Ark

by Stephen Baxter

  You could easily differentiate the various generations. Like Holle and Grace themselves, most people on board still belonged to the generation that had boarded the ship on Earth eighteen long years ago. Ageing now, mostly in their late thirties or early forties, they moved around efficiently but without elegance.

  Then came the teenagers, like Helen Gray born after the launch from Gunnison, who had spent the years of their adolescence in microgravity and moved with unconscious skill. Most of them weren′t much like Helen, however. They wore basic wraps that left their arms and legs bare, their flesh adorned with tattoos that matched graffiti on the walls, markings incomprehensible to any adult that badged their allegiance to one tribe or another. They moved in swarms like exotic fish in a tank, ignoring the adults and eyeing each other with suspicion. Holle knew that few of these kids ever attended formal classes. It worried her that they were so disconnected from the ship and its mission; this was the next generation of crew after all. Wilson claimed not to care. If he ever had to confront them he sent in his illegal buddies, a bigger, tougher gang than the rest. But then Wilson had his own take on these youngsters, which was the reason Holle and Grace were going to see him now.

  And then came the youngest of all, the kids of seven and under who had actually been born and grown up in freefall. Having known nothing else they rocketed through the air, fearless. One group of kids was working its way up a wall, cleaning it; they had pads in their hands and canisters of water on their little backs. Through the general clamour Holle could hear the piping of the nonsense song the children sang as they worked: ′I laugh you more my fun / you′re my enjee you′re my tee-fee I laugh you more my fun …′ They sang it as a round, overlapping the fragmentary lines, shoving their sponges over the wall to the rhythms of their music. They were a spindly breed, Holle always thought, surprisingly small in height, and pale too, pale like the sightless worms that had once swum in Earth′s deep lightless oceans.

  And, in a moment of comparative quiet, Zane′s thin voice carried up from the dream circle.

  ′The doctors, but they′re not really doctors and even they admit that, say I don′t exist. I am only a construct of the relationship between these partial people who live inside my head, who don′t exist either. Maybe that′s true of all of us. Maybe none of us exist, except in how we relate to each other. Maybe if we went out of this hull one by one we would each cease to be, alone in the dark. And then when the last of us was left, one person left in the hull - maybe he or she would go too, just popping out of existence …′

  This was clearly Zane 3; Holle recognised the content of what he said, the mannerisms. But it was a more forceful Zane 3, angrier, stronger, somehow more determined. Fuelled by the reintegrated pain of Zane 1, maybe.

  Grace murmured, ′You know Wilson′s concerned about the stuff Zane′s saying. Zane denies that anything exists outside the hull, and says he doesn′t remember anything that occurred before the warp launch from Jupiter. Well, most of these kids have never been outside the hull either, and they remember nothing but the voyage. He′s saying what they want to hear on some deep level, I think.′

  ′It′s just entertainment. The HeadSpace booths are too pricey, so they swap dreams. Zane is just a story-teller. A spooky one, but that′s all.′

  ′Are you sure? He′s been developing justifications for his theories for years. For instance he says that warp drive is impossible; he can prove it from first principles.′

  ′But any of these kids can go to the cupola and look out at the stars. How does he explain that away?′

  ′It′s a simulation, with obvious flaws. Such as the warp field lensing, which is just a scrambling of a star field projection.′

  ′What other ′′obvious flaws′′?′

  ′Odd matches. We′re supposedly fleeing from a flood, but Earth II was in a constellation called the River. Flood, river? To find our destination in the starscape you look for Orion - and yet we claim that we were launched from Earth by a drive also called Orion. Zane argues that these name matches are symptoms of a lazy design regime. Or maybe they are clues smuggled in by some dissident sim designer to help us figure out the truth of our situation.′

  ′It′s just coincidence!′

  ′No such thing as coincidence in Zane′s world. Only conspiracies. There′s more. To find where we′ve come from you look back at Opiuchus, the serpent-bearer. That part of the sky is blanked out, so you can′t see Sol, the home of man. But why the serpent-bearer? Zane has been into the archive and he found an account of Ouroboros, a myth of ancient Egypt, a serpent endlessly devouring its own tail. So, Zane says, what we see behind us isn′t any kind of warp cone but the mouth of Ouroboros, continually devouring our fake reality, just as a fresh reality is continually constructed ahead of us to give us the illusion of movement.′

  ′My God. I had no idea this had got so elaborate.′

  Grace shrugged. ′Sometimes I believe him myself. After eighteen years in this tank Earth does seem a remote memory, unreal. If it wasn′t for the way my feet still ache from all those years of walking on the Plains—′

  Holle shook her head. ′Whether we′re buried in some cage in the Nevada desert or not, the plumbing still needs fixing. That′s what I cling to. Here comes Venus. Let′s go see Wilson, and get this business about him and Steel over.′

  In his cabin, Wilson wore only grimy shorts, vest and socks, and he lounged, loosely tethered to a heap of blankets. He was putting on weight, and his skin was greasy.

  A couple of his buddies were here with him, illegals called Jeb Holden and Dan Xavi. They were both former eye-dees who had switched to the security services, and forced their way onto the Ark at launch. Now, overweight forty-year-old men, they hung in the corners of the cabin, saying and doing nothing, just watching the women with a faintly intimidating air.

  There was no sign of Steel, the point of contention.

  Wilson knew why they were here. Holle began to speak, self-conscious and nervous, working her way around the issue.

  Since the Split, as far as Holle knew, Wilson had never replaced Kelly with any other long-term partner. But he had been taking lovers from throughout the crew. He had fathered a number of kids too. All this was with the consent of the women involved, and the social engineers back in Colorado would have approved of him spreading his genes around. But then Steel Antoniadi had caught Wilson′s eye, during a dance festival. Named for the colour of the walls in this stripped-bare hull, she had grown up dark, willowy, unconsciously graceful in microgravity, exotic in her tunic and tattoos, and just fourteen. Her mother, an illegal called Sue Turco, had been too intimidated by Wilson to do anything about it. But her father Joe Antoniadi, a former Candidate, had protested to the other elders about it, especially Holle, his boss.

  Wilson cut Holle short. ′The hell with this, Holle. I′m not forcing the kid.′

  ′That′s not the point, Wilson—′

  ′Look at me. I′m the most powerful man on the ship. Have been for ten years. And rich, too! A credit millionaire. But there′s nothing I can buy. So what′s in it for me? I′ll tell you. Only the sweetest commodity on the ship. I′m talking about young flesh, Holle. Young, just coming ripe, and as limber as all fuck after a lifetime swimming around in zero G. That′s what′s in it for me - or so I decided, when I saw Steel doing that whirling dance in the air.′

  ′The mission is about the kids, Wilson,′ Venus said hotly. ′They aren′t just some ′′commodity′′ for you to indulge in. What next, are you going to start raiding the school groups for bait for your henchmen? I can′t believe the boy I grew up with has turned out like this.′

  Wilson just laughed. One of his buddies farted, a liquid sound.

  Holle said, ′Well, you′re asking for trouble, Wilson. This isn′t some feudal village. In the end you govern by consent. And you′re pushing your luck.′

  Wilson glanced at Jeb and Dan, who grinned back at him. ′I′ll take that on advisement. Is there anything else
I can do for you ladies?′

  80

  AUGUST 2059

  There was great excitement on the morning of the arrival of the submarine from Ark Two.

  Kelly watched her fellow space travellers crowding to the raft′s edge, waiting for the sub to surface. Compared to the raft′s healthy, robust crew, with skins tanned brown and swimming muscles taut, the Seba people looked like ghosts, spectral, their limbs too long, their heads too large. Their eagerness faintly worried Kelly. They had spent most or all of their lives inside an engineered environment, and were too easily distracted from the shabby garbage raft they were going to have to live on for the rest of their lives. But then it had been Kelly herself who had interrogated Thandie Jones about Ark Two, in their very first proper conversation together.

  As they waited it started to rain, just gently, the drops hissing on the ocean. The sky held the remnants of a red dawn, with a faint stink of sulphur in the air. Thandie sniffed. ′Volcano weather. Rain precipitating out around ash particles …′

  There was a ragged cheer as the sub broke the surface. Naked brown-skinned kids swam out to it. Kelly made out a boat-shaped streamlined hull, a conning tower with periscope and radio masts, and a bold Stars and Stripes painted on its flank. The sub drew close enough that ladders could be thrown across from raft to sub, and you could simply walk across without getting your feet wet. The raft kids scampered back and forth over the ladders carelessly, playing in the water that streamed off the sub′s hull.

  A couple of the sub crew emerged, a man and a woman. They were young, maybe early twenties. They wore reasonably clean-looking blue coveralls and boots, and they had their hair cropped short, military style. Sturdy-looking but pale, they had more in common with the Seba people than the rafters, Kelly thought. They crossed the ladders to the raft easily enough. Little kids swarmed around them, plucking at their hands and trouser legs.

  Thandie Jones walked up to the two of them stiffly, and Kelly followed.

  The young man was about Kelly′s height, his hair blond, his eyes pale blue. He wore patches on his coverall, a US flag and a mission badge, like the astronauts′ patches Gordo Alonzo used to show the Candidates. The patch was an inverted triangle containing a pie-slice of the Earth′s cross-section, with a strip of bubbling ocean and the bold words ARK TWO plastered over a schematic sky. Kelly stared. This patch was the first piece of physical evidence she had ever seen that Ark Two, hidden from her by her father′s lies and evasions, actually existed.

  ′Ms Kenzie,′ the young man said.

  She was staring. Disconcerted, she said, ′Call me Kelly.′

  ′Welcome home. I can′t imagine what you′ve done, what you′ve seen.′ His accent was odd to Kelly′s ears, stilted, not quite American. He seemed to be having trouble making eye contact with her. ′I wish I could see your ship.′

  Mike snorted. ′No, you don′t. After eighteen years it′s a flying toilet; best to let it burn up.′ He stuck out his hand. ′Mike Wetherbee.′

  ′I know who you are, Doctor Wetherbee. We all read the log you transmitted down to the Ark. You′re heroes to us, all of you. It′s an honour.′ He shook Mike′s hand, and Masayo′s, and then bent down to inspect Eddie, who grinned back. ′And I know who you are too.′

  ′This is the party for the Ark,′ Thandie said. ′Me, Kelly, Mike, Masayo, little Eddie here. You got room for us in that tub of yours?′

  ′It′s not the Trieste, but we do our best.′ He faced Kelly, glancing at her, looking away. ′You′ve come so far, across forty light years. But it′s another twelve kilometres to Ark Two - straight down. Are you ready?′

  ′Help me across that ladder and I′m all yours,′ Kelly said. ′You′re being very generous to us - I don′t even know your name.′

  He stared at her with an odd intensity. ′You don′t recognise me.′

  ′I′m sorry.′

  His face turned red. ′I′m your son. Dexter. Your first son.′

  This was completely unexpected. Kelly felt as if she had been punched. Eddie squealed, and she realised she was gripping his hand too tight. She deliberately let go.

  ′My colleague is called Lisa Burdock.′ Dexter seemed to be trying to say more. Then he turned on his heel and walked back, over the ladder to the sub.

  Mike Wetherbee was grinning. ′The son you abandoned for the stars. Well, well.′

  ′Shut your fucking mouth, Doctor.′ Kelly, heavy with gravity, bewildered, realised she was in danger of collapsing, right here. Well, that wasn′t going to happen. She patted Eddie′s head, took his hand again, and stepped forward. ′Who′s going to help me over that ladder?′

  The rain hardened, becoming torrential.

  To get inside the sub Kelly had to climb down through the conning tower into a narrow well with handholds stapled to the wall, penetrating further down into the hull than she′d expected. There was a stink of metal, electrics, gasoline and urine.

  She emerged into a spherical compartment a few metres across, with a simple pilot station set before a bank of screens. Fat windows pierced the sphere′s hull, mostly looking down into murky blue water. Mesh partitions had been laid down to make a flat floor, with the volume underneath used as storage space for loose equipment and air tanks. Lisa Burdock was laying down fold-out couches. Kelly sat gratefully in one of the couches, hiding the weakness in her legs, back, neck. Dexter started handing out blankets and thick padded coats, though the sphere was hot and cramped. Eddie had to be carried down, passed from hand to hand, as the handholds were too far apart for him. But once down in the spherical chamber he seemed to brighten up.

  As soon as they were all in their couches, Dexter slammed closed the hatch. With a gurgle of water filling the surface tanks, they sank immediately. Kelly had a stomach-churning sense of the drop.

  The design of the sub was indeed based on that of the Trieste, a classic deep-dive vessel which had reached the ocean′s extreme depths nearly a century before. When the flood had begun, Thandie Jones had made many exploratory dives in a rebuilt Trieste, its components dug out of various museums by Nathan Lammockson. Now this new sub was one of a fleet of ferries capable of reaching the ocean floor. ′She was constructed in Jackson, Wyoming,′ Dexter said. ′A long way from the ocean back then. But when the flood came in ′43 she just floated off.′ He rapped his fist on the metal wall. ′This is our pressure hull. The rest of the sub′s volume is mostly taken up with flotation tanks, full of gasoline, pretty much incompressible even at extreme depths; conventional air tanks would just crumple, though we do have those for navigation close to the surface. We have hoppers of rocks we can dump if we need to ascend quickly, though mostly we abort down to the Ark in such contingencies. More likelihood of help there than up top.′

  Thandie said, ′You got any coffee in this tub?′

  Masayo had strapped Eddie loosely into a couch, but the boy soon clambered out and started crawling over the floor, poking his fingers through the mesh.

  Dexter watched him curiously. ′We don′t carry many little kids on these ferries, as you can imagine. He looks like he feels at home.′

  ′He was born in a box,′ Mike Wetherbee said. ′This is what he′s used to. The safety of confinement.′ He breathed a deep breath. ′And the peculiar, comforting staleness of recycled air.′

  There wasn′t much conversation after that. Dexter handed out coffees.

  Within minutes the ocean beyond the windows was growing dark. Thandie had told Kelly that little light from the surface seeped deeper than a hundred metres or so. Kelly heard the hull pop and bang, creaking as it adjusted to the increasing pressure of the water. How strange it was that she had spent two decades inside hulls intended to contain breathable air against a vacuum, and now the situation was precisely reversed, she was inside another hull surrounded by water clenching like a fist.

  She looked at her companions. Thandie lay back in her couch, a blanket tucked up to her chin, her eyes closed. Mike Wetherbee seemed quietly interested i
n the engineering. Masayo kept his eyes on Eddie, who sat on the floor happily fiddling with the mesh partition. Lisa Burdock sat facing the passengers, saying nothing. Kelly realised, in fact, that the girl hadn′t said a single word. She was a creature of Ark Two, evidently, perhaps educated all her life for a single purpose, and now was not truly interested in anything else - not even returned star travellers. Kelly wondered if as a Candidate she had once been just as monomaniac.

  And Dexter concentrated on his controls. That was his job, but Kelly was pretty sure he was using his absorption in his tasks to avoid any conversation with her, or indeed with Masayo and Eddie, his half-brother.

  She was guiltily relieved. She definitely needed time to come to terms with the situation. Although she had always said that part of her motive for coming back to Earth was the child she′d left behind, in her heart she hadn′t really believed that she would ever find him again. It hadn′t occurred to her that if her father had constructed Ark Two as some kind of haven for himself, it was likely that he would take his grandson in there with him. She′d never even imagined Dexter growing up, she realised now. In her head he had always been the two-year-old she had kissed goodbye that last morning, sneaking out of his bedroom before he woke up to know she was gone, and then running for her transport to Gunnison. It was as if Dexter had died, not that she′d abandoned him.

  Well, she was trapped with him now, committed to whatever confrontations and conciliations lay ahead.

  As the dive continued the air temperature dropped steadily. Dexter wiped condensation from the control surfaces with his sleeve. The adults bundled into the thick coats Lisa and Dexter had handed out. Eddie said he didn′t need a coat, but Masayo draped a blanket around his thin shoulders. A little later the boy started to slow down, and Masayo lifted him onto his lap and wrapped him up inside his own coat, and let him nap.

  In the sapping, damp cold, in the humming, comforting calm of the submarine, despite the kilometres of ocean water piling up over her head, Kelly felt oddly safe, reminded of the Ark.