Listening to Zane′s theorising was like listening to a horror story, giving her a kind of pleasurable scare. But, since the Blow-Out, listening to Zane had been against ship′s rules.
′This is why none of the kids are allowed to come and see you, if you talk like this.′
′Ah, the children. I am still the ship′s bogeyman, aren′t I? But I do miss those dream-sharing sessions we used to have.′ He glanced at her belly, where her coverall showed a slight swelling. ′You′ve another coming yourself?′
She smiled. ′We just got in before the deadline. Holle wants a moratorium on conception from here until Earth III. She doesn′t want us landing with newborns aboard.′
′That makes a certain paranoid sense. A little sister for Mario?′
′Actually a brother.′
′Another boy for Jeb. That will please him.′
′I guess,′ she said indifferently. Jeb Holden, formerly one of Wilson′s bruisers, had not been her first choice as father to her children - and nor, she knew, had she been his choice. After all he was about Zane′s age, nearly sixty, much older than Helen. But Holle had encouraged everybody to get busy producing babies, following some demographic logic of her own, and the ten years since the Blow-Out had seen a whole new crop of infants growing up, second-generation shipborn. Helen could hardly stay aloof. ′Just remember,′ Grace had said with a strained smile, ′I didn′t get to choose your father either. And nor did my mother have any choice about the man who fathered me.′ Grace had hugged her daughter. ′But we didn′t turn out too bad, did we?′
′Jeb′s OK,′ Helen told Zane now. ′He came from a good family, I think. We named Mario after his own father, a farmer who died in an eye-dee flash war, which was how Jeb ended up fighting for his life on a raft. Wilson was a bad influence on him.′
′And what are you going to call the new addition? What was your father′s name - Hammond?′
Helen smiled. ′My mother won′t hear of that. We′re thinking of calling him Hundred. Because when he′s born we will just have completed a hundred light years from Earth.′
He groaned. ′These made-up shipper names! I can′t abide them.′
She drifted to the door. ′I need to go. You can keep the head for a few days. Don′t let it melt.′
′Oh, believe me, I won′t.′ Zane stared into the eyes of the sculpture, as if seeking answers there.
She felt an odd impulse to hug him. But with Zane you couldn′t be sure who you were hugging. ′You′re very valued, you know.′
′Oh, really?′
′You′re still the authority on the warp generator. We need you.′
′No,′ he said. ′Come on. You know as well as I do that our flight to Earth III, regarding the warp mechanics, has been programmed in from launch.′
′But if the warp failed in flight—′
He laughed. ′If that happened it would most likely kill us all in an instant. No, my usefulness ended the moment the warp bubble successfully coalesced at Earth II.′
′You′re useful to me, if you want to put it like that. I enjoy our talks.′
′You′re very kind. But as your children grow, when you reach Earth III and you start the great project of building a new world—′ He seemed to come to himself. ′I′m fine. You go back to your little boy. Go, go!′
91
′It was the ruins on Earth II that were the clue,′ Venus said softly. ′I mean, think about it. The first world we come to, the first exoplanet ever visited by humans, and we find ruins, traces of some civilisation long gone. The principle of mediocrity dictates that there′s no such thing as coincidence; you must expect that what you discover is average, typical. So, find one world with ruins and you′ll find more …′
They were sitting in the cupola, Venus holding court with Holle and Grace. Venus spoke softly, and the others followed suit. Somehow, even after all these years, the subdued twilight of the cupola was a place where hushed voices seemed the right thing. And even now Venus was mean with the coffee, and Holle tried to resist asking for another cup. They huddled together, their three faces softly lit by the light of Venus′s screens, while the stars hung like lanterns outside the big windows. All three of them were around sixty or older, their hair roughly cut masses of grey, their faces lined, their bodies solid and stiff, nothing like the slim, smooth-faced girls who had boarded the Ark all those years ago. And Holle knew that she had aged most of all.
All the way from Jupiter, Venus and her slowly changing cast of trainee astronomers and physicists had studied the universe through which they travelled, from a vantage point unique in all mankind′s history. And, having sifted nearly four decades′ worth of data, Venus had come to some conclusions, and had come up with a deeper theory of life in the universe than had been possible for any earthbound astronomer.
′It′s remarkable that mankind discovered life in the universe, through the analysis of data from the planet-finder projects, just at the moment civilisation was falling apart because of the flood. What a tragedy that was! But all we found was mute evidence of atmospheric changes, such as the injection of oxygen and methane, a glimpse of what looked like photosynthetic chemicals. You don′t need intelligence to produce such signatures. But it was intelligence we wanted above all to find.
′But, despite decades of listening long before the flood came, and an even more careful survey from the Ark in the years since we launched, we′ve found nothing. Heard nothing, not a squeak. I might say we′ve not just been looking for radio and optical signals but city lights and industrial gases, and evidence of more exotic objects, Dyson sphere infra-red blisters, wormholes, even warp bubbles like our own.
′And yet we do see traces of their passing. Well, we think so. Even when there aren′t actual ruins, obvious traces. You recall how the Earth II system was depleted of asteroids? We′ve found other depletions, anisotropies - differences in concentrations of key materials between one side of the sky and another. Even the solar system had some odd deficiencies, for instance of neon and helium, that we couldn′t explain away with our models of planetary creation.′
Holle asked, ′So what are you suggesting? That somebody came by and used up all the good stuff and moved on?′
′That′s exactly what I′m suggesting. And why do we find this? Because, I think, the Galaxy is old …′
As the Galaxy formed from a vast, spinning cloud of dust and gas and ice, embedded in a greater pocket of dark matter, the first stars had congealed like frost.
′In the primordial cloud there wasn′t much of anything except hydrogen and helium, the elements that had emerged from the Big Bang. Those first stars, mostly crowded in the Galaxy′s centre, were monsters. They raced through fusion chain reactions and detonated in supernovas, spewing out metals and carbon and oxygen and the other heavy elements necessary for life - at any rate, life like ours. The supernovas in turn set off a wave of starmaking in the regions outside the core, and those second stars were enriched by the products of the first.′ She mimed a cage with her hands, slowly expanding. ′So you have this zone of intense activity in the centre of the Galaxy, and a wave of starmaking washing outwards, with metals and other heavy elements borne on the shock front. That starbirth wave finally broke over the sun′s region maybe five billion years ago, and the Earth was formed, and so were we.
′But Sol is out in the boondocks, and was born late. The Galaxy′s starmaking peak was billions of years earlier. Most stars capable of bearing planets with complex life are older than the sun, an average of two billion years older. That′s half the Earth′s lifetime - maybe four times as long as it has been since multicellular life emerged on Earth.′
Grace asked, ′And you believe this is why we see no signs of intelligence?′
Venus shrugged. ′We′re latecomers to the party - like the gatecrashers on the Ark. They were most likely to emerge billions of years before us. What happens to a culture after billions of years? Most likely they die out, right? Or maybe they mi
grate. Me, I′d head for the Galactic core. That′s where the action is, the crowded stars, the energy.′ She glanced out of the windows. ′The energy of starlight is thin out here, a millionth the strength of sunlight at Earth. Which is why the Ark is not equipped with solar panels. In the core you could just coast around in the starlight, lapping up all that free energy falling from the sky. It must be like a city in there, hot, crowded, dangerous. Whatever, after a billion years, they′re nothing like us, and they′re not here.′
Grace asked, ′So where does that leave us?′
′Alone,′ Venus said firmly. ′If we expected to come out here and join in some kind of bustling Galactic culture, it ain′t going to happen. We seem to be young, in a very old Galaxy. We′re like kids tiptoeing through a ruined mansion. Or a graveyard. ′′Go on through the lofty spaces of high heaven and bear witness, where thou ridest, that there are no gods.′′ That′s Seneca - Medea.′
Holle said, ′You always were pretentious, Venus.′
Venus grinned. ′Sorry.′
′I sometimes wonder why we care,′ Grace said. ′I mean, why would we long to find minds on other worlds? Gary Boyle used to say that we are lonely because of our evolutionary history. Our ancestors were hominids, just one species in a world full of other kinds of hominids. There are many species of dolphins and whales; they aren′t alone. But our cousins all went, we out-competed them. We′re not evolved for a world where the only minds are ours. We′re lonely but we don′t know why.′
Holle considered. ′Well, if all this is so, it′s up to us not to fail. On the Ark, I mean. If Earth has gone, if Earth II fails, we may be the only receptacle of high intelligence left in the Galaxy.′
′Quite a responsibility,′ Grace murmured.
′Especially as we′re dumb as shit,′ Venus said. ′I mean, we can′t even last a few years in this tin can without turning on each other.′
They were silent for a while, and Holle wondered grumpily again if Venus would ever get around to offering them that coffee refill. She said at length, ′You know, I sometimes think we were terribly ill-equipped, the Candidates. We spent our whole lives training for this mission, but we weren′t rounded. I mean, for instance we never even read any books - no books that counted. Do you remember, Venus? I liked historicals, tales of a vanished past. You liked old science fiction about vanished futures. We never engaged with the world as it was unfolding around us, not even through fiction.′
′Nobody was writing novels about the flood,′ Venus pointed out. ′They were all too damn busy. More to the point, Holle, you and I never had kids, before or after we left Earth.′
Holle shrugged. ′True. I sometimes think I never got over Mel. And then there was that strange business about Zane. After that, I always felt I had too much to do.′
′Yeah. As for me, my students are my children.′
′Those are excuses,′ Grace said gently. ′You were Candidates. You were brought up knowing it would be your duty to have children, to pass on your genes. But you didn′t. On some level you both deliberately chose not to, for whatever reason.′
′Maybe I was scared,′ Holle said. ′Scared to make that kind of commitment.′
′To have kids and to know you couldn′t save them.′
′Something like that.′
Venus said coolly, ′I wonder if you could do the job you′re doing now, Holle, if one of your own kids was affected by your decisions. Living in your water empire.′
′I don′t know,′ Holle said honestly. ′I think Kelly Kenzie could have done it. She was always the best of us, wasn′t she? Before the Split she was hooking up with - with—′
′Masayo Saito.′
′Yes. She intended to have kids with him. Maybe she has by now. And if not for the Split, maybe she′d have had kids with Wilson. Either way she′d have been able to keep on functioning as a mother, I think.′
′And she′d have kept Wilson in check better.′
′Yeah. She′d have done a better job than any of us.′
′You can only do your best,′ Grace said to Holle. ′Kelly isn′t here; she′s long gone. All we can do is keep on until the end—′
An alarm went off, a faint buzz, one of Venus′s screens flashing red. She turned and tapped a key. ′Oh, shit.′
Holle leaned forward. ′What?′
′It′s a suicide note. From Zane. He says he doesn′t want to be a, let me see, ′′a useless drain on resources′′.′
Grace shook her head. ′That′s Zane 3. He′s done that before, the other alters overpower him.′
′This is signed by a committee. Jerry, Zane 2, Zane 3, somebody called Leonard and Christopher and—′
Grace unbuckled and clambered out of her couch. Venus was already opening the airlock hatch.
92
Helen Gray sat on hot, prickly sand.
The beach, textured by dunes and wave marks, stretched off as far as she could see. Before her was another semi-infinite plain, a sea that reached to a razor-sharp horizon. The sky was a blue dome, and in it, directly before her, was a star - no, the word was ′sun′. It was a disc of light just like the hull′s arc lamps. It warmed her face and dazzled her eyes, and scattered highlights on the sea and cast a shadow from the child playing before her.
Mario, four years old, dressed in a baggy old adult′s T-shirt, paddled in the surf. He squealed every time the water lapped over his toes. He looked quite at home. But his walk along the beach was clumsy, a babyish scrape at the ground. You had to walk in these planetary sims, that was Holle′s rule, the kids were going to have to walk on Earth III and this was where they would learn how, and the HeadSpace suit constrained you to do just that. But the sim could not simulate the effects of gravity, and so the whole experience was incomplete.
Further along the beach sat another parent, Max Baker, with another child, five-year-old Diamond, the little boy Max had fathered with Magda Murphy. Max was talking steadily to his son, encouraging him to race and splash. Helen liked to see Max being like this. It had taken a lot for him to get over the loss of his twin sister during the Blow-Out, and Magda the loss of her baby. Like herself and Jeb, Max and Magda were parents if not lovers, but they seemed to have found consolation in each other′s company. Magda had even had a second child with Max, a one-year-old girl called Sapphire. Maybe later Diamond and Mario could play together.
The detail of this HeadSpace sim was good. The waves on the sea′s surface and the froth where they broke, generated by simple fractal routines, were convincing enough, or so Helen′s mother had told her. Each individual grain of sand cast a shadow. She could even feel the sand under her bare legs, gritty and sharp - more fractal processing. But to a trained eye it wasn′t hard to see the virtual′s limitations, such as differing shades in the blue sky delineated by straight-line boundaries, as if it were constructed of huge panels. Grace, who had actually stood on genuine beaches on Earth, pointed out the lack of such features as clouds in the sky, and seaweed and jellyfish in the ocean, and seawrack on the sand - and, she had observed dryly, raft-loads of eye-dees crowding out as far as the eye could see. The HeadSpace booths were ageing technology, and the processor capacity devoted to these sims was restricted.
But, wrapped up in their virtual suits in their separate HeadSpace booths, sharing this virtual sky, the children could wrestle and race and splash in the water.
All this was Holle′s idea. She had also reinstated sports tournaments, like wrestling and sumo, young bodies stressed against each other in weightlessness, programmes designed to build up muscle mass and bone strength to cope with the gravity field of Earth III. Holle didn′t want the crew spilling to the ground like babies, baffled and terrified by such basic features as an open sky.
It seemed to be working. Mario, playing, wasn′t fazed by the fact that you couldn′t turn down the sun or turn up the wind. But sometimes Helen wondered if something unique was being lost as the mission approached its terminus, a culture born of necessity ov
er forty years in the ship′s dark corners, with its own furtive art and language and style. The tribes of half-naked, elaborately tattooed children had to be taught the word for ′sky′ by being taken into a HeadSpace booth and shown the referent. But the shipborn had evolved forty new words for ′love′.
Besides, Helen herself hated the sims. She too was a shipborn, and maybe it was too late for her to adjust to the openness of a planet. But landfall loomed ahead like the date of her own execution - even though she relished the challenge of piloting a shuttle down to the new world. So as little Mario played his way through his allotted time she endured the openness, the sunlight on her bare arms, the lack of the comforting enclosure of scuffed metal walls. And she clung to faulty details, the lines of broken shade in the sky, as reassurance that none of this was real, and she could come to no harm.
She was relieved when time was up and she called Mario back from the edge of the sea.
93
FEBRUARY 2079
Once, just once, as Venus drifted in the dark of the cupola, she picked up a strange signal. It appeared to be coherent, like a beam from a microwave laser. She used her spaceborne telescopes to triangulate the signal, determining that it wasn′t anywhere close. And she passed it through filters to render it into audio. It sounded cold and clear, a trumpet note, far off in the galactic night.
If it was a signal it wasn′t human.
She listened for two years, all the way to Earth III. She never heard it again.
She said nothing about this to Holle and the others.
94
JULY 2081
Venus brought Thandie′s old crystal ball out of storage one last time, and set it up at the heart of the hull, mounted on a strut attached to the fireman′s pole. Holle drifted beside her, clinging loosely to the pole, two solid, competent women in their sixties, side by side.
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