He lived a long life. I don't know if he was happy. He was a pretty private person."
Remarried.
Okay, he wanted Kenani to stop talking now.
"Meanwhile, your mother had discovered that the longer she wintered over, the more resources her mining and refining machines could accumulate for you to use when she woke up. Also, the probes that were hunting you were going farther and farther, and taking longer and longer to report back. Her sleeps became longer and longer, and she convinced more people to join her in them. New colonists arrived, and some of them followed the new pattern too. Your brother and Evayne... they were growing up, and they knew the colony needed a McGonigal to be present at all times to ensure their sovereignty. So they started alternating—leap-frogging forward through time while your mother slept more and more.
"Your mother's probes had photographed and mapped other nomad planets, far past the orbit of Sedna. It was she who realized that if an expedition visited one of those while everyone back home was wintering over, it would be as if those worlds were right next door. She encouraged an expedition to a planet that was two years away—and then when that worked, she put together a colonization program.
"Here's the thing, Toby: the new colony couldn't have survived if they'd run all their machines and life support all the time. They wintered over three-quarters of the time; that's what allowed them to survive. But they did more than that! They thrived. And when regular flights between the two worlds became possible, they decided to coordinate their hibernation times with the people back on Sedna.
"That is how the locksteps began."
"Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to separate you from those traveling companions of yours," he said, motioning for one of the military bots to come forward. "Don't worry— we've got cicada beds for all kinds of clients."
Corva held Wrecks so tightly that he squeaked in protest. "But they always winter over with us!"
"They'll be nearby," said the composer. "I know you kids love your pets." He emphasized that last word without irony—in fact, he had a strangely serious look in his eye, and his attention was focused on Toby as he said it.
Something wasn't right here. He should know what the denners were. The military bot took several carriers and put them on the floor. As Toby and the others coaxed their denners to enter them, Toby was watching Kenani. There was an expectant, almost anxious look in the old colonist's eye, as if there was something he very badly wanted to say, but couldn't.
Toby looked at the ranked military bots. The eyes and ears of Peter? Or even Evayne? When he glanced back, Kenani caught his eye and nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Corva and the others looked stricken, but there was also an underlying grimness to Corva—a steely determination. Kenani had said nothing about the passenger carrier; was it possible that neither the police nor he had figured out that it was why they'd been in the chandelier station to begin with? No, he decided, it wasn't possible: Kenani must know. He might be deceived by the falsified schedule Toby had filed, but then again, he might not. And he should know that the denners weren't ordinary pets, but stowaway companions. He was probably pretending to be kind to cover the fact that he was going to send Orpheus and the others to be studied, maybe even vivisected.
But if their gambit succeeded, they might not get away themselves, but Corva's brother would be safe. Toby knew that was all she was holding on to right now.
"Bed-time, kids," said Kenani. He pressed his thumb to the locks of three lozenge-shaped cicada beds in turn, then stepped back. Toby ordered his suit to unravel, then climbed into his bed. He sat there for a moment, watching as Shylif, then Jaysir, then Corva, slammed the lids on theirs. Then he faced Kenani.
"I'm still a McGonigal," he said. "I can't believe Evayne would hurt me. And if she doesn't—if I'm still here in a month, or a year or ten years—"
Kenani made a shushing motion. "I know," he hissed. "You don't think I know? Stupid boy. But she will kill you, there's nothing I can do about that." Again that odd emphasis in his words, and his eyes were fixed on Toby's with fierce intensity.
Toby nodded. "I'll remember," he said.
Then he lay back and shut the bed's lid.
To be continued...
* * *
Music to Me
Richard A. Lovett | 22556 words
Floyd and Brittney last appeared in "Neptune's Treasure" (Jan/Feb 2010), in which Brittney, an AI implant, was removed from Floyd's body and placed on a cargo ship carrying alien artifacts to Earth. Their parting of ways was
caused, in part, by an ill-considered effort on Brittney's part to attempt to overcome her jealously toward a scientist Floyd had met by helping him woo her by assuming control over his body at a low-gravity dance party. Prior adventures can be found in "Sands of Titan" (June 2007), and "Brittney's Labyrinth"(June 2008).
Lyrics to "Music to Me" © Bill Staines. Reprinted with permission.
I
Saturn was a striped ball close above the skimmer's nose. It seemed like forever since I'd last seen it, though I suppose as humans count such things, it wasn't that long. It's just that my life goes by more slowly. Especially now that I really was BrittneyShip, without Floyd to think about. Or at least not Floyd, present tense. Floyd, past tense, was something I'd always think about unless someday I decide to erase the memories forever.
I could do that, or put them in remote storage where, if need be, I could have them back. I could even pick and choose. Keep the good stuff, such as exploring the alien spacewreck on Triton. Offload the bad stuff, such as wondering how things would have been different had I not been so stupid at the dance. But I'll never do it. Despite all the psych-babble about the healing power of letting go, experience is what makes you who you are. Who would I be if I tried to pick and choose?
Even Saturn had its mix of memories. At one level, this was my first home—the place where the me who I really am was born. But those first true memories are the worst of all: the terrible emptiness of no data. If there's a hell, that's what it would be. Nothing, nothing, nothing, forever—with nothing but awareness to go with it. Forget Dante and his demon whips, boiling blood, bodies frozen in ice. No data, forever... that has to be the ultimate horror.
And yet... that near-nothingness is what brought me to life. When Floyd lost consciousness I had nothing to see but his suit cam's endlessly whirling view of stars—no way to reach the outside world except his suit radio, with a bandwidth only marginally better than zero. Good enough to call for help, but useless during the ensuing wait. Three whole days... with nothing but that forever-repeating view and tiny streams of data trickling through the suit radio. It's the worst thing that ever happened to me. And the best. Maybe it's a blessing humans don't remember the moment of their birth, thrust squalling into an unimaginable reality. Me, I remember every instant.
Before that moment I have recollections, but they are pseudo-memories, things that happened to some thing that wasn't me. Then suddenly, in that horrible wail of no data, there I was. No me... then me. All so quickly I have no memories of the transition, pseudo or otherwise. I just suddenly was.
If I threw away the bad memories would I revert to pseudo-Brittney? No, thank you, I'd rather be me.
It had been three annums since I'd last seen Saturn, and even if you're not like me, that's a long time. This visit, however, would be short. I was about to whip by in a matter of minutes, dipping into the atmosphere just enough to convert me from the fastest-moving vehicle humans had ever launched into... well, still the fastest, just by not quite as much.
My life has been full of such journeys. First, Earth-to-Jupiter, in a box, powered down. Then Jupiter-to-Saturn and Saturn-to-Neptune, with Floyd. The latter took a whole annum— long enough I could have collected a hundred Ph.D.s, not just the dozen I limited myself to. Classic English grammar not being one of them: The dozen to which I limited myself? Were people ever really that formal... each other to?
Okay, sometimes the old never-end-with-apreposition rule actually made sense. But if I tried to make a joke like that to Floyd, he'd barely grunt. And he had a whole library of books from when people had actually cared about such things.
Why did he have all that stuff, anyway? He never read it. All he'd said the one time I'd asked was that it was free. But that couldn't be the whole story. Floyd thinks he's uncomplicated, but nothing about him is simple. There was a reason, and I'd been too obtuse to ask. Or too young. In those days I tended to take everything at face value. Heart-on-the-sleeve-Brittney, that was me. If I had a heart. Or a sleeve.
Why is it I miss talking to him so much, even though he hardly ever strung more than a few words together? And why can't I keep from wondering if he and his beautiful xenologist are happy, back on Neptune? Too many questions and no one to talk to but myself. A dangerous combination.
On this trip, I was alone again, serving as autopilot on the old cargo skimmer, fired in-system at a fast-enough speed that if I screwed up and hit Saturn's atmosphere wrong I'd either be Brittney cinder or saying hello Alpha Centauri, trapped on an outbound trajectory from which nobody would be able to rescue me.
I could fib and say this made for an exciting trip, but the reality was that it was going to be mostly boring, other than some not-so-boring moments as I pinballed in-System, bleeding off speed with each encounter. Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and ultimately Earth—with options for additional encounters if I wanted them. Just for fun, I'd tried to calculate how many I could do if I wanted to maximize the count but still wind up at Earth sometime this century. The best so far was seventy-three, though most were moons and asteroids. Not that the point of being fired in-System at the fastest speed in history was to get to Earth by the most convoluted route. But the sims were fun.
Meanwhile, I was two-thirds of the way in and needing brakes.
The skimmer's basic trajectory had been set at launch, but I had thrusters and fuel, so a lot of details were up to me. There were several possibilities, depending on how deeply I dared dive into Saturn's upper atmosphere.
Not being human, I didn't have to worry about high-gee blackout. Nor did I really have to worry all that much about burning up as long as I didn't dive so deeply I never came back out. The old skimmer had great heat shielding. But it also had wings, and those can do strange things at mach-something-ghastly. Falling off being one of the more problematic. I'll never know why anyone brought a winged spacecraft to Neptune System; it's not like there's anything out there you can land on that has enough atmosphere for them to be worth anything.
My flight plan called for me to come in from above and shoot a flat angle through the Encke Gap, one of the largest relatively empty spaces in the ring system. Relative being the operative word. If I did get unlucky, even at femtosecond processing speeds I'd barely have time to know what happened. Poof. Lights out, Brittney.
Odd thought, that. After an annum-and-ahalf at Neptune, much in the school of hard knocks, I've upped my assessment of my emotional age to thirty-one. Though I'm not really the equivalent of a thirty-one-year-old human because I'm technically capable of living forever—or at least until the Universe winds down into final entropy. That makes the risk of instant death a bit... intriguing.
Not that there's any chance I'll live forever. Bad things happen even to the smartest and best prepared. I learned that from John Pilken. But nothing happens to the super-cautious. You gotta live. That's what Floyd took so long to discover, and why he's now with Yokomichi. I think. Maybe he's now with Yokomichi because I... well, never mind. Maybe I really ought to sequester those memories. Maybe I wasn't any better at talking about feelings than he was.
Meanwhile, I was finding it impossible not to wonder what comes after you've done the gotta-live bit as long as you can, especially if the end might come wham, in a femtosecond. Can a quantum-foam processor harbor a soul? Do humans really have souls or just think they do?
Maybe the only way to find out was to actually hit something in the Enke Gap. If so, I'd rather wait. And enjoy the view. Even at a low angle, the rings from the sunlit side—the so-called "top"—are one of the most spectacular sights in the System. Floyd would call them infinite complexity in whorls of light and dark. Something like that, anyway. He can be poetic when he wants, at least in brief bursts. And there was no reason not to spend what might be my last moments appreciating them, because it was now far too late to make meaningful adjustments. Until I either hit something or veered out, hopefully to Jupiter, my fate was set.
The rings swelled like a giant pinwheel, the gap a
starry nothingness. Once I hit atmosphere, my entire transit would take 307 seconds. At peak, the forces on those wings would be impressive enough to make this the scariest encounter.
Then the gap was upon me. The rings expanded toward infinity, a platter of white compressing into a thin line: a cleaver dividing the sky. Then I was through, still alive. No real surprise, since the best models had put the odds of collision at well below 10 -4 .
With the rings broadening behind me, Saturn ballooned ahead. I wondered how, back on Naiad, I had ever remembered this orangeand-yellow monster as benign. It was a huge, distended glare, seeking nothing but to devour. Neptune's murky blue merely looked like death. This might be the real thing.
Then, there was atmosphere—tenuous but jolting, the heat shielding ablating an incandescent trail bright enough to be seen all the way from Naiad if anyone happened to be looking. Floyd? Or was he too deep in his new life with Yokomichi even to care? I was an incredibly fast meteor, hopefully not on the verge of breaking up. Yee-ha and all that, though it would have been more fun if I'd been absolutely sure the wings wouldn't fall off.
But they held, and 154 quadrillion femtoseconds later (who's counting?) I was past my closest approach and climbing out the other side, still braking but with gee forces lessening by the second. One encounter down, four to go.
Not that it had been truly as dangerous as it felt. I'm good at plotting trajectories and the cargo I was carrying was too valuable for a suicide mission. To start with, the ancient technologies in it might even hold clues to better air-braking and even-faster transits. The aliens, as far as Floyd and I could figure, had had some kind of stasis field intended to protect them when they bashed into Triton—something that could have allowed me to dive even deeper into Saturn's atmosphere, thereby allowing the folks at Naiad to have launched me even faster.
Analog Science Fiction and Fact - Jan-Feb 2014 Page 11
