Ark

by Stephen Baxter

  She clipped herself to the winch unit and began her ascent, up through the lessening gravity towards the accelerator ring. Unlike some of the crew she wasn′t troubled by the transit itself, or the peculiar sensations as gravity faded away to zero and then flipped over past the midpoint as she began her descent to Halivah. But she was always disconcerted by the unnatural sight of huge masses of engineering hanging in the sky; some animal part of her was always convinced the whole lot was going to come crashing down.

  Only minutes after leaving Seba her booted feet descended towards Halivah′s nose.

  ′Welcome aboard,′ Wilson murmured through the comms. ′I′m down on sixth.′

  ′Copy that. I′ll find you.′

  61

  Halivah was stirring, ending another ship′s night, but the lights were as low as aboard Seba. The ground-mandated routine of having the two hulls on different day-night cycles, so there was always half the crew awake and functional, had soon been abandoned for the tensions it caused between two sets of crewmates in different states of wakefulness. There had even been a petty dispute about which hull should have the honour of being slaved to Alma time, and which should be eight hours out of synch. Now both hulls followed the same clock cycle, both mirroring Alma time, with a rota for a small night watch in each hull.

  The feel of this hull was strikingly different, however. The social engineers′ paintwork, urban design in contrast to Seba′s natural colours, had been meticulously scrubbed away, to reveal the raw textures of the artificial surfaces beneath, the plastic, the metal, the glass. Even the mesh decking plates were bare. The Halivah inhabitants as a group had decided on this as a kind of artistic gesture of their own - they chose to live with the cool mechanical reality of their environment, rather than try to mask it with the colours of a planet none of them would ever see again. Holle was enough of an engineer to appreciate the stripped-down beauty of the result.

  But some surfaces had been filled in with artwork, rendered with precious smears of paint, crayon and pencil. On the fifth deck Holle paused by one painting of a kind of house filled with light, surrounded by a dark, threatening sky - and a knock on the door represented by arcs of yellow paint. The painting was signed: HALIV. DREAM CIRCLE 4.

  ′Psst.′

  The whisper came from under her feet. She glanced through the mesh floor to see Wilson on the next deck down, in pants and a vest that showed off his muscular torso. ′You like the art work?′

  ′Not much. It′s well enough done. But the subject′s obvious, isn′t it?′ This was one of the most common dreams, or nightmares, endured by the crew. Here were the last humans alive (possibly), fleeing through space in these metal hulls: what if there were a knock on the wall?

  Wilson grunted. ′I don′t like these damn dream circles. All they do is recycle morbid rubbish like this. Feeding off each other′s mental garbage.′

  ′Maybe. But some days there′s nothing to do but scrub down the walls, Wilson. People need some kind of stimulus from outside their own heads.′

  Wilson wasn′t impressed. ′It′s just another fucking fad. The circles only caught on when we started rationing access to the HeadSpace booths. And speaking of HeadSpace—′

  ′Let′s go see Theo.′

  ′Yes.′

  Holle followed Wilson down a few more decks. They passed through cabin villages that were subtly different from those aboard Seba, the crew fiddling with the partitions and gradually modifying the place to suit their own tastes.

  Holle said, ′I take it you haven′t found little Meg.′

  ′No. I got the night watch searching, and when everybody else has woken up we′ll start a top-to-bottom inspection. Probably have to take the damn ship apart to do it.′

  ′These kids are growing up here. I guess they′re going to know these hulls better than we ever will.′

  ′Yeah. Poor little bastards. Morning, Theo.′

  Theo Morell was waiting for them outside a small cabin, the eleventh deck′s HeadSpace booth. He was leaning against a wall, arms folded, a handheld dangling from his waist. ′I see you brought back-up.′

  ′Thought it was safest to have a woman here, in case Cora kicks off again.′

  ′Oh, she will,′ Theo said airily. ′She always does.′

  Wilson glanced at the booth, where a red light glowed over the door. ′She′s in there now?′

  ′Yeah. Been in all night. She′s alone. Doesn′t even take her kid. You want to see?′ Theo hefted his handheld and pressed a button.

  A screen on the wall lit up to show a little girl playing on a sunlit patio. She was outside an apartment that overlooked a sparkling sea. Dimly realised avatars shared the space with her. The patio was wide, the sea a gleaming plain that stretched to a sharp horizon with a blue sky.

  The basic premise of the scene was obvious: it was about space, room to run and play, alone and free of the pressure of people all around, free of adult responsibility. A copyright stamp, dated 2018, said that the scenario, based loosely on Sorrento, Italy, had been devised as a personal space by Maria Sullivan, a HeadSpace user in Manchester, Britain, and donated to the Nimrod project by the corporation. Holle wondered what had become of Maria Sullivan.

  ′So Cora is the little girl?′

  ′You got it. Look, I tried to get her out of there. I tried all the tactics you recommended, Wilson. Like doing deals, another half-hour and then you come out. Nothing works, not with her. Believe me, calling you was the last resort.′

  ′I don′t want to hear your justifications,′ Wilson said. ′Just shut it down.′

  Theo raised his handheld, and poised his thumb over a key. ′You ready for this?′

  ′Just do it.′

  Theo stabbed down his thumb and stood back. The light over the door turned from red to green.

  Almost immediately the booth door slammed open. Cora Robles came staggering out, pushing a sensor mask from her face. She wore a black all-body suit, gloves with thick touch-stimulating finger pads, and she trailed a fat cable back into the booth. She glared at Theo. ′You shut it off? I wasn′t done!′

  He backed off. ′Cora, look, I asked you enough times—′

  ′Give me that console.′

  ′No, Cora.′

  ′Start me up again, you little prick!′ She launched herself at Theo, her gloved fists raised.

  Holle lunged forward and put herself between Cora and Theo. She took a couple of blows on the chest, and then she got her arms wrapped around Cora′s torso. Cora flailed, trying to get at Theo, but for all her anger she was weak and not difficult to contain. The suit was tight enough for Holle to feel how thin she was, her bones prominent, her shoulder blades, her hips. Either she had been skipping meals or she had been swapping food for HeadSpace credits. Wilson hauled at the data cable connecting Cora to the booth, pulling her away from Holle. Cora slipped and fell backwards to the mesh floor. She lay there, panting hard, her face twisted.

  Holle was shocked at the state Cora was in, and felt guilty she hadn′t noticed. Holle had grown up with this woman. Cora had always been beautiful, bright, flirtatious, a livewire party girl. Maybe all that energy had been turned in on herself, in the confines of the Ark.

  Holle knelt down beside her. ′Look, I′m sorry that had to happen, Cora. You needed to come out of there. Your little girl′s lost.′ As Cora had left Meg′s father back on Earth, she was the child′s prime carer.

  Wilson snapped, ′She knows. We fed it into the booth. Didn′t make any difference. She cares more about her HeadSpace fantasy than about her own kid.′

  ′And she′s out of credits,′ Theo said, grinning down at her.

  Wilson wasn′t impressed by his attitude. ′What are you laughing at? You run this fucking system, gatecrasher. You should take responsibility for dealing with hassles like this.′

  Theo held his hands up. ′Last time I tried to get Cora out of there she accused me of assault. Not risking that again. She′s a Candidate, after all, she′s one of
you. At least I want witnesses.′

  Once it became clear it would be necessary to ration access to the HeadSpace booths, it had been Holle′s idea to give Theo the responsibility of running the rationing system. He did it competently enough, with a system of credits maintained in the public areas of the Ark archive. But Theo was too damn cocky. Maybe there was truth in the rumours that he had been bartering HeadSpace credits for other stuff, that he was turning into a kind of pusher for addicts like Cora. Holle hadn′t wanted to believe it. Theo had grown up a lot since the launch, she thought, though he was still only twenty-one. And not all that growing up had been in a good way.

  She turned away and put an arm around Cora. ′Come on. Let′s get you on your feet and out of this stupid suit. You look like you need a drink, food and sleep, not necessarily in that order. And then you′re going to have to help us figure out where Meg might be …′ She led her away.

  Wilson stormed off, with a final glare at Theo.

  62

  Back in Seba, Kelly had started her day at her table on Deck Eight with her usual series of rolling meetings. Holle showed up to report on what was going on over in Halivah regarding Meg. She settled at the table with a coffee, knowing that she′d have to wait her turn to speak.

  Kelly looked tired, sleepless. The thousand-day festival, because it was forcing all the Arks′ factions and rivals to come together to cooperate on a single event, was causing Kelly and her senior people even more grief than usual. But right now Kelly and Masayo Saito were listening to Elle Strekalov complaining about Kelly′s proposed new procreation rules.

  A mother went by with a little kid, not yet two years old. Kelly pointed grandly. ′Look at that! Sue Turco with her brat by Joe Antoniadi - what did they call her, Steel? - and the rumour has it she′s got another one on the way already. You know the basic rule: we aren′t supposed to be pupping until we reach Earth II. It′s only another four, five years to wait. The only kids on this ship should be the ones that came aboard in utero, like little Helen Gray. But there′s been a steady trickle of pregnancies. People are having babies because they want them.′

  Masayo said, ′Doc Wetherbee says procreation is a natural reaction after a trauma, like how the birth rate rises after a war. The flood, the whole launch process, the severing from everything we knew - that was traumatic enough, surely.′

  ′Or maybe they′re just bored,′ Holle suggested.

  ′Why ever they′re doing it, that′s not the policy, that′s not what the social engineers′ maximal genetic diversity rules say, that′s not what Ship′s Law says.′ Kelly emphasised her words by thumping the tabletop with her open hand.

  Elle Strekalov broke in, impatient. ′But that′s got nothing to do with my issue. It′s the talk of a ballot for second children that′s caused the problem for me.′

  Holle, new to the conversation, asked, ′What′s wrong, Elle?′

  Elle smiled at her, looking tired. ′It′s Jack Shaughnessy. This new policy of Kelly′s has got Jack ′′sniffing around′′ me again. But that′s how Thomas puts it. I won′t have anything to do with Jack, any more than I would before. Thomas doesn′t believe it. He thinks Kelly′s policy will open the door for Jack.′

  Kelly shook her head. ′It′s not my policy. Right now it′s just the recommendation of the task group I asked to consider the problem. Look, we have a conflict between two obligations. We have to try to ensure maximal genetic diversity in the next generation. But at the same time, thanks to the presence of the gatecrashers and illegals, we have a gender imbalance on the Ark …′

  There were more men than women. Three gay couples, two male and one female, eased the burden slightly, although there was another issue in that the gays would also be expected to contribute to the gene pool of the next generation; the social engineers had at least bequeathed guidelines as to how that should be handled. But the guidelines were no help with the basic issue of imbalance.

  Elle said hotly, ′I have the right to choose who my life partner is going to be.′

  ′Yes, you do,′ Kelly said patiently. ′But the excess men have rights too. And we as a group have an obligation to ensure we preserve as wide a gene pool for the future as we can.′

  ′So I have to spread my legs for some illegal?′

  Holle laughed. ′Nicely put.′

  ′Artificial insemination is possible,′ Kelly said to Elle. ′You wouldn′t have to sleep with anybody.′

  Masayo said mildly, ′Sometimes I can′t believe we have these conversations.′

  Elle said, ′But I would still have some illegal′s brat in my womb. That′s how Thomas will see it for sure.′

  Kelly said with a kind of brittle patience, ′We get this kind of issue all the time, Elle, you know that. Your right to control your own body conflicts with the rights and responsibilities of the group as a whole. The proposal is that each of us women should choose a second partner from among the men involved, that we each have children by more than one man. If you can′t choose, there will be a ballot—′

  Elle snorted. ′Rigged like every ballot on this tub since the day we launched.′

  ′There′ll be no rigging. We′re all going to have to face this, Elle. All the women, all the men come to that. We′ll have to separate partnerships for companionship from partnerships for procreation. The former is entirely your choice, and the mission has no need to interfere with that, but the second has to have some direction from the crew as a whole, to fulfil our wider obligation. It′s the only way a crew this small can maintain genetic diversity. We′re in a unique situation which—′

  ′Oh, I′ve had enough of this.′ Elle stood, knocking back her chair; it fell languidly in the half-gravity. ′You always come out with this super-ethical bullshit. Kelly. You never focus on the human being in front of you. Well, I′m going to talk to Venus in the cupola. She won′t let you go ahead with this. And maybe she′ll do something to keep Thomas and Jack apart before they kill each other.′ She stalked off.

  Kelly sighed, and sipped water from a covered tumbler. ′Christ, Christ.′

  ′I′ll have a word with Jack Shaughnessy,′ Holle said. ′Just quietly. Try to make sure he keeps his distance from Elle.′

  ′I′ve seen no signs he′s still after her. That fight with Thomas seems to have convinced Jack that Elle wants to stay where she is. This whole thing is probably just Thomas′s paranoia. Be careful, Holle, say the wrong thing and you might make things worse.′

  ′We′re going to get this kind of conflict over and over,′ Masayo said.

  ′I know,′ Kelly said. ′All the way to Earth II. But what else can we do? This is the nature of the mission. It wouldn′t be half so difficult if we were crewed by the full complement of Candidates as we should have been, with a proper sex balance and training in the issues.′

  Masayo rolled his eyes.

  Kelly asked Holle, ′So what about the missing kid over in Halivah?′

  ′Wilson said he′d call if there was any news.′

  ′Damn kids,′ Kelly said. ′They′re so weird. You know, I′ve seen them catch spiders and flies and make pets of them. You wouldn′t believe it. You′d think they′d go crazy, growing up in a bottle like this. But I suppose they′ve never known any different. What about Cora?′

  Holle summarised what had happened, how she and Wilson had had to help get Cora out of the booth. ′I asked Doc Wetherbee to take a look at her. I don′t think she′s even been eating properly.′

  ′It′s not food that′s her problem,′ Kelly said. ′It′s her addiction to the HeadSpaces. You know, we excluded alcohol and every drug we could think of, and yet still we′re raising addicts. There′s always some damn thing.′ She looked at Holle sharply. ′What′s your opinion about Theo? Do you think he is dealing in HeadSpace credits like Wilson says?′

  ′I think it′s possible,′ Holle said carefully. ′But Theo′s naïve. Or he was when he came on board the ship. It may be he doesn′t understand what he′s doing, the
moral implications, the effect on other people.′

  Masayo laughed. ′So he′s inventing a drug-dealing trade from first principles. God bless human nature.′

  Kelly shook her head. ′You know, I′ve been doing some research in the archive on prisons. There you have people marking their territory, picking fights over food, swapping stories about dreams for lack of stimulation, pushing drugs. Just like us. Is that all we managed to build here, a prison between the stars?′

  Masayo Saito said, ′Grace Gray′s mother was held hostage in Barcelona for years. Chained to radiators in cellars. Grace herself was the result of a rape by one of the guards, and was born in captivity. An unbelievable story. And yet, are we all hostages on this Ark, hostage to the ambitions of the mission designers?′

  Holle said, ′I′d say they were our ambitions too.′

  ′God only knows,′ Masayo said.

  ′Sometimes I think that′s the problem,′ Kelly said. ′God, I mean. The social engineers always tried to keep God out of our lives. The Ark is a mission of a state that was deliberately secular, a state that was trying to be a reverse image of the Mormon state in Utah it was at war with. And despite the gatecrashers and illegals, they succeeded in that goal, didn′t they? Many people on the Ark are religious, but we aren′t a religious community. Sometimes I wish we were, that we had a common mission ordained by one god or another. A monastery would surely be a better social model than a prison.′

  Masayo shook his head. ′Too late for that, Kelly. I think we left God behind back on Earth.′

  Holle stood. ′I need to go. Doc Wetherbee says he wants to review Zane′s therapy.′

  ′Well, that′s also a priority. And keep me informed about the progress on the kid. OK, Masayo, what′s next?′

  63

  Mike Wetherbee invited Holle, Venus and Grace into the small cabin that he called his surgery, with its bunk beds and persistent antiseptic smell, and cabinets of medical gear to treat everything from eye conditions to bad teeth. On a monitor he showed a recording of himself and Zane at their last therapy session, the latest of a programme which had now been going on for over two years. On the monitor, Zane and Wetherbee spoke quietly, over a game of infinite chess.